annie blog

Dinner Conversation
Oldest son: So, Dad, is God’s last name Almighty?

and 3 seconds later…..

Oldest son: And, when I see God one day, will he be live action?

This boy and his questions.

Dinner Conversation
Oldest son: So, Dad, is God’s last name Almighty?

and 3 seconds later…..

Oldest son: And, when I see God one day, will he be live action?

This boy and his questions.

Dinner Conversation
Oldest son: So, Dad, is God’s last name Almighty?

and 3 seconds later…..

Oldest son: And, when I see God one day, will he be live action?

This boy and his questions.

Making Tracks
It usually happens at night, when we’re snuggling in his bed before I tell him goodnight.

He whispers to me very sweetly, “Mommy, make your tracks….please make your tracks for me.” This is usually followed by a delighted giggle from him when I comply.

But you’re wondering, I know. What are my tracks?
Answer: what happens when I scrunch up my forehead.

I give you Exhibit A here in attempt for me to prove to myself that I’m not entirely vain:

Yick, yick, yick. I apologize to eveyone…for making you see that.

Oh, how he likes to run those little fingers over my “tracks”.

But this isn’t the only time he’s been interested in my skin. When he was barely 2 years old he would occasionally come over to me, and with the air of a scientist doing serious research, flip my arms back and forth to see the non-freckled (inside) versus the freckled (outside).

Actually, now that I think about it, he’s been interested in skin stuff for a really long time. Do you know what he has always called the puckered fingers that you have after a bath…you know, these?

He calls them castles. Now, if you blur your eyes can you see what he means?

Now all I have to do is divert him from his expressed future occupation of fireman to dermatologist. I figure that he can be one in 26 or so years. By then he’ll need to really help his mama and her tracks. Because the thing about tracks is that they just keep going, you know.

Making Tracks
It usually happens at night, when we’re snuggling in his bed before I tell him goodnight.

He whispers to me very sweetly, “Mommy, make your tracks….please make your tracks for me.” This is usually followed by a delighted giggle from him when I comply.

But you’re wondering, I know. What are my tracks?
Answer: what happens when I scrunch up my forehead.

I give you Exhibit A here in attempt for me to prove to myself that I’m not entirely vain:

Yick, yick, yick. I apologize to eveyone…for making you see that.

Oh, how he likes to run those little fingers over my “tracks”.

But this isn’t the only time he’s been interested in my skin. When he was barely 2 years old he would occasionally come over to me, and with the air of a scientist doing serious research, flip my arms back and forth to see the non-freckled (inside) versus the freckled (outside).

Actually, now that I think about it, he’s been interested in skin stuff for a really long time. Do you know what he has always called the puckered fingers that you have after a bath…you know, these?

He calls them castles. Now, if you blur your eyes can you see what he means?

Now all I have to do is divert him from his expressed future occupation of fireman to dermatologist. I figure that he can be one in 26 or so years. By then he’ll need to really help his mama and her tracks. Because the thing about tracks is that they just keep going, you know.

Making Tracks
It usually happens at night, when we’re snuggling in his bed before I tell him goodnight.

He whispers to me very sweetly, “Mommy, make your tracks….please make your tracks for me.” This is usually followed by a delighted giggle from him when I comply.

But you’re wondering, I know. What are my tracks?
Answer: what happens when I scrunch up my forehead.

I give you Exhibit A here in attempt for me to prove to myself that I’m not entirely vain:

Yick, yick, yick. I apologize to eveyone…for making you see that.

Oh, how he likes to run those little fingers over my “tracks”.

But this isn’t the only time he’s been interested in my skin. When he was barely 2 years old he would occasionally come over to me, and with the air of a scientist doing serious research, flip my arms back and forth to see the non-freckled (inside) versus the freckled (outside).

Actually, now that I think about it, he’s been interested in skin stuff for a really long time. Do you know what he has always called the puckered fingers that you have after a bath…you know, these?

He calls them castles. Now, if you blur your eyes can you see what he means?

Now all I have to do is divert him from his expressed future occupation of fireman to dermatologist. I figure that he can be one in 26 or so years. By then he’ll need to really help his mama and her tracks. Because the thing about tracks is that they just keep going, you know.

Last Night Was Interesting
Last night was interesting.
Jon was working late.
Oldest son wasn’t feeling well. I could tell because he wasn’t hungry.
His being hungry is almost on the same level with the earth’s rotation.
But not quite.
Second oldest had a migraine.
A bad one.
The kind where light hurts.
The kind where noise hurts.
Which is a problem when your older brother is screaming.
Screaming loud and long about his stomach.
Do you know how difficult it is to guide a 12 year old who is as big as you are?
Who isn’t listening to reason.
Who isn’t aiming at anything.
Who isn’t communicating except by moaning loudly.
This parenting thing just doesn’t let up, you know.
Oldest is feeling a little better today.
Second oldest is tired but his head is better.
My pile of laundry is nearly as tall as my washing machine.
And I wish that I was kidding about this — but I’m not.
One more thing, my second oldest, the migraine sufferer, didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom while locating his toothbrush last night.
Since light was so painful.
Guess who’s toothbrush he used by mistake?
Pity me.

Last Night Was Interesting
Last night was interesting.
Jon was working late.
Oldest son wasn’t feeling well. I could tell because he wasn’t hungry.
His being hungry is almost on the same level with the earth’s rotation.
But not quite.
Second oldest had a migraine.
A bad one.
The kind where light hurts.
The kind where noise hurts.
Which is a problem when your older brother is screaming.
Screaming loud and long about his stomach.
Do you know how difficult it is to guide a 12 year old who is as big as you are?
Who isn’t listening to reason.
Who isn’t aiming at anything.
Who isn’t communicating except by moaning loudly.
This parenting thing just doesn’t let up, you know.
Oldest is feeling a little better today.
Second oldest is tired but his head is better.
My pile of laundry is nearly as tall as my washing machine.
And I wish that I was kidding about this — but I’m not.
One more thing, my second oldest, the migraine sufferer, didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom while locating his toothbrush last night.
Since light was so painful.
Guess who’s toothbrush he used by mistake?
Pity me.

Last Night Was Interesting
Last night was interesting.
Jon was working late.
Oldest son wasn’t feeling well. I could tell because he wasn’t hungry.
His being hungry is almost on the same level with the earth’s rotation.
But not quite.
Second oldest had a migraine.
A bad one.
The kind where light hurts.
The kind where noise hurts.
Which is a problem when your older brother is screaming.
Screaming loud and long about his stomach.
Do you know how difficult it is to guide a 12 year old who is as big as you are?
Who isn’t listening to reason.
Who isn’t aiming at anything.
Who isn’t communicating except by moaning loudly.
This parenting thing just doesn’t let up, you know.
Oldest is feeling a little better today.
Second oldest is tired but his head is better.
My pile of laundry is nearly as tall as my washing machine.
And I wish that I was kidding about this — but I’m not.
One more thing, my second oldest, the migraine sufferer, didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom while locating his toothbrush last night.
Since light was so painful.
Guess who’s toothbrush he used by mistake?
Pity me.

I Need Some More China
like I need another hole in my head….but LOOK. Isn’t it wonderful? Not only does it feature one of my favorite things, it also features my favorite colors, together. It also reminds me of the drawings of E.H. Shephard and that is another plus.

I want some, big time.