From zombietime: The totally unfair, very unflattering, incredibly funny Really Truly Hillary Gallery. Enjoy!

The purpose of this gallery is not as entertainment itself, but rather to serve as a resource for bloggers, journalists, Photoshoppers and so on to find and re-use the Hillary photos of their choice. So feel free to download any of the pictures you see here to your own hard drive, and re-use them however you see fit. Come back again and again whenever you need a new ridiculous photo of Hillary!

You know what I like to do on a crisp autumn day? I like to gather my kidlets and Mr. MG, head up into the hills, sneak into the woods, and bury placentas. Ah, fall! 

Way back when the Princess was not yet a year old, my mom came to stay with us. Dad was selling their house in Colorado and Mom came out as the human grappling hook to get them settled out in Washington. Nobody could have known it would take fifteen months for the house to finally sell and Dad to join her. It was a terrible thing for them, being separated like that. But for us it was only a good thing to have Mom live with us – really! It was a riot, and even though we are really happy to have Dad out here, we still miss Mom’s presence in the household.

That was why it was so wonderful when she said she’d come for an overnighter when Dad went to a conference in Portland. It would be just like old times – Mom sleeping on the futon, the kidlets happy, black bean nachos for supper. Good stuff.

“Honey, do you want me to take care of that leak tonight?” Mr. MG asked. We (and by we I mean he) had replaced the kitchen sink the previous week because the fiberglass basin was cracked and seeping water. But now a valve under the sink that let water in the house had died and was dripping all over.

I said sure. How long could a leaky valve take? So Mr. MG shut off the water to the house and began to work while Mom and I put the kidlets down and sat around and chatted. And after a while it was clear that this was no ordinary leak – the leaky part was some strange bit of something or other that readily available fittings didn’t work with. And now Home Depot is closed. Which means we are without water for the night.

No problem! We had filled two pitchers for drinking, washing, and teeth brushing and I put hand sanitizer in all the bathrooms. Mom would have to skiddoo home early in the morning to shower before work, but otherwise this was still a great overnighter. Except for Mr. MG who was valiantly resisting swearing.

Then, as I made my midnight rounds before going to bed, I heard the Princess hollering for me at the top of her lungs. She had yakked all over in bed. This was obviously something that two pitchers of water are not going to handle. A bazillion wet wipes, paper towels, plastic grocery sacks (reduce, reuse, recycle!), a bit of water, and a whole wad of nasty laundry later she was cleaned up. I popped her back into bed with a bucket and lay down around two a.m. … Just in time for Moo to wake up and want some milk.

If this was a fictional story, I would tie it up in a neat little bow and say that the sink was fixed in the morning, Mom got to work refreshed, and the Princess was much better in the light of day. Well, two out of three isn’t too bad. The plumbing is fixed, Mom is fine.

But about twelve hours after the Princess barfed, I came down with it and spent the night wanting to die. And last night? Last night was the Bear’s turn to hurl and, not to be outdone by his big sister, nailed his bed twice in one night. Who knows who will succumb to the plague tonight?

Why, it’s almost as exciting as Survivor! Only with more laundry!

What a blast this weekend was! We got to be part of a fascinating hike/class all about Garry oaks and their acorns. Our instructor, Ms. M, is a naturalist who has studied for years with the coastal Salish nation and she was a wealth of history and tradition.

Saturday was cool and bright and sunny – perfect weather for a crosstown walk to gather acorns.

Did you know that a Garry oak only grows a foot a year? I looked at this baby tree, and then up at the giants arching over the streets. Pretty awe-inspiring that a plant could be that mighty after all those years.

Moo was very patient, spending the day in the backpack and letting me know I am weird. I embarrass her already.

One of my favorite parts of the day was looking up at the wonderful twisty trees. I can’t wait to play with some of the shots I got.

Ms. M said the Salish don’t use acorns any more, so she had to learn how to process them and use them herself. Do you know WHY they don’t use acorns any more? Because it is a lot of work. After you gather them and sort out all the ones that have bugs, and all the sprouted ones that your kiddos put in the bag because they are just sure they need a good home, then you get cracking. And cracking. And then, after that… you crack a few more. Discard any that are hosting grubs. (Unless you are hard up for protein, I suppose.) Next comes the grinding them up in the blender, and soaking the flour in water. Which you filter out and change every couple of hours. Tell me again why the Salish don’t do this any more?

Eventually, you get a nice mash of flour, ready to bake.

Our class made gruel and cookies and bread. Acorns are very nutritious, and are cousin to the hazelnut and chestnut. And really, when we’re talking cookies, there is no way to go wrong.

We also used the acorn shells for dying cloth for pouches. It turns a wonderful warm brown and needs no mordant. Perfect!

To the Princess it was the realization of every story she’s read about gathering nuts and dye vats and grinding grain. She felt like a character, which she certainly is.

All in all, it was an incredible way to spend the weekend. Next time someone tells me to go climb a tree, I know just where I’m headed.

Double digits!

I could eat you, just eat you. For desert. The bigger you get, the more there is to nibble. Fingers and ears and chubs that were a mere bite months ago are now a full, giggly meal.

Speaking of meals, it’s wonderful to see you getting on the food bandwagon at long last. Your favorite is still winter squash in a jar, but you’ve also discovered whole black beans. Isn’t it wonderful that food can be a toy, too? Just watch the carpet, kid. Then again, maybe I will just let you loose down there so you can hoover up all the crumbs yourself. You seem to find every speck on the floor that isn’t food, so this would be a change for the better.

I love your expressiveness. You clap for joy, wiggle to music, and howl at perceived injustice. Your cries terrify your big brother horribly and then I have two squalling kidlets on my hands. (I have to say, that is so much fun when we’re all cooped up in the van together.) Your giggle is infectious and gets us all going. You are our favorite entertainment system.

Now that you crawl and pull up, nothing is safe. I could spend the entire day following you and reorganizing the chaos you leave in your wake. Most of the day, anyway. The rest I would spend kissing the many spots where you slam your noggin into things. Why, oh why, do you aim for the corners of the furniture? People are going to think I carry you Christopher Robin-style upside down by the foot, banging your head on every step as I go.

You do love to be upside down. If you get bored on my lap you spread your arms out and swing back like a miniature bungee jumper, smiling and stretching as you hang by your legs in my grasp.

You still wake up a couple of times a night. And, yes, I am tired. But it is worth it to stop your tears and see this face.

To commemorate the 400th anniversary of the founding of Jamestown, the fine folks at The Teaching Company are offering a lecture for free download. Enjoy!

Gentleman in the Wilderness

When the Princess was four, she started getting fevers. Every thirty days or so, she would be tired and hurting and feverish. She got so used to being sick, that she could feel it coming on when her temperature had risen by a single degree. (That’s when we knew to get what we needed from the grocery store and circle the wagons for a few days.) It took a while, but we finally found out that it was a fever disorder called PFAPA. It didn’t solve the problem, but at least we knew what we were dealing with.

Then, just when we adapted and figured out how to schedule our lives around it, it went away. But not really. So I quit hoping. I was not going to be strung along any more.

But the thing is, the journal has been getting pretty dusty. For a year and four months, to be exact, she has been free of fever spikes. The only reason it has not gone into the memory box is because the box is pretty buried in the closet. (I have a whole pile of stuff that should go in there. Time to get off my bon-bon eating tukas and get going!) So it remained hung up inside the cupboard door and reminded me how blessed we are. Blessed for all the dates not written down. Blessed because most kids don’t grow out of the cycles until adolescence.

I haven’t written about it. I don’t believe in jinxes, bad luck, or works-based salvation from sickness, but I wanted to leave well enough alone. Once in a while the Princess has commented, “Wow, it’s been a long time since I had a PFAPA spike.” and I just smiled. It has been refreshing to see her free from worrying, from measuring every twinge to gauge if she’s going to be leveled by the end of the day.

Thursday she looked up at me from her desk and said, “Boy, my hands are cold. And my hair hurts. I think I might be coming down with something.” But we’ve all been in the cross hairs of one virus or another lately, so I sat back and waited for other symptoms to arise. Just a cold, I thought.

Then other symptoms did come on: achy joints, headache, lethargy, loss of appetite, stiff neck, swollen glands. It’s twisted, but I keep hoping for something else. Like a violent cough. Or a runny nose. Something to tell me that it’s just a bug passing through. Not the old clockwork grinding her down every month. And I won’t know for sure until a month or so from now, when she either gets down again or is free.

So we wait.

It’s not just spicy food. Now anything with tomato sauce also doles out blistering heat to Moo’s backside. Wasabi is also out. So no more Mexican, Japanese, or Italian food. Just to play it safe, why not stick to naked salads and grilled cheese sandwiches until she weans?

Moo is now so afraid to poop, she is becoming the only baby in history with the sphincter control of a Titan.

***

Next time the Bear gets one of his violent tummy bugs, remember to scrape the chunks off of the bedding before washing it. Because nothing is quite as disgusting as barf bits in the vent screen of the dryer. Even if they are really, really clean bits.

***

That baby passed out on your shoulder right now? This is a gift you must not forget. You won’t get a lot of these moments again, with her not-so-little-anymore self passed out cold and snoring. She is growing so fast, and pretty soon she will be too busy cavorting and discovering the world to stop for a mid morning snooze on Mama. So let the Bigs tear apart the house a little so you can relax and enjoy.