Family Photos: It Sounded Like a Good Idea

Every time my family gets together, my mom requests a picture with her and Mark and the grandkids for their Christmas card, a picture of the daughters and her, and picture of whomever is receiving the most recently completed quilt.

The thing about taking pictures with small children, though, is that anything is a distraction.  Not just loud noises and such, but things like pinecones and the sky are distracting.  It's hard to blame them, really; who wants to look at a shrieking adult with a camera when you could look at a cat?

Norah Mae desperately wanted Ed the Cat (that is his full and respectful title, thank you), and the magical powers of The Ed made Charlotte smile.  Kelli and Aaron are just well-trained.

We tried bringing Ed into the shot, to see if it would be less distracting, but the lure of his soft fur proved irresistible to Vada.

I have thirteen photos of Vada petting Ed, who is very tolerant for an elderly cat. 

Ellie was more interested in petting humans, but she's one and hasn't yet grasped the difference between a gentle stroke and a sharp tug.

Char is upset because she just got her hair yanked.  Ellie is upset because she got scolded for yanking.

Aren't pictures fun, children?  Are we having a good time yet?

Because they obviously weren't having a good time, at one point we took a break and the children instantly scattered, darting into the trees.

Eventually we got all the children in one photo with Mom and Mark.  As for everyone all smiling, well...

Let's be honest: I think we all know I'm using this post as an excuse to show you how adorable my family is.

Not to mention these two, who are clearly MFEO. (Made For Each Other.  Name that movie!)

They're also the ones to receive the latest quilted offering from my mother.

It's their wedding quilt.  We won't discuss how long they've been married.  (HINT:  I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with Caedmon at their wedding, and somebody just had a birthday...)  A quilt that size has to take forever, though, and I love how it looks like stained glass.  To me, anyway.

Next time, my mother sports a halo of daughters and we discuss why you should feel sorry for her!

First We Did Things, Then We Did More Things

Earlier this month we were in Kansas, and while in Kansas you do fun things like golf and golf and then golf some more (Derek and Mark), walk up a flight of 77 steps a dozen times (Mom and me), and watch a window being replaced like it's the most fascinating thing you ever have or ever will see (the three youngest Crislers).

Please note that it is only Adelaide and Caedmon watching the window show; Atticus was eschewing temptation and studiously plowing his way through schoolwork.

Upon leaving Iowa, Atticus and Adelaide's teachers each sent us on our way with a merry, "Have fun!" and a thick packet of work for missing three days' worth of school for our trip.  I was so thankful they did this; it meant I didn't have to worry about the kids being behind and swamped with work when they returned on Monday.  I found this difficult to communicate in my Thank You notes, however- "Thank you SO MUCH for all the homework you sent with my child," can't help but come off as sarcastic.  And I was so sincere!

Oh, well.  Parent Teacher Conferences are approaching, their teachers will have a chance to converse with me, and they'll figure out just what they're dealing with here. 

When we weren't nervously watching people replace a second floor window, we were at Tanganyika, which is a word I did not make up.

Tanganyika is a zoo in Wichita that boasts two big pluses:  It's very small, and very hands-on.  I'm not normally real big on zoos; I spend so much time feeling sorry for the animals in their cages I can't really enjoy myself.  I had that feeling once at Tanganyika, watching the tiger slowly devolve into mental illness as he paced the same ten foot section in his much-bigger-than-ten-feet enclosure.  The rest was nice, though, as it consisted of much smaller, more social animals that seemed more compatible to life in a zoo.  Note:  All these zoo opinions of mine are just that:  Opinions.  Please don't think I've done anything like extensive research.  ¿Entiende?

Moving on from zoo guilt:

The lorikeets were a big favorite with most of us- see a thrilled Atticus feeding them, above- and even fun for those of us whose heads were constantly being violated while in the pen.

Caedmon + Lorikeets = True Love 4-Ever.  Or not.

One of the things I liked best was that most of the animal enclosures had their own keeper supervising any feeding or touching of their animals, and gave pretty specific instructions on how to interact with and respect their assigned animals.  We were only allowed into the kangaroo area once we had repeated back to the gal that we would only approach the kangaroos if they were lying down, and only from behind, never from in front, and to hold still and not touch them if they approached us.

Which they did.  

If I remember correctly, this kangaroo's name is Gloria.  She looks like she will have no part of our son's shenanigans.

We also visited the rabbits because apparently, when forced to choose between their mother and soft, soft varmints, they will always choose the varmints.  I felt like Mrs. Bennet; nobody cared about my poor nerves.

Atticus has officially entered the Giant Feet Stage.  He looks like a puppy now, all skinny limbs and oversized paws.

The tortoises were a little more my speed (har, har).

Each boy fed a tortoise a lettuce leaf with a clothes pin.  Adelaide opted to feed the lemurs instead, which you will have to picture using your rich imaginations as photography was forbidden on Lemur Island.  I forget why.

It was all so enjoyable, but I realized, on the hour+ drive back to my Mom's, that our children aren't really old enough to fall asleep in the car after a busy activity.  This means I need them to hurry up and learn to drive so I can sleep in the car; I have got that particular talent down.

A Rain Barrel, Butterfly, and Not Dying a Fiery Death List

• There was no school yesterday, so the kids and I spent a blustery morning at the nearby public garden, where I did not covet my neighbor's maidservant nor his cattle, but I did covet this:

Aren't they beautiful?  That downspout goes directly on top of the rain barrel!  And those handy, well-off-the-ground spigots?  Swoon.  

We're big on water conservation in the first place; for all that I plant, I water very little, usually just our front container plantings, and part of my end-of-the-day routine is to go around and gather all the cups in the kitchen and dumping the leftover water into a pitcher to help water those front flowers (I just couldn't stand to pour another of those half-full cups down the drain every night, and I try not to do it when anyone's sick), but a rain barrel has long been on my Want list.  We get so much rain here, it really does feel wasteful not to utilize as much of it as possible.  Anyone have any recommendations on rain barrels?  What to avoid, what has worked for you, etc?

• I saw this butterfly in the butterfly house:

It was huge and beautiful-ugly and as such reminded me of the huge, beautiful-ugly orange-white-and-black sofa set my best friend's parents had in their front room throughout our growing up years.  I don't know how many times I collapsed on that couch and loveseat after hours of through-the-night choreography sessions (basically what our sleepovers consisted of).  You never know when nostalgia is going to strike, do you?  

• We took a ride on an old train over the weekend, and, because it was an out-and-back route (I'm so sorry, I just can't seem to keep myself from over-hyphenating today, not to be confused with over-caffeinating, which I am also doing today.  Perhaps the two are connected?  I usually get very, very angry when people insist on finding causal relationships between two things that are tenuously connected at best, but I think in this one I'll give myself a pass.  For this post, at least, we'll say over-caffeinating causes over-hyphenating.  Except it doesn't.)...

Where was I?

Pretty.  Deadly.  Pretty deadly.

Oh, yes.  It was an out-and-back route, which means we had to go over a tall, tall, FAR FAR FAR off the ground bridge, on an old, antique train.  Have I mentioned my terror of bridges?  How much I hate them, especially when they go over water?  Have I mentioned that it's worse when you're on a rickety train on a rickety track?  (Right, so it may not have been that rickety; I'm sure it's all in good repair, but the only trains I've ridden have been subways and the trains from Connecticut into New York and back, and they are an entirely different animal.)

The worst part was, while still traversing the bridge, a good portion of the large family in front of us all rushed to one side of the car to see the view out those windows and I was like, "LET'S PLAY A LITTLE GAME CALLED "DON'T UPSET THE TRAIN CAR!"  WINNER DOESN'T GO PLUNGING TO THEIR DEATH FAR BELOW!"

Atticus, at least, felt my pain.

The Smart One

Whilst Caedmon spent most of the trip something like this:

Everyone turned black-and-white immediately upon entering the old-fashioned train cars.  Or I applied an "Inkwell" filter to this photo in Instagram.  Pick your poison.

I'm sure Adelaide had an equally adorable expression on her face during the ride, but I'm afraid I didn't capture that, as I was busy praying for the survival of everyone on board, even the would-be train-tippers.  You're welcome, fellow passengers.

Touchy Feely

This morning Atticus woke up, ate his breakfast, then crawled into my lap and asked me to tell him stories about when he was born and when he was a baby, because our children love to hear those tales any day, but on their birthdays?  I better pull out the sparkliest memories of all.

Today, though, the only memories available for extraction seemed to be the one where Atticus had blue feet and the one where I finally figured out how to make him stop crying on a night where he refused to stop.

Even while telling them, I figured these would be boring and disappointing to our favorite middle child, but as it turns out, as long as he is in the story and I infuse the tale with love and warmth, he is happy.  He was thrilled to hear that from the day he was born until he was around a month or two old, his feet would get cold and start to turn blue every time he ate, which made nursing him a two-hand job:  One to hold a gulping Atticus, one to rub his feet and remind them to get circulatin'.  Then he held on to every word about how one night, when he was just a couple months old, he would not, would not, would not stop crying.  He didn't want to eat, he didn't need a diaper change, he wasn't cold, nothing.  After trying one thing after another, in desperation I gave him a bath, which he screamed through, laid him on a towel on the floor of the living room, diapered him, and began to massage his limbs with lotion.
I told seven-year-old Atticus how two-month-old Atticus finally quieted and spent the next twenty minutes gazing at me while I slowly rubbed his skinny arms and his skinny legs.  To this day Atticus is a big-time toucher, and the recounting of the story seemed just as satisfying and mesmerizing to him as the actual event.

Tonight we are going bowling, and we are eating pizza, and he will open a present or two.  In between I will be sure to ruffle his hair, and rub his back, and pull him into me for frequent hugs, because this is the kind of love he has craved his whole life, from lanky, squally infant to lanky, goofy first grader.

The best part?  Now he hugs back.

My Favorite Wasteland

Last week we headed south to spend the better part of a week at my mom and Mark's.

Even just driving through, the Flint Hills remain one of my favorite places to be, forever and ever, amen.

Now, because I'm guessing most of you don't count the Flint Hills among your favorite vacation destinations, I snapped this crappy picture from our moving vehicle.  Years ago, I read an article by a globe-trotting photographer who, amongst all the places he'd visited, absolutely loved the Flint Hills, but always felt very torn when people found out he'd recently been to Kansas and subsequently asked him if it was as beautiful as his pictures suggested.  He felt that a major part of the beauty of my home state lay in how unspoiled much of it seems, and so, even though he was tempted to expound upon its loveliness, he instead replied, "Nah, man.  Kansas is a wasteland."  

And here's the sun gathering up its skirts and preparing to rise over the wasteland, which we got to see because when we left to return to Iowa we had to leave early enough in the day to be back to watch the Vikings game.  I am not kidding.

I'll be writing all about our trip next week, but because telling stories in order is hard, today you get the brackets of the trip, traveling south then traveling north.

Soon after that sunrise, we found ourselves being tailed by a white Honda.  

I know it's hard, but do try and tear your eyes away from that captivating phone case and note the little white car in the sideview mirror.  Fun fact:  My first car did not have a right sideview mirror, nor did it have air-conditioning, a clock, a radio, power steering, etc...

This little car remained firmly behind us for a good 200 or so miles.  Derek's theories as to why the Honda did not want to venture out on its own:

• They had Oklahoma plates and everyone knows that Oklahoma is one giant speed trap [it's true, you know; Oklahoma troopers are utterly without mercy], and the driver knows how radar works, so they're sticking close to a larger vehicle so they don't get caught speeding.

• They, too, wanted to watch Frozen, the feature presentation in our van during that stretch of road.
• They saw our Iowa plates and wanted to soak up the greatness.

Pretty sure he ended up going with theory #3, because as a t-shirt of his reads, it's hard to be humble when you're from Iowa.

And as final proof of my love for the Sunflower State, I would like to point out that I made well under a dozen derogatory jokes about the sign on a motel in my hometown that has recently changed brands/chains/name, from the Comfort Inn to the Quality Inn, and who advertised this change on their sign, stating that they were "Formally Comfort Inn."  This can only mean they are the Comfort Inn on special occasions, and the Quality Inn is for everyday casual.  

Oh, Kansas.  I love you anyway.

I Must Have Missed That Memo

 I recently began to notice that the siding on the outside of our house was looking a little dingy, specifically on the front porch, because most days it's absolutely gorgeous outside right now, and so I sit in the rocking chairs and I read the books and I watch the kids and I notice the siding is filthy.

I didn't think much about it at first, because really:  Is this a thing?  Is washing siding a thing that people do?  I don't remember my mom ever washing the siding on our house.  That's not to say she didn't, but I never saw it, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone else washing the siding on the outside of their houses, so I just decided to ignore the grime.  I am very good at this.  You might even say I have a knack.

After a few days, however, it was all I could look at anytime I wanted to walk in our front door; not Hermione, not my flowers whose beauty I surely need to soak up now that their days are numbered, but the dirt on the siding.  And I began to wonder if this was one of those things that could be filed under my Adulthood Orientation conspiracy theory.

First of all, I have a number of conspiracy theories, and like all crazy people conspiracy theorists, I love to talk about these.  The one pertinent to today's topic is Adulthood Orientation, namely that such a thing exists, and that I was purposely not invited upon entering my own adulthood.

How many times have I been struck by sudden inspiration- You can stuff newspaper in your wet shoes so they'll dry out faster!  Meat should be thawed before you attempt to cook it!  Camping is nearly always a terrible idea!- only to have someone else say, "Well, yeah.  You didn't know that?"

How do all these people know all the things?  Where are they getting this information?  I was a perfectly adequately informed child and adolescent; it's only upon achieving adulthood that everyone else suddenly has all this useful information stuffed in their brains while I'm left floundering:  How is everyone always so organized?  Why can I still not understand the concept of escrow, even after countless explanations by myriad helpful people?  What is going on?  Osmosis?  Simple learning?  Or a class dedicated solely to subjects useful to adults- an orientation, if you will- that everyone but me was invited to? I think we all know what the answer is, here.

Apparently regular siding washing in spots not reachable by rainwater was one of the topics covered, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to let the siding get to this state:

Left:  Clean.  Right:  Embarrassing.

At least we'd only lived in this house, ahem, six years before I finally noticed that perhaps, perhaps, something should be done.  You know, by an adult who obviously knows about these kinds of things.

Look, a bucket of water, pre-siding cleaning!  Looking all clean and watery, just the way water should!

Look, a bucket of nastiness!  And this is only a quarter of the way through!  Heavens!

The truly scary thing is that Derek is such a terrifyingly capable adult that he has to have been one of the instructors in these classes.  And yet I was still snubbed?!  What have I married?





Seriously, though:  Escrow.  The first person to attempt to explain this concept to me was an English teacher in high school, and the last was Derek for the fifth time.  My brain simply refuses to understand.  Send help, or maybe a flow chart?  Are flow charts something that could be used to explain escrow?  I wouldn't know.

What, This Happens Every Year?

You know you're falling down on this whole parenting thing when someone comments on the fact that your kid's birthday is in a week and you're like, "What?"  Then they have to convince you that yes, your son's birthday is in seven days, and oh, yeah, doing something to celebrate that birthday would probably be a good idea.

So, yeah.  This kid.  His birthday is on Friday.

His face when he was tiring of regular photos and Derek started shouting, "You're fierce!  You're a tiger!"  Because of course I can't just put a nice smiley photo on here.  I just happen to prefer this kind.

Luckily he has a father who is on top of these things; apparently we are going bowling and having pizza, as per Atticus's request.  I mean, I remember having a bowling-and-pizza conversation with our son at some point, but I also remember thinking that his birthday was a long way off, as in, Well, at least I don't have to worry about that until October.  But as it turns out, it is October.  Right now.  Please tell me this is shocking to someone else, as well.


Thankfully, after this birthday, I don't have to worry about missing anyone else's until my own in December.  All we have before then are a couple tiny little holidays called Halloween, which is basically a two-week long exercise in managing our children's expectations, and Thanksgiving, where I get to make and consume mass amounts of pie.

This photo is scary because all I can look at are those hats and mittens hanging up to dry in the background.  If  Pie Season is creeping up on us, then cold-winter-snow assuredly is, too.  Blargh.

And best of all, since Adelaide successfully made that pecan pie last Thanksgiving, she's already planning what kind of new and different pie she wants to make this year.  This definitely puts her in the running for Favorite Daughter, a joke she rolls her eyes at every time I say it, which means I repeat it all the time.