Thursday, May 31, 2012

Friday, May 25, 2012

Good Grief

"Patric, it's May already, huh?"
"Um, May is almost over Susan."

Geez.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Seven Pack

In our house for the whole night last Friday.
Went pretty well really.
Because after four, who really notices?

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Of Course

"Nicholas!  This is a neat fish picture."
"Moom, it's a coy."

Of course.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Monday, May 21, 2012

Friday, May 18, 2012

High Fashion

I objected to the black socks and swim shoes.
I lost.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Swim





And so the Brood, all made the swim team on their first try.
Would never have believed it.
Welcome practice and swim meets all of June.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Good-bye Ugly Brown Dining Room



Hello 100-year-old bookcases, that refinished perfectly with the antique dining set.
Pillars are nearly moulded and finished.

Some un-aggravating day, we'll have a meal in here with the savages. 

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Sigh

 Home cut.

 By herself.

Now we can tell them apart.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Wouldn't Be Aggravating Without Mentioning Twin Girls

At the Children's Museum, after seeing the other kids walking around with faces painted:
"Mommy!?"

Well, of course, let's find it.
And we go through the maze, ask directions, get lost, stop at the bathroom, get distracted, and finally find the face painting booth.

It is do-it-yourself.
Of course it is do-it-yourself, and we left our artist daddy down two levels and somewhere else.

And Alida says, "I want my whole face to be a butterfly."

Um, okay.
Why not.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Turns Out All of April Was Aggravating

Instead of selling the swing set.
We decided to move it.
Ourselves.

So, as I was watching Patric dismantle the slide, I wandered out and made the most stupid comment of the month:

"You know, I think we can just move this thing ourselves.  It's not that far."

We each got under a side of the hulking thing, and we started counting.
"One, two,..."
"Wait! On three or after three?"
"On three."
"Okay."
"Here we go."
"One, two, THREE!"

And Patric takes off across the yard with his half of this thing that I now hate like he's an 18-year-old boy.
I, on the other hand, feel like an 80-year-old woman as I lunge, my body going and the swing set staying.

"Wait!  Let's try again."

"One, two, THREE!"

And my hulk-like self starts to see the stake that is holding my side in the ground come loose from the dirt where it has lodged itself this past year, as Patric starts to essentially run circles around me with his side lifted lightly in his hands.  

And as I finally rip my side from the ground and begin to make some forward progress, he falls over with laughter.

Aggravating.