Update:  Woo-hoo! We have a winner! Lawanda, you are soon to be the owner of a new pair of earrings. Just e-mail me with your favorite color and any preferences you have in ear ornamentation, and I will get to work straightaway.

The excellent thing about being a reader of a little-read blog: when there is a contest, your chances of winning are pretty good. 

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Here ye, hear ye, the giveaway cometh.

The prize? A pair of earrings made just for you. And if any guys enter and win…well…I hope you like French hooks.

I want you to tell me this: if you had to choose one meal to cook and eat for the rest of your life, what would it be? What, you may ask, does this have to do with earrings or blogoversaries? Absolutely nothing. But I’m running low on supper ideas. Help!

So go ahead, tell me what meal you love to cook and eat. The winner will be announced Friday, August 1st.

I have a loose grasp on dates. In day-to-day life, if you asked me what day it was, it would probably take me a few minutes and a calendar in my direct line of sight to answer correctly.

Last night I was putting Moo in the crib for bedtime and I thought, “Hey! Did my blogoversary go by? It did! What day was that, anyway? And I didn’t remember again, and here it is August already. Dang.”

Two seconds later I figured out that it was still July. Whew! But I had still missed it, hadn’t I? I guess I needed to look it up. Then this morning I logged on and what was waiting but a lovely comment from Teena in Toronto, wishing me a happy blogoversary. At six thirty in the morning. Wow. Not only did she remember the date, but commented on it at the crack of dawn. You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.

I would love to do a giveaway, but it will take more coffee in my system to think of anything better than a used toothbrush. (You don’t want to feel that close to me, right?)

Stay tuned. And in the meantime… Happy Blogoversary to me!

I was headed upstairs to hit the treadmill.

“Mama! A bird just smacked into the window!” the Princess hollered.

I came running, putting up my hair as I went. (I have learned my lesson.) Out on the deck was a juvenile variety of something or other still breathing but twisting its neck around and stumbling like a drunk. I went outside and scooped it up and it just blinked at me. I waited a minute before I got my hopes up, as I’ve had birds crash but keep breathing for a bit before gasping their last. But he held on, so I showed him to the Princess through the window and she came on out.

He had long claws and a long, pointed beak, so I suspect he’s a seed or bug eating tree dweller. His chocolate brown eyes blinked at us and he started coming around. When he cheeped and struggled, I knew it was time to let go. He could fend for himself.

Dang if he didn’t just stand there! He stood and let us pet his little birdy head and made little sweet talk. Finally he got a clue and ran under the grill to safety. So the Princess went to go inside and I turned to shoo him to where the neighborhood cats wouldn’t reach him.

“MAMA! He followed me inside!!”

Bedlam.

She ran back out, I ran in. That crazy bird was flying and crashing all over the living room. That’s because our three indoor-only cats had gotten a fix on the prey and were determined to exact revenge for all the aviary teasing they had gotten throughout the years from birds on the outside. No window holding them back today! So the bird is seeking refuge anywhere it can, now behind the cookbook shelves, now under a school desk cheeping and screaming for it’s life. Felines leaping, feathers flying, and me shaking and chasing and guarding and praying I can get that thing out before the cats massacre it. Because then I would have a dead bird and a passel of hysterical kidlets on my hands. And it’s not even noon yet.

Finally I caught it and hustled outside again. The Princess got inside before I let it go this time, and it still just stood there. This is when I became sure it was a juvenile, because it had no concept of being in danger despite overwhelming proof. I had to aggressively shoo and whoop before it would fly up onto the shed out of hunting territory. Bird brain.

I came back in to wash up.

“That bird was really great. We should get a canary, Mama!”

This weekend was the highlight of the summer – the annual Silver Eagles barn party. Finally, this being the fifth year we’ve attended, Mr. MG wasn’t deployed or on duty on the big night. It was high time he saw what all the fuss was about.

It was downright chilly this year. But that was a handy thing – imagine no flies or wasps invading the picnic. We spread out blankets and dug into the potluck, which I think is only getting better each year. In about five minutes all three kidlets were covered in grass, various salad dressings, and frosting.

L had tried to cop out by calling an hour before it started, saying she was too busy. But I nagged smooth talked her into coming, and got her dad to come, too. And see? She wasn’t too miserable.

Two years ago was her first time coming and her son was just shy of two months old then. This year she brought him and the newest addition, baby J. Dang. That’s one cute baby.

New Creation couldn’t make it to play bluegrass after supper, so instead we settled down to enjoy an excellent variety show of jokes, magic tricks, and singing. Did you know that some of the very normal people you see around you every day are actually hilarious and quirky? All it takes is a few minutes of stage time to find out that the septuagenarian you see at church every Sunday is quite the stand up comedian.

Then out! Out to the grassy hill to run, tackle, cavort and to do face plant

after face plant.

It was another awesome evening and my only regret is that summer only has one July. “Only 364 days until the next one!” the Princess said.

Try not to boogie.

There is something about this baby. She has got the touch.

Despite having a temper like a Gila monster, she possesses an innate charm that can not be resisted. I can’t walk by without tousling her curls or sweeping a finger across her cheek. I could eat her up in three tasty bites.

I’m not the only one, either. Folks just want to oogy her and coo and tell her sweet things to make her smile. How does she respond to this affection? With an ice cold stare of suspicion.

You’d think her siblings would have a more healthy view of her. But in between bouts of trying to kill/tease/one-up each other, they pretty much let her have anything she wants. They might fuss a bit at first, but it usually ends up with an “oh, o-kay…” and she gets what she wants. If they don’t give over to charm, she gets out the big guns and screams. And then Mr. MG chuckles, because it’s so cute. And then we’re all pretty much back to adoring her.

Which she thinks is very normal. We are but her subjects, you see. And at her feet is right where we belong.

It’s a little weird to think it’s the middle of summer already. I mean, it’s only gotten up to the low eighties a couple of times and the strawberries are only now starting to appear at the farmer’s market. It feels a lot more like May.

But the reason I know that it’s summer for sure is that I am buzzing with the excitement of the next school year. Six months ago I would have seriously injured anyone who mentioned school planning. But now that I’m not in the trenches and digging in for a math or grammar onslaught, the fall seems bright and shiny and full of potential.

All the books are bought and labeled. Most of the lesson plans are in the computer. Now it’s just a matter of slapping the library laminate on the paperbacks and finishing lesson plans.

Oh! And then there is the preparation for my schooling in the fall. They no longer accept testing out of math 101, so I have to go back and pick it up. Whatever. The Princess and I can slog through basic algorithms together, and maybe I will be a little more patient with her frustration and crying. Perhaps she will even be willing to share the Kleenex.

All this gung-ho cogitating makes me nostolgic for the only good part of state schooling: the shopping. I loved the prospect of new supplies, new clothes, and a new desk. Remember Trapper Keepers? I kind of want me a Trapper Keeper.

And this backpack. (So what if I’m distance learning?)

And some new clicky erasers.

And that’s all I need…

Ah, fall.

Got a sec? I don’t. I am busy with the cat box.

Not that cat box. This cat box at The Infinite Cat Project.

See? Now you’re busy, too.

What would you do if you knew a long lost and very much missed relative was coming to your house? And bringing a wife you’d never met? If you’re me you wig right out, that’s what.

I hadn’t seen my uncle J for nearly twenty years. He was one of the few people in the family that would talk to my teenage self like an adult. The only one who said yes, an art major was a great idea and that no, I wouldn’t starve in an alley somewhere. He felt like a kindred spirit.

Zip forward to now. What with college, my moving, his moving, and life in general, we lost touch. We talked on the phone once when Mr. MG was stationed in San Diego and I saw pictures of his wedding, but that was pretty much it until he came up to visit last week. For the first time in a long time, I was zoinked right out of my skin. He is a capital-A artist and his wife is a professional photographer and I’m just this mama surrounded by books and kids and cats and chaos. It was hard to focus on the fact that – duh – we’re all family, here.

The visit was so awesome, though. They are fascinating, witty and have a high tolerance for chatty kiddos and aggressively friendly cats. They are just so cool that for once in my life, I’m a little tongue-tied about it. We really liked having them around. (Although the visit was awfully short. Hint, hint, you guys.) Hopefully it won’t be twenty more years before we meet again.

…takes on a whole new meaning when someone lights off giant whistling, popping, exploding, tree-rattling fireworks right behind your house. And you have a cat with very long talons sleeping on your lap.