Vacation Pics

Some great action shots of the boys!

 

Killing Uncle Bob, Part Deux.

Wow. Three posts in one day! I’m on a roll…

It occurs to me that the ‘Killing Uncle Bob’ part in my recent post doesn’t make sense. Until you hear it in context.

When learning how to fight with a sword, you must recognize that if you screw up, you’re going to undo the man standing behind you. In our little play, we called him ‘Uncle Bob.” All three of the boys murdered said ‘Uncle Bob’. They swung their swords so wildly, they killed anyone who ‘had their backs’.

The only member of my family who did not issue an untimely death to his relatives was Hubby. I wonder where he learned to use a sword?

Here’s Youngest Son, killing Uncle Bob:

Here’s Hubby, issuing a cathartic war cry:

 

And here’s Middle Son, committing a family massacre:

 

Pony Pasture

Here’s what we did today. This place is called ‘Pony Pasture’. It’s a section of the James River about two miles from my house where boulders make the river unnavigable. The boulders also produce rapids that the kids can body surf. The weather was perfect. We had a blast. In the above pic you can barely see Eldest Son in the center playing ‘King of the Mountain.’

Here are Middle Son and Youngest Son actually being nice to each other. However, Middle Son is holding his ubiquitous stick. I’m sure trouble is brewing:

Middle Son keeping his head above water:

Eldest Son kicking back:

Youngest Son didn’t want to leave:

 

 

Back in the USS-A

I have been remiss in my blogging – I admit it.

I have also been remiss in my blog reading, which is much more fun and adventurous for me, so I can truly apologize for that! (Y’all have been busy!) I miss you folks, and am truly glad y’all are still here.

But here is the real reason I have been remiss – other then the medical/dental issues, which I believe I have already mentioned (ahem) - this is pretty much all my life has been this month:

And who wants to read about that?

But here comes another season – all good serials take a break, right? (Hubby is orgasmic that ‘Burn Notice’ is coming back.)

I think I mentioned that Hubby and I are ‘Summer Fill-in’ kinda people. So bring on the Summer!

And I have a few things to mention.

The Obama explosion is one of the things I will give a nod to from day to day – though I won’t get nutters about it. I am an Obama girl, no doubt, but there are others doing my work, and I won’t bother to mention it unless compelled.

I have three children to make summer dreams come true for. Daunting. I have season tickets to an amusement park, a pool membership, and a tourist book. Y’all are going to learn more about Richmond, VA, than you ever wanted to know.

I plan to take my boys to Jamestown. And Yorktown. And the Capitol Building of the Confederacy. And many more – we live in Richmond. The opportunities for history are endless, and incredibly boring for a seven, eight, and twelve year-old. My job is to make history interesting.

My son just asked me how to spell ‘Barbie’. Yeep.

$$$

 

 

Killing Uncle Bob

So. We’ve had a rough week. Four of my front teeth went bye-bye. Much pain. Yadda yadda yadda.

Hubby had a diabetic low on Friday afternoon that impressed even the nurses (for those of you in the know:  +16. No shit. Even the paramedics were impressed).

But we managed to have a kick-ass weekened, and that is what we are focusing on today…

We attended the Virginia Renaissance Festival.  We had a ball. And we didn’t even dress out this time!

The cool thing about this local Ren Faire is that we only had to travel one hour to get there. And then, once we were there, the role-players were focused on the boys. They had so much fun, we had no choice but to have fun as well…

This cracked me up – which pissed off Middle Son. He hit his head on the armor. The beginning of our day.

This gentleman told us a great story about how he sailed with Sir Francis Drake, then fought a sea serpent, and beat the serpent and took it’s teeth (Try to ignore the ‘motorized box-cars’ in the distance.). He then gave my boys each a necklace with a serpent’s tooth, told them to listen to their mother, and sent them on their way. The tooth was good juju, and would protect them througout their day. (I especially liked the ‘listen to your mother’ part).

But here’s a question: Hubby says that ‘kangaroo’ means ‘I don’t know’ in aboriginal Australian. I can’t be bothered to wikipedia it, so has anyone got the skinny on that?

We had many more adventures. Too many to type, in fact. I’ll present the highlights:

 

Yougest Son considers this the most important moment of his life. He’s keeping the ‘doubloons’ that ‘Jack Sparrow’ gave him in a special box in his room. He hopes to retire on their value. I haven’t got the heart to tell him the truth.

Middle Son is into archery. He wants to be Robin Hood – not for any moral or philisophical reason, but because Hood is the best archer anyone ever heard of (I tried to tell him about William Tell, but it was a no go).

 

 Eldest Son spent more than an hour at the spinning wheel. I was reminded of Sir Isaac Newton, as ES kept taking the mess apart and putting it back together again. He wasn’t so interested in making yarn as how the machine worked.

 

All three were knighted by the Queen (Elizabeth Rex, it was). Here’s the best shot I was able to get:

 

In the name of God, Saint Michael, and Saint George, my three sons were knighted by Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth. Then they had to go into service:

Harrumph.

My favprite part of the day?

Hubby and his turkey leg. Haven’t had a smile like that from the man in almost a year. Adorable.

 

 

 

Recent Family Life

Before I go – here’s some of the stuff I’ve been up to these past weeks. Big Bro turned 40, but since we celebrated at his softball game and it was dark, I have no pics of him. But the same weekend, we visited Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens, and I got these:

The highlight of their weekend – the ride in Grandpa’s convertible.

 

They look innocent, but they were in the process of spitting into the pond to try to attract the fish. Blech.

I want this bench in my back yard.

 

Scalzi’s Influence

Every night at bedtime is Hell.

No, really.

Three boys in one bathroom, with three showers to take, three teeth-brushings to muster, three hair-checking-outings going on at one time. Generally one of them will drop the towel, make some sad reference (sad to us Moms, at least), and then there will be punching.

Tonight, Middle Son told Oldest Son he looked STOOPID (happily for me, this is still the worst pejorative they throw at each other in my hearing. Idiot, maybe, shows up once in a while, but they’re outgrowing that one) (at least where I can hear).

Middle Son started out laughing. Then Middle Son was on the floor in the hallway, screaming, “MOM!” He was no longer laughing.

Mom was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes, praying this would all go away…

So I, of course, intervene, and the children are all safely ensconced in their beds at this moment.

But I reflect…

Eldest and I had a moment (after I’d rug-burned his arm because he’d sucker-punched his brother). He wanted to know why punching an idiot younger brother was bad behavior. He had been told (by MY older brother, of course) that it was the Eldest’s Brother’s job to abuse the Younger.

I told him he was doing fine, and that he reminded me completely of his elder Uncle in that respect. He preened. And then I said:

“If you act like an Arse-candle, you’re going to be treated like an Arse-candle.” Otherwise known as the Golden Rule, Scalzi-style.

This resulted in many things:

First thing: giggling fit from Eldest Son. He’d learned a new swear-word, and a new way to call other people bad names. He was completely appriciative of this, especially as it came from Mom. Any time you can tank your enemies with Mom’s sanction – well done, you!

Second thing: He had no idea what I was talking about. Which means his enemies have no idea what I’m talking about. This comes down to the “My Dad’s smarter than your Dad” view of things, which makes my son really happy, as road trips are filled with ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ on the cell-phone, so he’s a pretty bright guy, and this makes him think he’s smart. But gives him no idea about his buddies.

Third thing: I have done my son a disservice. He has no idea how badly his ass is about to be kicked. Really. He thinks he’s strong – and he is actually pretty strong – but eventually his ass will be kicked. And my disservice is letting him think this ass-kicking will be avoided.

I can serve my son best by letting him be THE MAN.

Right?

 

Weekend in Washington (or Damn You Canada! part deaux)

Hubby’d had a rough coupl’a weeks. Away from home, foreign currency, lots of snow… These are the easy parts of life on the road. So Hubby blew off the last day of work, thumbed his nose at his bosses, and basically handed down the law. “I’m on the plane before the next snow hits,” says my Lancelot. (Ooops. Maybe I should say my Percival. Safer for me.)

Hubby lands at Dulles, and he’s done. So he suggests that I collect our baggage (otherwise known as our children), and meet him in DC. He’s tired, still has work to do in the Reston office, and really doesn’t want to drive anymore. Having driven with Hubby while he’s stressed, I’m thinking this is the best plan. I pack. I collect. I move.

Many hours, and many missed turns later (dammit, I grew up here. It’s truly offensive to me that I no longer know how to get around in my own home town), the boys and I are hangin’ with the Hubby. The boys think this is a grand adventure. I think it’s a chance to have my family in one place at one time. Both are good. (And we have this weekend care of Marriott Points, that Hubby doesn’t have to pay out of pocket.  Also good.)

The boys have to sleep on the floor, because the mattress on the hide-a-bed isn’t really a mattress, but a foam thing they laid over springs. And when Hubby calls the desk and says, ”Um, can we not expect better than this?” they respond with, “Absolutely, Mr. Spends-Lots-of-Money, and we’ll Get Right On It. Tomorrow.” Hubby is incensed. But we’re all tired. We put the boys on the floor.

Then we get up. And go down for our ‘complimentary’ breakfast. Belgian Waffles. (That I have to make myself. And some guy stole one of them!) Luckily, this is all before Hubby makes an appearance. Or things might’ve gone bad.

After breakfast, we drive to East Falls Church, and hop on the Metro. The boys absolutely LOVE the metro. I’m not sure where the fun is, but they love it, and that’s cool. They especially love the escalators. Whatever.

We ride the Metro to Eastern Market. This is one of my favorite Washington spots. It’s a huge flea market every weekend. But this weekend, the rain is threatening, so there aren’t that many people about. Silly people. We meet up with one of Hubby’s friends who lives on the Hill, and tour the Market.

A little while ago, Eastern Market caught fire, so now it’s being rebuilt. Here’s Eastern Market, post-fire:

They’re rebuilding (obviously), so they moved the Market to a temporary facility across the street:

The boys aren’t as thrilled with Eastern Market as I am, because it smells of fish. (Obviously, because there are many fresh fish for sale. DC is on the river, after all.) But the boys behave fairly well, and we all have a nice time. I really enjoyed meeting Hubby’s friend (Wayne), who lives around the corner. I lived on Capitol Hill in my single days, a few blocks away on the other side of Penn, so it was nice to catch up with the neighborhood.

Then we take ourselves to the coffee shop on the corner, and Wayne feeds the boys sugar. All is suddenly right with their world…

We say goodbye to Wayne…

… and head off to an ill-advised attempt at sushi on Pennsylvania Avenue (we arrived immediately after a busload of tourists. The food was fine, but very, very slow). We board the Metro again, and travel two stops to the Smithsonian Natural History Museum.

The only exhibit I’m interested in (the Origins of Man) is closed for construction, so we tour the dinosaurs and the mammals, and wrestle our way through the bustling crowds (the Smithsonian is never good on Saturday), until the only person paying attention any more is Mom, and all my men are ready to go home…

So it’s to home (or rather, to the Marriott) we go. Another fun trip on the Metro (Hubby let the boys stand and hold the poles this time – what fun!), and we’re back at the hotel.

I dropped ‘Hubby and the Boys’ (doesn’t that sound like a cool name for a band?) at the hotel for a nap (which they didn’t take – they played cards instead), and headed off to my BFF’s house for a visit (I need to get back home more often). Then I picked up the family, and we had dinner with the Grand ‘Rents. I didn’t take pictures. Sorry. But the dinner was nice. (Except that some very tired boys kept trying to lay down and sleep during the meal.)

Next day, we swam for a while, then headed home (real home this time). Hubby’s on a plane again (to Dallas), but we had a lovely weekend…

 

DC Weekend

Hubby was done with travelling. He’s braved Canada’s storms – twice. Once he was safe in our Nation’s Capitol, he was ready for a nap…

So I loaded the boys (and their endless socks) into the minivan (that Hubby still hates me for buying) and drove through the thunderstorm. We made it to the Marriott Suites. Where my Hubby was waiting.

….

We had a lovely weekend.

More soon.

 

Walking the Dog

I just sent my son out the door on his first ever attempt at walking our dog.

He looked nervous.

I’m petrified.

He’s trying to train for the 10K that’s happening here in Richmond in early April. He’s been trying to do three miles per day. He’s been failing, regularly.

He thought that maybe with the dog he’d have some incentive.

See, the dog’s a pit mix I got from the pound ten years ago. She’s an aging pit mix with a sweet disposition, but if you’re a cat, rabbitt, or squirrel, you’re lunch and that’s all there is to say about it.

My 11 (almost 12) son could not possibly hold this dog away from chosen prey. Likely my son will be bloodied by the road while she runs.

I’m staring at the door.

He’s not back yet.

I am the worst mother that ever was. Truly. What kind of mother would look at this boy and his intentions, and say, “OK, just stay in sight of the house”? He’s road pizza. It’s pitch black night outside. This dog has taken him for a run, and now I have to feel guilty about both of them.

Motherhood sucks.

Where is he, Godd*mnit!?

Still not back….

He was at his chess club this afternoon (yes, that’s how nerdy we are. Eldest Son is vying for first place in the chess club. In sixth grade. So sue me.) and he told me again that he wanted to run the 10K but he wasn’t sure he had the wind.

So I let him go.

I’m still staring at the door….

…..

…..

He’s home!

I’m weeping at his feet (figuratively). (And litelerally.)

He says, “You promised me two dollars for walking the dog? And…

…now I have to play the end game for his tournament tomorrow.

I suck at chess, but now he feels entitled to my end game.

Did I mention that motherhood sucks?

**I  beat my son two games out of three at chess. He’s now more angry at me than he’s ever been. I put him in mate when he had two knights to my six pawns.  And then he walked the dog. His hatred for me is red hot.