It's so quiet...

They've gone.

The shoes in the hallway...

The backpacks along the coffee table...

The blankets piled on the chair...




The toothbrushes and toiletries scattered along the bathroom counter...

All of this packed and gone, along with the seven people we adore and will now miss.

I hope you enjoyed the rest and relaxion of our mellow lifestyle and surprisingly cold state. Thanks for the quotable conversations, photo opportunities and multiple movie nights.

It was really good having you here.

Love you.

Hey, I found a loophole for inappropriate stories!

I was brought up very well. Some might say that I had a fairly idyllic childhood: two parents who (still) adore each other, one sister, one brother, all close in age, all of us best friends. We weren't just raised in the "church" but with prayer and the Word. Homeschooled, protected from evils, loved like crazy.

All this begs the question, where did I go wrong? No, wait: Where did Beth go worse? Do you know how much she likes to say "penis" and blog about penises? I mean, really. I'm not one to nickname a significant part of my sons' anatomies, so the word penis is mentioned around here (usually with something having to do with potties), but Beth is... worse.

The thing is, when Bethany's at home, we're on IM for hours every evening while she blogs, and we say these things to each other that we don't (I don't) say to other people, like, you know, in public. Turns out that this is a practice that's rather difficult to uncondition. Ahem. We say things that make our mother blush. No, seriously. Apparently she actually blushed in the diner the other morning when Beth said something (I didn't hear, unfortunately) about, of all things, vaginas. Poor Mom. I actually feel bad for her.

Case in point: as the kids (between our three families, we have about 125) were bedding down for the evening, we were biding time by watching "Knight Rider." Bryan was watching it; we were sitting there mocking it. I'm pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do, anyway. So, there's this shot in the scene of some wacked, random implement in the middle of the garage, just beyond KITT, and Bethany goes, "Wow, that was random." The scene cuts to the bad guys lowering identical wacked implement into their wacked implement thingy, and, ah, that explains that random shot.

My mouth opens and this pops out: "Scary phallic bomb."
Mom: "I'm going to work on my (Facebook) farm." She all but runs to her computer.
Bryan (laughing): "That's what they call a weapon of mass destruction."
Bethany: "That's what she said."

Bryan and I laughed so hard, I expect our neighbors filed noise complaints. I'm pretty sure Beth's only saving grace here is that Mom may not understand the joke. I'm hoping.

So anyway, kids, remember that no matter how good your upbringing, you can still go wrong if you spend too much time on that evil place they call "The Net." Also pray that I bite my tongue in time so I stop driving my mother from the room. Thanks.

This is my life

Certain members of my family are visiting at the moment, and by members I don't mean appendages of any kind but the persons to which they're attached. Which is nonsense, I realize, but I have good reason to be writing with only a third of my good sense and that good reason is this person:



He's three. He's three, and he is the bane of my sleep, has been since the very first hour of his life, nay, since the sixth month of his gestation.

This child is a vampire. He is the vampire to end all vampires and by this I mean he doesn't sleep, and by that I mean he's got me beat. With a very large stick.

So, as I mentioned, my mother and sister are visiting with various offspring. Asher, the vampire mentioned above, is thrilled. Various offspring! Friends! Come play Castle Crashers and swords and ninja turtles! Let's wrestle and hug and share Goldfish and never sleep again!

I'm fairly certain all of these thoughts either ran through his mind or from his tongue at some point during the day. Actually, I'm convinced they were still running through his mind during the night as well because this child went to bed at 7:30, woke up at 10:15 and didn't go back to sleep until 6:30. I know because I was awake the entire time, begging and threatening and putting him back on the pillow over and over and over and over while I held back tears and violence.

The last straw, which I believe was sometime before 6:30 when (apparently) my nephew decided it was morning, was when Asher complained that he didn't want the bugs to bite him. I threw my hands in the air and swore there were no bugs (it's January and snowing!), and would you pleeeeeeease go. to. sleep?! Two minutes later, I kid you not, he said, aloud and with great vehemence, "Go away!" I got up again to shush him only to see that he's lying flat on the floor (of our room in his sleeping bag, which is my version of a desperate measure), staring at the nothing that's above him. Then, "Stop it!"

I officially freaked out, picked him up, cradled him and sat in my bed while he zoned with his head on my chest.

It still took him another hour before he really fell asleep, which means I didn't actually fall asleep until Bryan's alarm went off.

I love my kid, but the vampire's life is a hard one to row, particularly when I'm living it for both of us. Just saying.