There's no such thing as a bad birthday party ...

 













As long as there is cake.

Grounded

So ... I forgot to do the annual shout-out heralding the arrival of the grand-dog-in-law, which is a movable holiday during which Jed's dad comes up from Louisiana with his trusty apprentice, Lulu D.Q., to perform slave labor give generously of his time and expertise.  Last time we celebrated the rebuilding the side porch and the insulating of the foundation. This time we're expecting to be blinded by the beauty of the front porch. ...

But I digress ...







The formal announcement of their arrival has usually gone something like this.

If you want to say it to yourself to get the full effect, it's kind of like a long, drawn out Long-Guyland-ese: "Lulu is in da HOWWWWWWSE!!"

It probably slipped my mind this year because Lulu -- no doubt under the influence of our own party animal -- has often NOT been in the house.

Today, in fact, there were two instances of dogs gone on walkabout: This morning a slipped collar allowed Lulu to roam the back seven, and this afternoon an unlatched gate allowed both dogs to take a romp around the neighborhood.

Thankfully some neighbors recognized them and were able (miraculously) to coax them home with a bowlful of kibble.

So  ... the dogs ARE in the house. But they can't come out to play.

They are SO grounded.

They go up ... And they go down

A month ago we welcomed Lulu the wonder dog to our old, falling-apart home, with the hopes that her person, Dappa John, could remedy some of its ills.

Four weeks, fully three of them rainy, and somehow he managed to pull off a string of miracles.

Insulated foundation, revised landscaping and a side porch that makes the rest of the house look shabby.

Not to mention felling a few trees, getting in some firewood and even measuring for windows ... when we get around to that.

A thank-you doesn't seem enough.

But here it is: A start -- Thanks, Dappa John.

And thanks, Lulu ...

We'd almost forgotten how nice it was to have a pre-lick cycle for the dishwasher.

Circus Music

I see you've already met Aaron Copland.

Pho-shizzz (part deux) ... or pho-NO-shizz

Photographs courtesy of Papa ... who also got the pleasure of escorting the young dancer to her dress rehearsal, helping her get outfitted and even troubleshooting why her costume skirt was bunching so strangely (she had managed to get both legs through one opening of the leotard) before the sweet little troupe took center stage.





You can TOTALLY tell me now: "I told you so." Because Friday, after the big event, I'll probably have to eat my words.

Intrigue on the internet

suspense , originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Brrrrrrrringggg-Brrrrrrrringgggg!

Ittybit:: "Hi Ama Linda.

Mommy doesn't know you're here."

Ama Linda: So this is our secret?

** This crank video conference call brought to you by Skype.

Just keep swimming

23water, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Papa arrived this morning at 8:30 a.m. to take Ittybit to her first swimming lesson at the Y. And promptly at 8:31 a.m. they were out the door. She didn't even look back.

She didn't even utter the words she's been repeating since we told her she'd be learning to swim with her Papa: "OK. ... But I'm not going to put my head underwater, right?"

We didn't need to tell her that she wouldn't have to do anything she didn't want to do.

She grabbed her Dora the Explorer bag containing her new swimsuit and a blue towel (to match the color of the water) and she was gone.

Oh sure, Papa said I could go if I wanted, but I could tell by the sound of his voice that this was something he was hoping would be just for him and Annabel. Their special thing.

So I stayed back to drum my fingers on the table, drink coffee without the interruption of her sing-song voice asking me to play with her and her tiny animals on the livingroom floor, not to mention the possibility of a walk to the farmer's market without having to stop to check the cracks in the sidewalk for treasures.

I miss her already.

***UPDATE***

I haven't missed her FIRST swimming lesson after all. When she and Papa came home I yelled down the stairs, "Hey, how'd it go." And was answered by Papa saying "Not too well."

Turns out the pool lost a motor or something and has been out of commission since Thursday. Papa was disappointed. Annabel was disappointed. A bunch of kids and their parents were disappointed. And an elderly woman who was headed in as Annabel and Papa were headed out was probably disappointed, too.

ANNABEL: Are you going to swim?

LADY: Why yes I am. I go swimming here three times a week.

ANNABEL: Well not today. The pool is broken.

For a second I had a flashback to my ninth birthday (at least I think I was 9) and my father was taking me and two of my friends bowling. I was SOOOOOOOOOOO excited. It was going to be the absolute COOOOLEST, most SPECTACULAR birthday anyone under 10 EVER had.

But we got to the alley and it was closed. Who ever heard of a bowling alley closed on a Saturday?

Thinking fast my father hustled us back into the car and drove as swiftly as a man who NEVER drives faster 40 mph across the river to the Port of Albany. The. Stinky. Old. Port. Of. Albany. Where for a half an hour we watched a garbage barge load up. I'm fairly certain I cried for a week.

And yet, it's the ONLY birthday I remember. It's the only one worth talking about.

I didn't say anything, but I wondered what he did instead since the pair of miscreants didn't make it home until two hours after finding the drain pulled on their pool time. Did he take her to the Port?

"We went to Old MacDonalds and I played on the toys with the kids. It was GREAT."