Such a mixture of feelings

"Ma, it seems like you're a professional teacher or something."  

The silence

Moving is hard work.

Summer so far

In addition to impromptu dinner-picnics at the lake, toad-y days at the dacha and the park, park, park...

the dachona with Friend

Summerfest fireworks from the roof of Disconvery World (Thanks, Briohn!)

Veterans' Park, grilling with The World

round the reservoir

Post-camp

a three-hour nap

Nine

Nine is my favorite year in the life of childhood.  A lot of the annoying work is done, and the interesting stuff can begin. 

Welcome, Sophie (and Ty), to Nine.

Thanks, Skogs

Many, many moons ago, "when I was younger and (not) free" (The woman has always had a hold on me.), I was given a gift.  I definitely didn't use it then, or much by choice until now.  There were those years when I had no choice but to use it...  But today I decided to cash it in, post-mortem.  And it still works!  Praise God!  The Cloak of Delegation fits me!

P.S.  I just have to record:  My children are currently on a fly-riddance mission.  G prefers the swatter, Ty likes the rubber band and Sophie... well, Sophie likes to watch. 

My life today

Freaking out.  Packing. Crying.  Cleaning.  Schlepping.

Breathing in the linden-y air, hold for seven, and out with a lion's breath.

Getting a pep-talk from dearest Gl---da: "It's all God's idea anyway!"

Freaking out and crying again.

Breathing in the linden-y air, hold for seven, and out with another lion's breath.

Pre-birthday

So, normally I have a no shirt, no meal policy, but I let it go for Ty's pre-b-day celebration.  That Neighbor Ron has really had an influence on Ty's lack of a wardrobe!

football and scones for breakfast

Look at that pure delight on my baby's face!

We ended the day with a Tita-Tito picnic and football in the park.  Ty ate so much dinner, he couldn't enjoy any pre-b-day cookies, so he had those for post-pre-b-day breakfast, along with some bhuja.  Mm!?

Pre-camp

Pack, pack, my job is to pack - the house, for camp, the van...

Dancing in the rain

Instigated by my stories of dancing in the rain fun, the children asked the other day if they might go out and enjoy a little prance in the precipitation.  "Claro!"

It begins!

Poppy Love

Hm.  If I had the chance to name another daughter, it might be Poppy Love.  But, since that is unlikely, I'll take my Poppy Love in flower form.

Floriferous! Verdant! Glorious!

Although garrish in color and perfumeless, I LOVE the poppy!

 

On my early morning rounds, saying "Hello! and Welcome!" to old friends and praising God for his creation.

A normal day in the life of Moi

Within two hours, I went from digging around in rotting fish guts at the dacha (the small one) to rolling melting-chocolate truffles with my tanned, worn hands.  Fun, no?!

At the dachona

So... dachona.  That is the Russian word "dacha," made large by the Spanish suffix "ona."  What would that be?  Ruslish?  Spanski?  Whatever it is, we love it!

Rob and I had quite the workout, chopping holes into the hard-as-rock clay.  Shoo!  I think that if I hill up the three long rows of potatoes properly, with composted cow manure and straw from random piles that are scattered about the farm, we might get a crop.  We also planted several squash, much to Ty's chagrin (I have a dream of filling up the new, roomy pantry with them, to use every Friday night!), and a couple of rows of Jessie's once-homeless tomatoes.  Anything we harvest this year from the dachona will be a bonus. 

While Rob and I were sweating and giving our broken ol' bodies a challenge, the children were throwing rocks at tree stumps, rolling old tires down the barn hill and climbing on ladders to who-knows-where.  It was joy!  Joy!  Thank you, God.

Dancer S

I am SO grateful for Above the Clouds, S's ballet company.  The founder and director is an African American woman, her teacher is African American, and a good near-half of the students are African American.  That just doesn't happen in the ballet world.  But here, it does.  Thank God!

A dream realized

So, last year the kids and I learned a song called "My father gave me an acre of land."  It's catchy.  I liked it.  And I wanted it, that acre of land; though not from my father, since his is far away in the frozen tundra.

And with recent choices before us, I was quite certain that if we made choice A (Which we did, thanks to God.), I'd have to kiss travelling and farming land saiyonara forever.

However, my Father gave me an acre of land.

Musical debut

Rob's drums never looked so cool.

Sophie was such a choir singing champ!

My two African lions

My peace flags

Floriferous!

The Pasque Flower, right on time!

So many potential apricots!

Which I then had to cover because of the late, freaky snow storm.  My Dearest Apricot does NOT look good in blue.

These too I had to save from the snow and cold... at least we had sunshine inside.

The Saiyonara Feast, by Fumino

Mad-town, we love you.

Micky's Dairy Bar and Friend, The Garden, Bucky's Terrace, The Capitol... you are all so nice.

Saiyonara Thursday-Haruna

Tempura try at home

... not great.  

BEST host-family EVER

And we're back: The Yarden!!!!!!!

Birthday season

Phew.  We did it.  A failed banana cake and a super-successful cashew dream cake... and everyone felt loved.

Rob, of course, said that he wanted elephants and trapeze artists for his birthday.  So, Fumino worked for more than THREE HOURS on these flying elephants...

... and I hired the trapeze artists.  Where were Sara and Loriqua?  They might have been cheaper!