The Fourth of July

Yesterday, we invaded Mary's house for a cook out again. This is a fairly new tradition where we sometimes forget to invite everyone, completely fail to coordinate who will bring what, so that we show up uninvited with enough hot dogs for 20 people and no ketchup or mustard.


We argue about how well done a marshmallow should be.


There are various schools of thought on this one...


Wet wipes are necessary.




We encourage our children's pyromaniac tenancies.

And have fun with sparklers.


Which can be kinda cool.

When I was your age...

"I had a hamster when I was a teenager," I said. "We kept her in a fish tank."

"That's awkward," Imogen said.

I'm not back yet

Sorry for dropping off the face of the planet. My last final is on May 12th. I'll be back then.

Recent pictures

Things have been really busy lately. But here are a few pictures I took, playing with my camera.

Snow memories

For a while now, Imogen has been very concerned about the lack of snow in her life. Sure, when she was two or three it snowed a lot and she got to play around in it. However, these are, apparently, the golden years of her childhood, and until yesterday, she had not had a few key experiences. At times, it would snow, but not enough for a snowball fight or snowman construction. She was literally worried that she would grow up without having done these things and they would no longer be fun for her. It seems like an odd thing for a seven year old to stress about, but tragedy has been averted. Here is photographic proof...


That Imogen and Genevieve have made a snowman. A very lumpy one. They named him Snowy. Imogen has always been a believer in the most obvious and literal name possible.


That they had a snowball fight. This consisted of them throwing snowballs toward each other and mostly missing and at Jeremy, who caught them and threw them back.


And that snow angels were made. The snow was rather slushy at this point and was laying on top of a layer of ice from the previous ice/sleet/freezing rain extravaganza. But it doesn't matter! We have the photograph of the snow angel making! Our snow memories are complete.

Ice

Freezing rain plus a lot of sleet means a couple days off of school. Which is nice, in some ways. I think Imogen and Genevieve are getting cabin fever though. I hear them yelling at each other in the next room.

Genevieve's room

Today we did nothing. The girls built forts out of blankets and chairs and spent most of the day in them. The weather outside is frightful, but the central heating is delightful.

Last night I sent Genevieve into her room to clean it up. Imogen reported a few minutes later. "Genevieve isn't cleaning her room."

"Oh?" I said. "Go pick up five things in Genevieve's room."

"Why?" she said.

"Because you're just so interested in it," I said. So she left.

Several minutes later, Genevieve appeared and said in her best tragic shaky-whiny-pathetic voice, "Imogen didn't put those things away. She just threw them all in a basket."

"How many things have you picked up?" I asked.

Long pause. "Zero," she whispered. Seriously? She's going to complain that someone else isn't cleaning up her mess adequately?

"Go clean your room," I said. She ran from the room, screaming over her shoulder, "I'm going to sit in there and DO NOTHING!"

"That'll show me!" I called after her.

When they were little, like one year old, I used to have them help me pick up their toys and put them in the toy box. It's not like this whole pick-up-your-own-mess concept is new to them. Hasn't sunk in yet though.

Quiet mornings

Blue

I got a new little camera for an early birthday gift (thanks mom!) It's been a good winter for cameras. It can take videos (among other things). Imogen and Genevieve love videos. You hit record and they act like complete idiots and then they watch the clip, cackling maniacally as if it's the funniest thing that ever managed to be captured on screen. Then I delete the clip and they beg me to record another one.

Hard days

Some days at school seem to be harder than others. They come home and they are in weepy grouchy moods. And they have such a strange mother that my reaction is to point a camera at them.

When they were little they would sometimes pitch these horrid screaming tantrums. Nothing would get them out of it. I usually just dragged them to their room and let them scream it out, until they were willing to be civilized. But sometimes, for my own entertainment, I had to take pictures of them, red faced, tears streaming, mouths open as they vented a rage that only a two year old can feel.

These days it is much harder to get pictures of my children when they are upset. For one thing, they don't abandon themselves to their anger like they did when they were younger. Which is not to say that they do not get angry, but it is less of a blind fury and more directed anger with an actual cause. And for another, they simply don't like these types of pictures. When they're upset, hiding their face from me is an easy and petty rebellion with no consequences. I've managed to catch a few and when they look at them later, they don't like the photographs. I don't know if it's embarrassment or simply remembering being upset.

Either way, I'm sure they wish I would get over my compulsion to take pictures of these tragic moments in their lives. Like that's going to happen any time soon.

Camera inheritance

Until last month, this is the camera I was using. There's nothing inherently wrong with it, just that it's old. I bought it when Genevieve was a baby. Digital cameras have come a long way in six years. But it's still perfectly functional and not overly complicated, so I gave it to Imogen and Genevieve. Imogen likes it more, but tends to shoot a lot of pictures of the dogs. They both spend more time viewing pictures they have taken than taking more pictures. For some odd reason I thought they should know how to delete pictures off the camera and so they never save a shot. They take a few pictures, look at them, the delete them. I informed Imogen that the camera would hold over 100 pictures and she said, "Really?" Um, yes.

I'm cold...

It snowed today.


Just a little bit.

Back in school

Imogen, Genevieve and I all started school on Monday. This is my last semester. Unless I have a total nervous breakdown, I'll graduate in May. The girls both have quite a few years left ahead of them.

Life gets so busy. I try to snatch as much time as I can to play with them, talk to them. We write notes to each other on the wipe off board side of their easel. "I love you mommy! I hope you have a good day!" And I write a reply. The notes are repetitive and not necessary, since we see each other several times a day, but they always make me smile when I see them. And usually make them come and hug me when they see them.

Imogen handed me a note today that she meant to give me at Christmas. It said something like, "MeRrY cHrIsTmAs MoMmY! I think fish are boing this too! I love you! ImOgEn" Then there was a drawing of two stick men holding hands and they were labeled "Me" and "You". Very random child...

Shoes

Fuzzy

The trauma of Life (tm)

Imogen and Genevieve got several board games for Christmas. They typically love/are obsessed with games, whether electronic (Wii, Nintendo DS), of the card variety (Go fish, Uno, etc.) or on a board of some kind. They received Battleship, which I left in Texas, and Life and Clue which I left in Missouri when I went to Texas.


But now that we're home, I'm expected to get these games out and teach them how to play them. Why didn't I foresee this? I have a long history of saying "No noisey electronic toys" and "No movies that make me want to drive an ice pick into my ears". So it's not as if I have no self preservation when suggesting for gifts for my children.


Yesterday we played Clue. The girls argued over who got to be Miss Scarlet so I decided that I got to be Miss Scarlet. The ruled declared that Miss Scarlet goes first. On my first turn I made it into the nearest room and got to suggest the who, where and with what of the murder. I asked them if they could prove me wrong. Nope, they both said. Are you sure, I said. Yes, they assured me. Are you sure, I said. They were sure. What are the chances that I guessed completely right on the very first turn? Not quite good enough apparently. "Oh you said the lounge?" Imogen said.


So today we played Life. I remember playing Life as a child and either I was playing it wrong or they've changed it up a bit and added new elements to game play. The rules were laid out on a three page book, front and back. Call me lazy, but doesn't that seem excessive? Genevieve cried often. When Imogen had a kid before she did. When Imogen had more kids than she did. When Imogen had more life cards than she did. And when I won the game entirely. I cheated excessively, but not to win. If I didn't like the square someone was about to land on, I "miscounted". Thus, Imogen didn't have to pay for college for her four children, Genevieve didn't have to pay taxes and got more raises than she should have, and I didn't get to sue anyone.

After the game was over, Genevieve knew she needed to stop crying in front of me, so she quietly slipped away to her room to cry alone. She returned just as I was done packing away the game with it's excessive number of tiny pieces. Life's hard on a little kid, I guess.

Last days of Christmas break

We're enjoying these last few days before school starts up again. I tell the girls to clean up their rooms and as usual, they make their beds, painstakingly arranging stuffed animals. Then they get bored and decide the room is clean enough.


Some people get tired of my many photo shoots. When does it ever end? When they move out, of course.


Genevieve is my less willing model but even she is tolerant. Most of the time.

Home again

We're back from Texas. We've been back for a few days. We still have unpacking to do. The tree needs to be taken down. There's a new dog that lives behind us and he barks all night long. The girls have abandoned their good travel behavior and have been bickering as usual. Our trip was fun and relaxing, but it's always good to be home, getting back into your normal routine with the addition of laying awake at night wishing that stupid dog would just shut up.

More beach pictures

At the beach

Yesterday my father and Lana drove us down to Matagorda and Blessing, TX. We looked up some family history and we went to the beach. I wanted Imogen and Genevieve to be able to see the ocean for the first time. But it's January, so I thought it would be too cold to swim. I still think it was too cold to swim.


I thought, they can walk around in the sand, which they did.


And get their feet wet. Which they did. Along with the rest of themselves. This is Imogen and Naomi


This is Caleb.


Imogen got soaked. Which, she informed me, "is the point of the beach".

Happy New Year!

Imogen

Imogen's motorcycle ride.

Genevieve

Genevieve's motorcycle ride.

Christmas tree

Morning

Christmas 3

This has all been very exhausting for the dog.

Christmas 2

Christmas

Lunch time

Christmas lights...

Humiliations never cease

Before.



After.

Early Christmas gift

My new totally awesome toy.

Genevieve

Genevieve doesn't believe in being overly cooperative.


See the part of her hair in front that's poking up? The overly short part? Back in October she cut that off of her hair. Since it's been two months, you can imagine how short it used to be. And I asked her, "Why? Why front and center? Why so short?" And she said, "I dunno."

Imogen

Melly.



Imogen has strange ideas of hair decor.

Blackmail material

Some day Imogen will regret her unwillingness to look like a normal human being any time I point a camera at her. That day will be when she brings a boy home.

*cue evil laughter*

Genevieve not feeling well

We've had a stomach bug making a sporadic appearance around here. Someone gets sick (say, at Target) but then they get well fairly quickly. Genevieve was threw up last night (perhaps because we had a Christmas celebration yesterday with some of Jeremy's family and it is quite possible she had nothing but candy and cookies to eat all day). This morning she woke up feeling bad and now, as of 2 this afternoon, she is running around playing.

Expect more...

I hate tummy aches. It's such a vague symptom. I don't really know what to do with it.

Yesterday, or perhaps the day before, I got a call from Genevieve's school. "Genevieve is here in the office with a tummy ache." Fine. I went and got her and brought her home where she perked up immediately, ate lunch, and watched movies. I couldn't help feeling like I'd been had.

So today, Imogen does the same thing. The office calls and says Imogen has a stomach ache, please come get her. Today, I was even more irritated because I had planned to attend Genevieve's class Christmas party and would now be unable. I took Imogen home with the idea that this was more of the same. I needed to go to Target so I asked her if she felt up to it.

"Are you sure?" I asked three times. "Yes," she said three times. She should have said no. I was in the toy aisle when I turned around and found her sitting on the floor, a vacant look in her eyes. I put her in the cart. I only needed one or two more things so I went to grab them quickly.

"I think I'm going to throw up," she said. Oh no, I thought. I rushed for the bathroom. Five steps later, she vomited all over. All over herself, all over the cart, all over the things I was planning to buy, all over my purse. I gaped at her, not even sure what to do in this situation. I mean, on one hand, it seems rude to not buy these things. On the other hand, am I supposed to tell the check out person to not mind the sticky orange colored vomit as she rings it all up? One of these toys is for a friend of the girls'. Do I wash it up and hope it doesn't smell wonky when she opens it? Speaking of smell, it's ironic that Jeremy's new deodorant was now dripping in puke. Yes, these were the thoughts running through my horrified mind as I stood there listening to the contents of my child's stomach drip onto the floor.

A Target employee walked by.

"Excuse me?" I said. "We had a... accident?" She ran to get the appropriate people, who were wonderfully understanding. They cleaned up the floor and the cart and bagged up newly worthless merchandise, directed us to an employee restroom where we could clean up and very tactfully suggested that Imogen go home.

"Just so you know," I said to Imogen on the way out, "When I said, 'Do you feel well enough to go to Target?' the correct answer was 'No.'"

Suspense

I just got done locking myself in my room to wrap some gifts. This raises my children's anticipation levels astronomically. Which is hilarious. They spent time at the door asking what each other's gifts were which I pretended to be willing to tell them if they sent the other person away, then I gave some variation of burnt tortilla/fresh tortilla/smelly tortilla/colorful tortilla (??) as an answer, which I found much more humorous than they did. Ah well.

Finally Imogen tired of the farse, turned to her sister and said, "C'mon, Genevieve, I have a new plan for attack!" I listened carefully as her voice dropped. I heard "Ok, *murmer murmer murmer* 'Chaaaaarge!' *murmer murmer* Got it?"

Genevieve apparently assented and preparations continued for half a minute in silence, then Genevieve yelled, "CHAAAAR-"

"No, Genevieve!" Imogen interupted. Then I started hearing this odd tapping. It got quieter as they moved across the house, then they bellowed, "CHAAAAARGE!!!" and I heard the thump of their footsteps and the tapping became louder and more frantic. They arrived at my locked bedroom door and then there was silence.

I waited for their next move for a moment then, unable to withstand the suspense, said, "Hello?" There was a pause and then they thumped and tapped away again. Apparently Imogen is one of those generals who works on a dramatic enterence but doesn't know what to do once that is accomplished. They eventually came back and I unlocked the door to see what was up. Imogen had Genevieve's old tap shoes and Genevieve had Imogen's old heals and they were banging them together in the grand tradition of Monty Python- which they have never seen- as they moved through their house.

I laughed when I saw them through the crack in the door, then Imogen gave me a cheesey grin, before she realized that this was the perfect opportunity. She tried to peek around me and I slammed the door shut. I heard her say, "We need a new plan."

I spent the next several minutes hiding gifts and cleaning up because it's time to make dinner. When I left my room again, they were still in the hallway. Genevieve was holding her trick or treating pumpkin bucket and Imogen was wearing a bike helmet and holding a rake. Without waiting to hear the new plan, I threatened to return all their gifts if they so much as touched my bedroom door.

Hmm..

"Mommy, what's bigger: an alligator or a crocodile?"

"A dragon."

"Oh..."

My tree

This year, I put up my tree when the girls were at school. Usually I let them help, but they made the near fatal error of breaking one of my ornaments last year, and I'm still not over it. Every since I got married, I've collected ornaments.


I have special ornaments I buy for special occasions.



I have hand painted ornaments given to me as gifts.



I have pretty ornaments I buy for no other reason than that they are pretty.

My front yard

A couple weeks ago.

Chess

After many months of very sporadic playing, the girls asked me to play chess with them. Being is a masochistic mood, I agreed.

Imogen sets up the board while I finish something up in the kitchen and decides that she gets to play white. Genevieve informs me that she will play white when it's her turn as well. Usually I enforce rules of good sportsmanship and make us randomly choose colors, but today I don't care. I sit down to play Imogen and she loses quickly resigning before it gets too bloody. I inform her that I am not a good chess player.

"Wow!" she said. "I'm really bad then!"

Yes. Yes, you are.

Then I played Genevieve. Playing Genevieve is different than playing Imogen, and perhaps different than playing anyone in the world. Early in the game she dramatically declares to me "You're not going to get to take my queen like you did Imogen's!" and then she moves the queen right next to my pawn so that I can capture it. I let her have it back and tell her to reconsider the move.

She opens with a couple pawn moves and moves her knights out, then her game quickly devolves into moving the remaining pieces back and forth on the back file. She moves out the king bishop, sacrificing it with abandon so that she can castle. She takes one of my knights and laughs maniacally ignoring the fact that she traded a rook and two pawns for it. One of my pawns single handedly clears the center of the board which leaves it unguarded and she moves a rook in front of it so that she can block it from queening, neglecting the mundane tactic of simply capturing it with one of her rapidly dwindling supply of pieces.

As I study the board trying to see how to end the carnage quickly, she plays with the captured pieces. A queen feeds a knight some oats. I move and she said, "I don't know what to move."

"You could resign," I suggest hopefully.

"No," she scoffs and sacrifices her remaining rook.

"Check," I say. She gasps. It's over in two more moves.

Happy Halloween!

Genevieve was a cat.


Imogen was a robber. She thought of this costume herself. She had the shirt on hand, and I got her handcuffs and broke them in half and painted a mask on her face which deteriorated throughout the evening.


We went to a Halloween party at a friend's house. This is one of the games we played.


Bobbing for apples. This is Imogen's third one.

An evening...

"Hey Genevieve, look grouchy!"




Imogen leaving school on Open House night.




Sunset.