A Bird in the Hand is Worth 4 Shushing Girls in the House

My teenager can catch just about anything. I'm not talking a cold or chicken pox. I'm talking other living creatures. She possesses quick reflexes and can snatch a butterfly out of the air as it flutters by without breaking her constant stream of talking. She's the kid I always send after the dogs when they take off down the road; she sprints after them and can grab them by the collar before they even smell her presence. We were delighted, but not necessarily surprised, when she came into the house with a big smile on her face and whispered, "Look what I caught!"

The poor thing had somehow flown into the garage (under the door that was only open a foot or so from the ground) and trapped itself up against the one window. Allison walked right over and scooped it up. She fully intended to set it free; she just wanted to show off for her younger sisters, so she brought it in.

We didn't want its little bird heart to explode from terror, so we said our hellos quickly and quietly. The twins and I oohed and aahed, petted its tiny head, and then watched it spring from Allison's hand and fly off into the trees.



Dinner last night: oven-baked chicken, brown rice, green beans

Exactly 5 years ago:

Lilacs

Exactly 6 years ago:

Daisy Among the Daisies

Exactly 8 years ago:

So Much to Talk About, So Little to Say

Exactly 9 years ago:

Summer Solstice

Switcheroo

This post started out as a sentimental journey.

My husband and the twins tore down the wooden swingset this past weekend, and I was feeling verklempt about the passage of time and the symbolic ending to my daughters’ childhoods. Mind you, no one was sentimental enough to take a “before" picture, so I had to reach back through the annals of time to find this:



Yep. That’s the old swingset covered in snow. Unfortunately, it was also covered in ants. Carpenter ants. Wood-eating carpenter ants had destroyed the integrity of the top beam holding the swings. It had to come down. Besides, the girls haven’t used their play equipment even once this year; they’re growing up and moving on to other things. They agreed with my husband that our family would benefit more from a roomier backyard in which to run around and play volleyball.



There’s the big empty space where happy memories were once made by frolicking children. Wait a minute. Hold up. Do you see what I see?

Dang nabbit, there’s a dumb moose sabotaging my sentimental memories. Why does it look so mad? I’m not the one ruining the picture, you twig-eating skinny-legged cow. Get out of my shot, you grumpy thing, you!



Oh! Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I was ranting in front of your cute little calf.

Carry on.

Dinner last night: meatloaf (ground beef—not moose!), mashed potatoes and gravy, corn

Exactly 9 years ago:

The Moose are Afoot

I’ve Been Making Guacamole for Decades, and I Still Don’t Know My Way Around an Avocado

It happens so often, they call it avocado hand. You’re holding an avocado in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. Yep. The knife may or may not slice the avocado, but it surely ends up slicing the hand.

In my case, I grabbed a pointed butcher knife to stab the stubborn pit. It wouldn’t come out, so I stabbed it harder. The butcher knife slid to the side of the pit, through the avocado, and deep into the crease of my middle finger where the finger attaches to my hand. I knew immediately that I had done something terrible; this was no nick. After running cold water over the laceration that was pumping? pouring? gushing? blood, I forced myself to turn my trembling hand over to see if the knife had punctured all the way through. Phew, it hadn’t. I grabbed a clean dish towel to press into my bleeding hand and began the fun all-day process of visiting the urgent care clinic . . . and . . .

• getting jabbed with a tetanus shot, because I couldn’t remember when I received my most recent vaccination,
• being sent over to a hand specialist due to the deepness of the cut and its tricky location,
• having my hand x-rayed,
• getting my hand numbed (holy crud, that shot hurt worse than the original stabbing),
• receiving the bad news that the very weird numbness in my finger was most likely due to severed nerves,
• hearing the good news that the tendon wasn’t severed,
• and receiving 3 stitches sutures.
• Oh, and then getting my left hand placed in a soft cast, wrapped snugly so my finger will stay immobilized for two weeks.

Did I mention that my wedding band had to be cut off? Swollen fingers and whatnot.

I will spare you the “before" picture; this is the “week after." Stitches come out in two days.



Dinner last night: french dip sandwich

Exactly 5 years ago:

Terror

Exactly 7 years ago:

Behold! The Power of Cheese . . .

Exactly 9 years ago:

The Nursery BEFORE and AFTER