Easter: Part One

It has been very quiet on my lil’ blog lately, as well as home. So quiet that you could hear the robins chirp and the squirrels chatter through my dusty and dirty windows that are whining to be opened for a spring breeze. Except for Easter… that was a very busy day! That is why I will have several parts to my Easter posts, one for each place we went or event. That is also why it has taken me so long to get back to my blog, I had to recuperate.

It was the night before Easter, and all through the house,

many people were stirring, coloring, and dying

Easter bunny eggs.

It was crazy and chaotic,

It was a hustle and a bustle,

 to dye all these eggs.

A plop and a drizzle,

stir the orange and please pass the green…

The dinosaur egg.

I think I ate too many cupcakes and jellybeans.

Hope you had a wonderful holiday!
 
xxx
 
Below are more pics 🙂
 

My favorite way to color eggs is coloring crayons and food coloring. What is yours? Do you have a favorite method or kit?

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Crayola Mess

Have you ever seen a thousand or more Crayola’s rolling around on your living room floor? I have. Thanks to my sweet little Collin.

I don’t know how, but somehow we inherited this wealth of crayons from my parent’s old house. It is a big plastic container with an assortment of blunt crayons, broken colored pencils, and dried out markers…along with old stickers that don’t stick anymore and several dustpans full of pencil and crayon shavings (I know because I swept all of this up, several times). It is a culmination of two kid’s leftover school crayons and other bits and pieces. It is 6 years worth of crayons, and then some! It is a nice collection if you are into that sort of thing, which I am. (I think crayons are one of the best art mediums, extremely versatile. I could do a whole post on this, but will spare you for now).

I love this tote of crayons because I can find just the right shade of peach or if I mix periwinkle with cerulean blue it will be the color I am looking for…and yes, there is a reason for white crayons, blending! But I digress because I love colors, crayons, and coloring (and don’t get me started on the smell, mmmmmm…my favorite- Crayola!). Collin loves this tote of crayons also, but not for the same reasons. He loves it because it is a big bucket of stuff to get into…and he loves to take off the marker lids and put them back on, keeps him busy for hours. He also likes sitting and playing in the tote. Note pictures below. Bradley likes getting into the action too, after the mess is made. But he is a good boy and helps his momma clean it all up.

Collin, March 2011. I am going to fit!

 

Collin trying to push his brother out of the tote. I love the look of determination on their faces.

 I have to admit, it is one of those unbelievable messes and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was sitting in the living room burping one of the babies and here comes Collin around the corner carrying this tote that is heavy and half the weight and size of him. Somehow he manages to lift this tote over his head with those short little arms…and it was a Crayola shower…I mean downpour!

“Oh, no,” is all I could say. I tried to swallow my giggles, push back the tears, and shush the yelling.

Luckily, my sweet little Bradley helped clean them up. And I am not exaggerating, there must be hundred and hundreds of crayons. I am still finding them here and there a month later.

I smartened up after this and put the tote somewhere he couldn’t reach, because this did happen twice. I am a slower learner. hee hee.

xxx

p.s. These pictures were taken in March, before the haircut. Still missing those curls. <small sob>

Friday Favorites: Naptime

Collin, March 2011

I haven’t seen the sun in two days. The clouds blanket my thoughts and the wind blows sweet kisses that hit my cheek. The rain drops stick to the screen and try to sneak their way in to sit on the ledge and watch this peaceful scene. How can things be more perfect and peaceful than this?

Mallie & Elsie, April 15, 2011

I love naptime. First I rush around to get everything done; dishes, laundry, floors swept. Bradley and I watch for his bus on the front porch as Collin tries to climb and peek over the window ledge. 

We can hear the bus as it turns the corner two blocks down the street. I kiss his forehead, “Have a good day,” and wave to his little face framed by the bus window. There goes the big orange, carrying my baby away. I wave and wave until the last second, then I blow him a kiss right before his face disappears down the road…and he catches it.

Then I get all the babies down for their nap and then it is my time. I sit and read, blog, or surf the web…and sometimes I sneak in a nap too, if I’m lucky. Other times, I catch up on cleaning or organizing.

Today I am reading and blogging. It is the perfect gray day to curl up with my Kindle and my favorite granny made afghan. I listen to the wind and warm myself with homemade chai tea latte and the dog, Murphy, curled up by my legs.

Soon, Brad will walk through the door. Then Bradley’s bus will return him. Collin will be yelling and shaking his baby gate. The twins will take turns crying in stereo. I love the chaos, but enjoy the peace when I can get it.

I hope you are enjoying your rainy day, too.

xxx

Farm Pictures and Childhood Memories

I took these farm pics the weekend before last. It is just a pain to get them off of my phone. (I don’t have a smart phone).

These cuties follow each other around everywhere. It is so adorable.

The boys love it out on Grandma Chris and Grandpa John’s farm. All kinds of animals from feathers to fur. They feed, pet, and chase them, and occassionaly get chased.

Wide open space to run and big hills to roll down. The fresh air and dirt help wear them out and they are always sure to sleep well. Good ol’ days on the farm.

Here are some of my favorite pics.

Bradley found some eggs in the hen-house. But oops, he accidentally dropped one.

Bradley wishing he had more bread to feed the chickens. The red rooster kept trying to sneak up behind him and peck his legs. More food would help alleviate that problem.

There is that pesky red rooster again. He didn't really bother Collin too much. He was just around. But he tried to bully poor Bradley.

And we can’t wait to meet the newest addition to the farm.

All of these pics remind me of my childhood. My Grandma Jean lived on a farm. I loved tossing a handful of chicken feed around the pen and watching it scatter in the dirt. The hens would kick up plenty of dust to get to that one kernel first, even though there were hundreds of little kernels splayed across the yard. Feeding the chickens made me feel just like Dorothy on Wizard of Oz, minus the apron and cool shoes. Sharp beaks would peck at the ground and follow me around, bawking for more. I loved ducking into the old hen house, looking for eggs in the big comfy hay nests.  Some days you could fill a basket full. I never could eat those fresh brown eggs though. Yuck.

And of course, with every chicken coop there is a mean rooster. My grandma’s rooster was  mean as hell, but regal. He was dark brown, almost black, and when the sun hit just right his chest was a majestic emerald and he would perch on that fence post like he was a king. He would also chase us. Man, he was as fast as the road runner. My sister,Jessica, and my cousin, Ryan, and I would run away from that rooster as fast as our legs would take us. And then we would giggle so hard out of terror and fear and  collapse from exhaustion. It was also a relief we made it away from the pointy beak and razor talons because he got us a couple good ones now and then, and it hurt like you wouldn’t believe. It never helped that we teased the ol’ king, either.

And you had to be alert on that farm, because that damn rooster would wait until you were alone and hide around a corner to bombard you. It would also hide in the corner of the barn for a sneak attack. Man, he scared the crap out of us more times than I can count. We would just about pee our pants and pitch a roller coaster scream as we would go running wildly to grandma. “The rooster,” we would pant, “is after us,” we would say between gasping breaths. Grandma, such a good grandma, knew that it was never our fault. Always the damn roosters fault. hee hee!

My grandma’s farm also had sheep that would try to ram you off the tire swing, which we knew would seriously hurt, severely injure us, cause death, or possibly land us on the moon. The herd of sheep would sneak up on us also, just like the ol’ king rooster. Either we were really unobservant children or just didn’t care, I don’t quite remember. But it was always a pain when you wanted to play on the tire swing. You had to wait and wait until the sheep were way out in the fields. You could try to shoo them away, they ignored us. Try to pet them, they ignored us. They were not very entertaining.

One day they must have come in early. We didn’t see them. The only thing I do remember is screaming and scrambling up the wooden fence as a large male came running at us full force, head first. It was never this bad, with the whole herd right behind him, and we knew it was serious. We practically flew over the fence in extreme fear and panic, except my sister was still on the swing. Why was she still on the swing? Why didn’t she jump off? I had no clue how to save her. Ryan and I held on the fence, screaming for help. Jessica was holding onto that splintery rope so tight her hands could have turned into porcupines with all the splinters sticking out. And when you have a ram bearing down at you full speed, I’m sure your life flashes before your eyes.

 Before anything could be done the ram head butted the tire swing and my sister went flying. She hung on for dear life, almost turning upside down with the force of the blow. Then the one right after it rammed the tire swing again. By this time she was half way up the rope and would pull her bony knees to her chest for each blow. I wanted to cry. I wished I could save her. No matter how much she annoyed me, I didn’t want to see her sent to the moon. 

The whole herd seemed to be lined up, some coming towards us on the fence. It was like some sort of animal vs. kids standoff. We screamed and  prayed that Grandma would hear all the screaming to come save us. I should rephrase that. She always hears us, but I can hear her now as she loops her yarn around her crochet hook, “Ed, do you hear those kids? What do you suppose they are doing? There is an awful lot of screaming.” And Grandpa would say, “Well I don’t know, Jeanie baby,” as he reaches for the salt shaker out of his breast pocket to sprinkle on his beer. If we screamed and hollered long enough someone would save us…and there were no neighbors, so sometimes it took my grandparents awhile. Don’t worry, she made it out alive. We were all a little shaken, but for the most part I was just glad to have my sister in one piece, no matter how much I played it off that I didn’t like her.

We laugh about it now… and she always points out that we did nothing to help her, but left her for the rams. It always brings a good laugh.

Winding country roads, wagon rides, dirty toes, tornadoes, and ice cream cones…oh, the memories. Makes me smile.

My kids will be creating some of their own, hopefully with dirty toes too.

xxx

Collin’s First Haircut

Today I cried over sweet little blonde curls laying on my kitchen floor. The buzzing of the clippers shook and rattled my heart as I watched them fall to the floor, curl by soft curl.

I am never ready for my baby’s hair to be cut. I would let that fine baby hair grow and grow. But Brad never listens to me. It is an argument everytime. I knew it was coming because he wanted to cut it last weekend. When he cut Bradley’s hair for the first time I wasn’t even there to witness it…thankfully. Of course, he video taped it for me…which I can’t seem to find anywhere. Either way, I cried both times. And then I am in shock for a little while because it seems like they aged a whole year without those baby curls.

Below is Collin’s video of his first haircut. *sigh*

Well, at least part of it. Then “UGH Oh!”  (see next video below).

Sometimes I feel a little relief that the next two are girls…he better not touch their hair with clippers! That could possibly be construed as child abuse. lol

But he is a cutie no matter what his hair looks like.

Before front

Before back

During

After

xxx

Elsie Lorraine

Elsie Lorraine  a.k.a. Elsie Cakes, Tater Cake, Else

When we first brought the girls home I was so scared I would not hear them whimper or cry. They barely had a voice. They  would grunt and groan, which is common for preemies, I guess. When they did cry they sounded like little kittens trying to yowl. If you were in the other room there was a good chance you wouldn’t hear them cry at all. So I stayed real close.

1 week old

 At 3 a.m. one morning I was woken up by an ear-piercing scream. I bolted upright out of bed and was by the girls’ crib in a nanosecond. I was sure I was going to find something horribly wrong with that kind of scream, just what I had no clue. But it was just Elsie. She found her voice. And her voice is a high-pitched scream.

My ears started ringing only after a minute of hearing that kind of cry. I rushed to make her bottle just to shut her up. Ughhhh! is all I could think…and I hoped her voice would change to a regular cry real soon. It hasn’t. But it is amazing what you get used to…even at 3 am.

Strange such an alarming and screeching cry can come from someone so sweet and tiny.

Elsie at 4 months

Check out her happy scream in the recent video below:

It’s funny because it is usually the other way around. Mallie is laughing and making all kinds of noise and Elsie is the quiet one. Today it was Elsie’s day to do all the talking, I guess. Mallie was to focused on the camera. 🙂

I have all kinds of laundry to fold today…before it starts walking itself up the stairs and wanting to be fed.

Have a great day!

xxx