Birthday Evening

Millie made my birthday supper, as well as a Mississippi Mud pie (my first) and one of my favorite beverages (eggnog!) for the birthday dessert.  

Annika took 20-odd pictures, as well as a video I didn't know she was taking.  Here are a few of the pictures, so that you can vicariously experience the pleasure of washing down the world's richest pie with the world's richest beverage.

(Oh, and Millie made that striped Where's Waldo hat!  She made it for herself without using a pattern and then didn't like the result, so I snagged it.  I wear it nonstop.  The girls can find me in a crowd any day of the week.)

Even when I'm disguised as a birthday pirate.

Homemade eggnog can't be beat.

NAN!  Here's the part where you come in.  Backstory One.  Lately I've been pretending that I'm Susannah's wicked stepmother when I make her wash the dishes.  In the grand style of fairy tales, I tell her that if she was only my real child, she wouldn't have to do any work at all.  Backstory Two: My friend Nan has a menagerie which includes milk goats, and she sent our family the most delicious goat's milk fudge a few months back.  We all loved it, and the girls think goat's milk fudge is the undisputed king of the fudge world.

So, during the party, we heard a car motor, Susannah rushed to the window and announced that the mailman was here, and then ran outside to get the package.  She brought in a mailing envelope and dumped this fudge out of it onto the table, announcing, "NAN SENT GOAT'S MILK FUDGE!!!!"

I believed her until I noticed the orange envelope was blank on both sides.  That stinker had secretly made fudge and wrapped it to look like yours, Nan.

You also sent an accompanying card.

"Dear Abbie, 

Happy birthday!

I certanly hope you don't throw 

this goat milk fudge in the 

garbage! (on second thought, Why don't

you?)

much love, 

you're stepdaghter (Nan hassey)"

p.s. We didn't throw your fudge in the garbage.  We fought over the last scraps of it like ruffians.

Five Years Later

He didn't usually put in personal notes.  He must have felt bad about not getting a funny KARD that year.

 

Back to Back

First I took a picture of the cactus in morning's first light.

Then I took a picture of Wolfman hanging on the gallows.  (Wolfman was one of my Christmas gifts from John, and  he's joined the ranks of plastic superheroes that hide all over our house.  This macabre version was created by Mildred, who's been anxiously waiting for John to notice it for the last THREE days. It's right next to our bed, John!  C'mon!)

Fingers Crossed

When one starts seeds late (so, so, so, SO late),

 it's always a good idea to enlist capable help,

even if that help is only capable of looking very cute while filling all of the wrong pots.

Small Creatures

A wee redbelly snake,

shared all around,

transferred from a mason jar to a fine new mansion, complete with earthworms for eating, 

and then released, with some mourning, 

thirty-six hours later.

Last fall, a mama bear and cub were a few minutes down the road, which made me wish I hadn't put our compost pile right next to the house.  Thankfully, the only bears we've encountered yet this year are these of the woollier variety.

They Go Hand in Hand

Clothesline Season

(Peekaboo.)

and Tea Party Season.

Pinkies up!

From Here On Out

The first warm day insisted that the children play immediately upon arriving home from church.  They obliged.  (It's foolishness to tussle with a warm day.  The day will always win.)

Later, Piper walked up to me and said, "I betcha can't tell what I'VE been eating!"  I replied, "Nope," and then she got an inch away and blew in my face.  "Yup!" I replied.

It's chive season.  There's your warning.  The youngest three will reek of chive-breath for the next five months.

Here she is, uncovering the very first shoots of potent breath.

And the chickens are out and about again!

Which invariably means....CHICKEN RACES!

Brothers Eating Breakfast on a Sunday Morning

AKA:  

Mother Taking Pictures on a Sunday Morning When She Should Be Getting Dressed for Church.

AKA:

At Least I Have My Priorities Straight

That Foolhardy Spendthrift

If he must* bring home roses, I'll suffer through it.

And if they're the most beautiful shades of salmon and peach, I'll grit my teeth and bear it.

*The man's a gem, I know.

It's Good to Have Both

Naughty baby.

Industrious daughter.

Helpful Tips for One and All

When one decides to fill Easter baskets three days before Easter Sunday because one is determined NOT to have an all-nighter, one needs winsome helpers.  

Enter, two boys in a crib.

Also leavening the mood is the discovery, in the pink Easter grass I re-use each year, 

of a Silver stowaway, tucked there in high anticipation by one Susannah Wren (WRONG.  Annie and Susannah read this post and informed me that it was in fact...] Annika Arden.

And poof!  They were done.  As easy as that.

A tip of the hat to my Dad, whose handwritten names were sorely missed on this year's Easter eggs.

(First year I've ever shed tears over butter cream but probably not the last.)