Mud Butts and Bubble Wands

First, that's a great post title, isn't it? Someone should use that for their band.

So this is that post where I put up some videos I've been sitting on for a week or two. Hurray! But wait, these are kind of funny. Promise.

About a week and a half ago, we got some rain. Our driveway, since it isn't paved, is notorious for holding mud puddles. Gabe, exhibiting surprising ingenuity (well, not surprising, really, since it was an ingenious way to get himself dirty, and he has a pretty solid history of coming up with creative ways to do that), made up a fun game.

The videos really say it all.

Maybe the videos don't QUITE say it all. Over the course of this little experiment in bidetery (hurray, I made another new word!), I pointed out to Gabe that not only was he shooting muddy water up his back all the way to his hair, he was, in fact, shooting muddy water straight up his butt. In response to this, he looked back at his butt, laughed, and then scooted back on his seat so that he could shoot MORE muddy water up his butt.

I went ahead and got some pictures, too, and included them here because it is a little easier to see his butt.

The fresh application of a new layer.

The problem with leaning back so he could shoot more mud up his butt is that he lost his balance. He fell off backwards into the frothy puddle that he'd created. Where he played for a few minutes before he got back on the bike.

Then, the other day, Gabe found a small bottle of bubbles that he'd been given, and Libby helped him come up with way to make LOTS of bubbles. She bent a badminton racket, filled up a very small baby pool with ALL of the bubble solution that we had (which was a quite a bit--about a gallon, I think), and let him go at it. The theory was that he would dip the racket, pull it out, then wave it around and make dozens of bubbles at a time. As you can see from the videos, he found a rather more wasteful way of making thousands of very small bubbles instead. She said she learned it from the Bubble Master or Bubble Guy or Mr. Bubble or some "celebrity" of some sort? I have no idea who she's talking about--but, I didn't have access to real television channels as a child so I'm deprived of anything that didn't make network TV. Also, I didn't watch many stupid things (except Bravestarr, which was pretty stupid), so I might have missed it that way, too. I guess the Bubble Guru guy is dead now? Dunno, she said it was in his honor, which is nice even if I had no idea what she was talking about.

One last thing.

Several months ago, Libby bought Gabe a Scotch Tape dispenser. It is a little plastic bracelet that dispenses single strips of tape. We installed one package of the tape, which he proceeded to put on EVERYTHING until he ran out. And then we told him we were "all out" of tape and quietly hid the thing in with his art supplies so he'd forget it even existed. Which he mostly did, until he found it again. And, because the memory of a parent is very short, I forgot what a mess he made with it the first time and refilled it for him.

Then this happened:

At least it only ended up on him and not everywhere else. Nonetheless, the dispenser was put back in the art supplies until the next time he stumbles upon it and I forget what he is able to worchen . . . (that doesn't seem to work. I was going for the present tense/infinitive form of "wrought." The closest I could get was the Middle English version of "work," which completely fails to make any sense, but I'm keeping it anyway because I spent two minutes on dictionary.com looking it up).

Staying Inside

I've actually got a few pretty good videos that I need to get posted up here, but I keep forgetting to post during the day. Libby is home still from having her surgery and, with all the added distraction, I keep forgetting that I have a very important job, posting embarrassing videos of my children, to do. But I'm at work and don't have the memory card with me, so I'll just have to get it later.

What I did want to share was the miserable last couple days that Gabe has had. Miserable days that, to my way of thinking, make it clear that the outside is a place best enjoyed through a quarter inch of glass.

The thing that happened yesterday, in a round-about way, can probably be blamed on me. Libby can't mow. She won't be able to mow for at least a few more weeks. And I hate mowing. Put these things together and you get a somewhat overgrown yard (it's only been a little over a week since she mowed last, so it's not THAT bad yet--but it will get there, believe me, it will get there). Because it was a little shaggy, the clover that pretty much covers our backyard had started to bloom. Gabe, being extraordinarily helpful, volunteered to take a felled branch to our branch pile in the very back corner of our yard for Libby.

Really, he's turning out to be a very helpful little guy. Just thought I should give credit where it's due.

Anyway, he wasn't wearing shoes. On his way back from the brush pile, he let out a yelp followed by a terrible wailing scream. He'd stepped on a bee.

I've never been stung by a bee. Wasps several times, but never a bee. So I can't even really relate.

But he was miserable for about a half hour after that. Libby was able to get the stinger out and I carried him into the house where he laid on the couch for the next hour. After that hour, though, he was over it. And later that night, when he had to pee and Libby was in the bathroom, he went outside, barefoot, into the backyard grass to do it, and he never thought twice about it. He's a tough little bugger, that's for sure.

Which is good because today, apparently (again, I'm at work so I'm just going off what Libby has been texting me all day), he stepped it up a notch. Or it would seem that way to me, anyway. A friend of ours took Gabe out fishing. While out there, Gabe did a fair amount of sitting around in the grass. And guess what's in grass: chiggers. And guess where chiggers like to go when people sit in the grass: crotches. And guess what Gabe has one of: a crotch. And guess where he got a whole mess of chigger bites: his junk.

Yeah. Chigger Junk. One of the most not fun things ever.

I'm just worried about what tomorrow might bring. I don't see how his body can take much more escalation.

Another Argument Against the Likelihood of Our Survival as a Species

Daily, constantly, I am amazed that we have managed to survive for so many millennia. Our children are helpless for SO long compared to other species. We can't even walk, much less run, away from danger for over a year. We can't be trusted to make decisions that reflect the concept of self preservation until we're at least in grade school--and in some people it doesn't kick in until they're in their mid-twenties.

These are problems, but not the ones that I want to discuss today. Today I want to discuss the awesomeness that is NOT having kids--specifically, the NOT having kids after spending four years, more or less non-stop, having kids.

Libby had surgery Tuesday. If you haven't heard about this and are concerned for her well-being, then feel free to ask her about it. I shan't go into it here because it has to do with "girl problems" and I don't like to think about such things. From Monday night until Saturday morning, my parents had the kids.

First, I should note that they did wonderfully over that period (well, from what my parents said, but they might have been telling me what I wanted to hear so we didn't feel bad about dumping the kids on them for so long). Possibly a little TOO well. I mean, it's one thing for them to be well-adjusted enough to not throw tantrums wanting mommy and daddy or to sleep in a bed in someone else's house or whatever. It's quite another for them to not really miss us at all. Neither one of them spent more than a few moments thinking about Libby and I. On the one hand--awesome. That makes it easier to dump them off on other people for a few days should we ever have the gumption to go somewhere without our children. On the other hand--come on! I spend my whole friggin life taking care of you brats, the least you could do is pine over my not being around for five days! A little appreciation here, people!

But, then, I guess it's a two-way street and that is the point of this post. I rather enjoyed not having the kids around for so long.

The last five days have been wonderful. WONDERFUL. I don't think there is a font that could accurately do it justice on here. I was able to go into town, to the hospital, whenever I wanted. I was able to stay for the better part of two and a half days straight. I was able to stay overnight once. I was able to get into my car, without thinking a thing about it, and GO PLACES. I was able to go to bed at my leisure and wake up when I wanted to. And then when Libby came home Thursday afternoon, we were able to do pretty much whatever we wanted. I was able to go into work Thursday and Friday night without a worry (in contrast, we've spent the last couple days talking to friends and trying to work out some way to have people in the house with the kids on Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday next week because Libby can't lift more than ten pounds until the middle of July and we have a two year old in our house--and I have to work).

In essence, it was like being childless again--like that period from the time we got married until Gabe came along. It had been so long since I'd had anything like actual freedom of movement that I had long since forgotten what it was like. I had taken for granted the extraordinary pain in the ass it is to have kids.

Which made me think, "Why don't people tell other people about this kind of thing BEFORE they have kids?" Which made me think, "Clearly, if people told other people about this kind of thing BEFORE they had kids, then normal/thoughtful people wouldn't have kids and only those people who become weirdly obsessed with having children round about the time they hit puberty would be doing the breeding, and then we'd have a world entirely populated by people born to weirdly obsessed teenagers. And what kind of a world would that be?" Almost certainly less populated, if nothing else.

Nonetheless, I'm going to tell prospective parents, outright, that it sucks. Having once again had a taste of near freedom, I'm not going to mince words with you. Your kids are like a shackle around your ankles. They are house arrest. They are a full body cast. They are the spontaneous combustion of your means of transportation and shoes. Worse. They are WHINING shackles and house arrests and full body casts and spontaneous combustions!

Now, clearly I say this because I am freshly embittered. After a few days of having the kids around again, I won't even remember what I was bitching about, or why, or what my name is, or how I got where I was, or any of the other things that usually brain cloud away when I'm around the kids for too long.

Oh, yeah. Did I mention that I was starting to think actual thoughts again about things that weren't to do with Transformers and getting my child to sleep through the night? Granted, they were mostly thoughts about composting and the possibility of introducing vermiculture--worm composting--to the composting experiment that I've been weirdly and inexplicably taken in by over the past month, so not exactly deep or relevant thoughts, but they were my own.

But all of that will be gone soon enough and I won't know any better. Because I love the little buggers. Inconvenient and brain numbing as they are, I love them. And THAT is probably the only reason that we've survived as a species.

(But seriously non-parents--and here I want you to imagine me speaking in a foreboding tone, possibly with a flashlight held under my chin--consider having children CAREFULLY. Do not take the having of children lightly. They will OWN you! You will be in the prison of child-rearing and it will not end soon! Heed my words! I shit you not!)

Ash Cleanup

A friend just reminded me of a funny thing Gabe has been saying off and on for the last few weeks and I wanted to get it down before it was lost forever.

I am pretty sure I mentioned Gabe's obsession with volcanoes. That, of course, was like three weeks or a month ago, so he doesn't think or talk about them at all right now (replaced by the Transformers I've apparently also been obsessed with all week, since I keep talking about them too).

Only a week or two ago, all Gabe could talk about was volcanoes. And he invariably became very animated whenever he was talking about them. Actually, he gets very animated whenever he's talking about whatever he happens to be obsessed with at the time. When excited and animated, he tends to not worry quite so much about pronunciation and elocution--assuming, I believe, that the added hand gestures and invasion of personal space (he usually gets right in a person's face and talks at them to make sure they're paying close attention to the important things he has to say) will make up for understandability.

So, for a couple weeks, every time he stopped someone to tell them about volcanoes, of which he probably knows more than I do now, it usually went something like this: "I've got a volcano movie! My favorite part is the ass clamp!"

Whoever he was talking to would give us a perplexed look.

"Ash cleanup," we would carefully translate. "Yeah, ass clamp," Gabe would verify.

And we laughed and laughed.

That's all. Just wanted to get that one down.

Baby's First Prom

Yesterday, we got a pair of packages from Grammy and Grandpa in New Zealand filled with the kids' birthday presents. Gabe received (among other things) a t-shirt and a rubber band gun that shoots ping pong balls. He wore the t-shirt all day yesterday (even deciding that, since it went down to his knees, he didn't need to wear pants under it, which I disagreed with--but, since he was wearing shorts and I couldn't see them anyway, he was probably right).

We also had a little come to Jesus about toys yesterday and the rubber band gun became involved. Since we started watching the old Transformers series, hardly an hour goes by that Gabe doesn't want me to run right out and buy him ALL of the Transformers that have ever been made. He doesn't grasp the concept of "this show was on over twenty years ago and the toys aren't made anymore (and, yes, I do have a trash can full of them in Mom and Dad's attic, but I'm not going to let you play with those until there's at least a 50% chance that you won't destroy them instantly. Jazz and Optimus Prime have survived for 25 years or so and deserve to be allowed to continue to do so).

Usually I just keep giving him what is quickly becoming an old standard: "Keep saving your allowance and eventually you can buy one of the big Transformers." The problem is, he doesn't have any concept of money value. He sees that he has a jar with almost an inch of coins in it. This is LOTS of money. He should be able to buy whatever he wants with it. Now. He makes three coins a day doing his "morning chores" (three random coins, usually pennies and nickels because, again, he doesn't understand their value and I am still hoping to use the big change jar I've been accumulating for the last seven years to buy a new X-Box when the one I have inevitably craps out), and every day those three coins should buy him a new Transformer.

That, I patiently explained, was never going to happen. I went on to tell him that he wasn't going to get every toy he wanted, and informed him that he was being kind of a spoiled brat because he hadn't even fully played with all the toys he got for his birthday. His argument: "But I need ALL of them because Bumblebee is lonely without all of his friends."

So I approached the subject of his imagination. He uses it pretty regularly, creating little scenarios for his toys to play out, but I don't think he's very good at pretending something is other than it really is. So, when he asked, "Did you have Megatron when you were growing up?" I said, "No, we didn't. We just used another toy and pretended he was Megatron" (which is true, though before long that got pretty lame so we just relied on the bad guys that we did have instead to wreak havoc).

And then the rubber band gun came into play. Because old school Megatron was a gun (the new one is an airplane, which is also lame). And he started pretending that the rubber band gun was Megatron. In my head I did a little victory dance. If all went well, suddenly all of his dozens of hot wheels cars COULD be Transformers!

But it only lasted about thirty seconds and he was asking me if I would buy him Ironhide (not the new one, which he got for his birthday, but the old one). Sigh.

Meanwhile, Norah got a princess dress for her birthday, and she also spent most of yesterday wearing her present. Also without pants.

I don't know, this just looked like the kind of picture that is taken before a prom to me. Minus the date.

Adorable. She still needs a crown, but we have the pixie wand, so she's very nearly a fairy princess already.

After I took it off her for nap time yesterday, Gabe was THIS CLOSE to putting it on himself. Man I hope he does, cause that will be an AWESOME picture.

Birthday Extravaganza

There is something to be said about one's kids having their birthdays three days apart. I would highly recommend it. Really, it's the most considerate thing you could do for everyone--except maybe your kids, but who worries about them anyway? For you it means only needing to organize one party. For your guests it means only needing to endure the inevitable hardships of birthday parties for small children once instead of schlepping out on different occasions. And, really, for a number of years, your kids won't even notice the difference. At four, Gabe still had no concept that he was sharing a party with his sister. Though, in fairness, only this year has Gabe begun to understand the concept of "birthday" and "age" and both of them are directly linked to the concept of "everybody will give me multiple presents that I can open and barely register the existence of from that moment on."

The one downside to having children that get older is that they begin to request themes for their parties. This year, Gabe wanted Transformers (partly because his best friend Finn had a Transformer cake that Gabe obsessed with for the last few weeks and partly because he has an unhealthy fixation with the toys).

Actually, the Transformers thing is a little weird. He got into them--VERY into them--without ever having seen any of the cartoons. It's like his little boy mind was naturally attuned to the robot-into-vehicles concept without so much as needing to know what they were actually about. They existed and he was into them because of that. And I'm pretty OK with him being into them. Actually, it's pretty cool.

It probably comes as no surprise to anyone that most of my tastes in entertainment tend to gravitate towards the juvenile. I like science fiction and fantasy, I will choose to watch a channel showing cartoons over just about anything else (even pre-K cartoons, now, just so I don't have to watch commercials--and if I'm not really watching, as it's on for background noise or something), and part of me really likes to spend at least a little time with each of Gabe's new toys.

But even in the world of kid's entertainment, there were a few particular brands that I have maintained an especial bond with--my favorites growing up. And the two that ranked the highest in my mind were Star Wars and Transformers. Star Wars was my thing for nearly a decade, and if it hadn't been for those unforgivable prequels, it still might be. I will likely resist the urge to let Gabe get into Star Wars for as long as possible now because, when he does, he'll be inundated with all of the contemptible Clone Wars garbage and will have little exposure to the GOOD Star Wars stories. Which makes me sad.

But Transformers are another story. And, even better, they are showing the first generation shows again on The Hub. Gabe loves them and I love that he loves them because these are the same shows that I was watching in the mid-80s when I got home from grade school. And I debated whether or not they were entirely appropriate for a four year old to watch, but, then I compared them to what I was watching at that age--Bugs Bunny and Tom and Jerry and Super Friends--and realized that there is just about the same level of "shit blowing up" in Transformers as there was in those other earlier generation shows. Sure there's other things he SHOULD be watching, but if he's got to be watching stuff with explosions, it might as well be something that I want to sit down and watch along with him. So far, it's been great remembering all the old shows and trying to remember the names of the various toys and characters.

But I digress wildly.

How about I just post some pictures and shut up instead.

The preamble to the party. The problem with following themes is the cost. Little packs of plates and napkins are ridiculously expensive. And, more than likely, Gabe didn't even notice that he had Transformer plates and napkins. But I suppose this way we don't have to feel guilty about being cheap bastards later in life when they are looking back on these pictures.

Norah with Nana, Poppa, and Grandma Albers.

This was just who could cram into our living room. Our dining room was also pretty full. It's great having so many friends and family who want to celebrate the kids' big days (but I wish we had a bigger house to do it in sometimes). Gabe is opening "Stinky the Garbage Truck," a giant truck that turns into a sort of robot and talks and kind of eats garbage when you put it in his mouth. Of the things that we got him, that was probably his favorite. Though, that's not really saying much because on the list of his favorite presents it probably falls somewhere around fifth or sixth. We did a little better with Norah. The Dora the Explorer Backpack that we got her was a bit more of a hit (still, probably only third best, though).

This helmet is a 3T. When we first opened it and tried to apply it to her head, we were afraid that it was too small. It felt like I was forcing it onto her enormous head. But, as the day went on, either the swelling in her head went down, the helmet grew slightly, or I just wasn't pushing hard enough because it started to more or less fit. Still, I doubt it will fit for more than a few months.

Norah kind of got the short end of the stick on the cake. Because we special ordered Gabe a Transformer cake, and it was a pretty big cake, we didn't NEED to get another one. So we got her some princess cupcakes. Really, though, she doesn't like cake, so it's not like she cared what we got her.

Gabe's Transformer cake. The same one that Finn had at his birthday party. We got it because the day of Finn's party, Gabe was most disappointed that Finn got to keep the two toys that were on top and Gabe didn't. He talked about it daily for nearly two weeks and every chance he got he mentioned that he wanted a Transformer cake so he could have the toys off it. After he blew out his candles, we pulled the toys off, washed the frosting off them, then gave them to Gabe. He looked at them, had us identify them as Bumblebee and Optimus Prime, then put them on the floor and hasn't looked at them again since. Kids.

Gabe's big present from Nana and Poppa. Probably we should have gone with the slightly bigger model, but the store was out of them at the time and we decided just to go with what was available. It should last him a year or so, and then Norah can use it. We'll just put a pink basket or something on it. That's girly enough, right? So far, he's enjoyed playing on it, but because we don't have a paved driveway, he really doesn't have any GREAT places in our yard to practice.

Norah's new trike, also from Nana and Poppa. I THINK there is also a baby doll that she got stuffed on there somewhere with her. There is a little "trunk" on the back, and she had the baby crammed in there head first for a little while.

Their best present. Our friends Jason, Mel, and their son David arranged this for the kids. It's a tire swing of the awesomest caliber. The problem was, our yard, though full of trees, is all but devoid of good branches for hanging swings from. Eventually they found ONE candidate that had the required strength and straightness, but it was way the hell up in one of our oak trees and there were a half dozen smaller branches between it and the ground. But that didn't stop Jason. Without the benefit of a prehensile tail, he climbed up the tree and started hacking off branches with this lightsaber he conjured from his shorts (that sounds a little suspect--and it wasn't an ACTUAL lightsaber, it was called a Silky Slicer or something and was like a ginsu knife for trees, but it might as well have been a lightsaber because it was about that effective against the branches of our oak tree). Really. The guy has some stones. I'm not terribly fond of heights, but even if I was, I seriously doubt that I would climb a tree, hacking branches along the way, to hang a swing for our kids. And for that type of dedication, Jason wins Number One Friend/Neighbor for the next few months at least.

The end result. This has, by a wide margin, been the kids' favorite present. Every moment we're outside they are wanting to be pushed in it. And they're both going to have to learn some important lessons about sharing along the way, so even that is a positive.

Warning: the next picture has a naked little boy butt in it. If you're offended by cute little butts, then look away. Also, you've probably got problems.

I'm not sure if you can see these well enough on the downsized picture that Blogger puts up, but Gabe's back is COVERED in scrapes and scratches from his birthday celebration. Honestly, he looked like he was in a fairly major accident. Part of me wants to chalk this up to "Boys," but, really, I think it has to be chalked up to "Gabe."

And, finally, a picture from last night. Norah, grooming her mother. Picking out nits and eating them. Isn't nature mysterious and wonderful?

A Birthday Party and My Kids Being Weird

It really has been a busy last few weeks. We've had birthday parties and Adoption Days with our friends. Libby's work was insane as every school in Wichita decided to use up a field trip day at the Water Center. And we bought a bookstore. So I suppose it's no surprise that I've been a little lacking in posts for the last few weeks.

Anyway, Gabe's BFF had his birthday party two weekends ago. They rented out an interesting place in Wichita. It's like an indoor playground with all kinds of padded play equipment and such. After giving the kids twenty minutes or so to experiment with all of the equipment, the two guys that worked there began some organized games and such. Well, "organized" might be a better way to put it.

I can't remember what they were doing here. Probably imagining self-actualization.

Then they all gathered in a "truth circle." Or something.

Honestly, I want to know what these two guys did to deserve the punishment of working in a place like this. They were both in their early 20s. Maybe it's a job they connected with as part of their degree programs in college. I'm not sure what that degree would be, though. Corrections officer? I would say Early Childhood Development might make sense, but besides getting a first-hand look at how a room full of 1-5 year olds act when confined to a smallish play area, I can't imagine there's much to be gleaned from a job like this. This job is about as close to my own personal hell as I can think of. But, then, someone must like the idea of wrangling two dozen or so other-people's kids, otherwise these places wouldn't exist. I think Norah had a bit of a crush on this guy, though. She tried to hang around him as much as possible.

Isometrics are very important.

Norah gave hanging out with the bigger kids a pass after a little while and spent some time in this tube. Cause tubes are fun, right? I find myself crawling into culverts all the time, just for kicks. So I clearly see the appeal.


I half expected to capture a trampoline disaster while I was recording here. But I didn't. Shortly after I stopped recording, though, Gabe made an interesting discovery. See that ramp in the background? I'm not sure what purpose it is meant for. Eventually some of the kids started doing "steamrollers" down it. Gabe, however, saw it as an excellent launching pad for the trampoline. I'm pretty sure, to his way of thinking, he would jump from that ledge, bounce off the trampoline, and begin to fly around the room. Or maybe he just thought he would jump from the trampoline across the room. But he wasn't quite coordinated enough even to pull off springing from the trampoline into the classic Broken Arm Pose off to the side. Instead, his legs kind of crumbled beneath him and he smacked his face pretty hard on the trampoline then bounced sadly a few times face down on the surface. To his credit, though, he stood right up and considered trying it again without so much as whining a little bit. The kid is tough, there's no denying that. Which is good considering his tendency towards self-destruction.

And then, a few days later, this happened. I am certain that this is something I should be concerned about for future reference. They both seem to have rather weird fixations right now. Gabe likes for Norah to squash him, and Norah loves to do it. I just hope it's a phase. A very weird phase. But a FUNNY weird phase. I have to say that.

Hi Chicky, My Name Is Norah

We've had these things here at the house for almost a month now, and yet I have hardly said a thing about them since their arrival. I don't HATE our chickens. I don't like them, either. I am most indifferent to them. They are a part of my life and I accept that. They are like the big rug in our dining room. I know it's there. I'm fine with it there. I understand that cleaning it and taking a bit of care of it comes with the territory. But I wouldn't be sad if it just disappeared (unless we put it there to cover some hideous spots in our hardwood floor--which, considering the state of our house just might be the case).

The kids, on the other hand, are quite fond of the chickens. And guess which one of them loves the chickens the most. Well, I guess I gave that one away with the title of this post. It's Gabe! Ha, ha! Tricked you!

No, I didn't. It's Norah. She loves the little pecky things. It kind of surprises me, actually. All along I pegged Norah as my ally in this house full of outdoorsy people. I foresaw us lounging around, reading books or watching movies, sharing inside jokes about funny things we'd seen or discussed, looking down our noses at the unwashed masses (well, masses in that both Libby and Gabe have mass, each) who spent their time WILLINGLY outdoors in whatever terrible weather Kansas had to offer us that day.

But it turns out kind of not. She is a big fan of being outside. And, though it pains me to do it (quite literally since I end up with sunburns and bug bites), I encourage her to be outside as much as I can possibly tolerate it. I know, I know. I'm a martyr. And awesome.

One of her favorite things to do this past week has been to pick up a small handful of mulberries that have fallen from our tree in the backyard, carry them up to the chickens, and feed them the berries.

It was so cute that I had to get some video.

Also, during the second one--though you have to listen pretty closely to hear her say it--she introduces herself to the chickens. That's where the name of the post came from. I only know this because, after I stopped filming, she re-introduced herself another three or four times, so I was able to figure out what she was saying right before she stuck her toes through the chicken wire and got pecked.

As I posted the first of these videos, I realized that I have a few others on the memory card still that I haven't shared from the past few weeks. Apparently I've been remiss. Again. AND today was Gabe's 4th birthday, so I feel as though I need to do a four year review sometime soon, too. And, obviously, Norah's birthday is Sunday as well (and we're having their joint party Sunday, so there ought to be plenty to post about there, too). So, one of two things will happen. There will either be a mess of posts in the next week, or I will once again forget about most of it, put up some half-assed "video roundup" post sometime next week, and call it good. Which will it be? It must be sweeps week with a cliffhanger like this!