Carrot cake, Lemon Cake, Banana Cake, Applesauce Cake, Chocolate Cake, Carrot Cake, Brownies.
UGH!
No... more... cake....
For a year.
Right?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Gearing Up
... for the Birthday month.
I've still got a couple weeks before the 26th and the official start, but it's coming FAST.
Avery will be 10.
Then Papa's birthday four days later.
Ansel will be 1.
Then five days later Miles will be 4.
And eleven days later is my birthday, though who is kidding who here? By then we're all sick of birthday cake....
Speaking of birthday cake- everyone wants carrot cake, but that won't do- it's just too much of a good thing. But everyone deserves to have their choice of cake on their birthday, at least, right? And so I start my subtle campaign to convince the members of the house to change their tastes and minds. Oooh! Look at this picture of a cake! Doesn't THAT look good?! Wow! I'd LOVE to try that kind of cake....
So far... only Ansel has caved. He was chewing on a picture of a banana. Which clearly means he desires banana cake with chocolate frosting for his birthday, don't you think?
And then the parties... Avery always had these big, well organized and attended parties, with hand sewn party hats and homemade pinatas. He's chosen simpler things the last couple of years- a special dinner, a trip to OMSI in Portland. I have no idea what he wants this year, but hopefully it will be in that vein.
Miles has never had a real kid party, and this won't be the year it happens for him. I'm thinking a joint Ansel-Miles birthday party. Abraham Lincoln's birthday is the 12th of February, a Friday, right in the middle between Ansel and Miles. A good day for a party. And Mary Todd Lincoln was well known for making a special sweetheart's cake for old Abe, so that's a logical tie-in.
The problem with combined parties, of course, is that you're really just adding in another cake, since everyone needs a little celebration on their real birthday too.
And so... we're still at four carrot cakes in four weeks, plus a banana cake and a butter cake.
I guess we're all getting elastic pants for our birthdays, there's just no way around it.
I've still got a couple weeks before the 26th and the official start, but it's coming FAST.
Avery will be 10.
Then Papa's birthday four days later.
Ansel will be 1.
Then five days later Miles will be 4.
And eleven days later is my birthday, though who is kidding who here? By then we're all sick of birthday cake....
Speaking of birthday cake- everyone wants carrot cake, but that won't do- it's just too much of a good thing. But everyone deserves to have their choice of cake on their birthday, at least, right? And so I start my subtle campaign to convince the members of the house to change their tastes and minds. Oooh! Look at this picture of a cake! Doesn't THAT look good?! Wow! I'd LOVE to try that kind of cake....
So far... only Ansel has caved. He was chewing on a picture of a banana. Which clearly means he desires banana cake with chocolate frosting for his birthday, don't you think?
And then the parties... Avery always had these big, well organized and attended parties, with hand sewn party hats and homemade pinatas. He's chosen simpler things the last couple of years- a special dinner, a trip to OMSI in Portland. I have no idea what he wants this year, but hopefully it will be in that vein.
Miles has never had a real kid party, and this won't be the year it happens for him. I'm thinking a joint Ansel-Miles birthday party. Abraham Lincoln's birthday is the 12th of February, a Friday, right in the middle between Ansel and Miles. A good day for a party. And Mary Todd Lincoln was well known for making a special sweetheart's cake for old Abe, so that's a logical tie-in.
The problem with combined parties, of course, is that you're really just adding in another cake, since everyone needs a little celebration on their real birthday too.
And so... we're still at four carrot cakes in four weeks, plus a banana cake and a butter cake.
I guess we're all getting elastic pants for our birthdays, there's just no way around it.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Reasons to Homeschool: Harried to Happy
Morning could be hectic and harried for us- if we had to get everyone washed, dressed, fed, bundled up, out of the house and to school, daycare, work on time. They could be, but they're not, because we don't HAVE to be anywhere but right where we are.
This morning, when I felt obliged to give the baby an impromptu bath to wash the fistfuls of crusting-in mush and browning banana smoosh out of his hair, and the three year old decided to strip naked in the hall and take a running dive into the tub (no one in my house can stand missing out on a bath) I felt just a little put out. This wasn't on the schedule for the morning. But they're so cute, you know, so sweet. How can you stay grumpy with two little ones in the tub? All those bubbles and splashes, soapy clean smells and giggles. When the nine year old decided to join in the fun it just felt perfectly, well... perfect. Two little ones in the tub, warm and shiny, a big one perched in the corner, serenading (guitar practice without threats or shouting, check!) them with his entire play list while they danced and laughed, well, I was just glad to be home, free to enjoy such a lovely unscheduled and unplanned moment.
How many of those moments would be missed if we were caught rushing off to our important days elsewhere? How sad would it be if a baby's 6-grain hairdo were enough to start everyone's day off wrong (too rushed, late for school, late for work)? Those moments, simple and unstaged, are the ones that fill our family memory-bank, easy and quick to pull out on rainy days and hold on to during troublesome times. And so grateful are we, to be present here, filling our bank with memories we share, gathering moments of grace together.
This morning, when I felt obliged to give the baby an impromptu bath to wash the fistfuls of crusting-in mush and browning banana smoosh out of his hair, and the three year old decided to strip naked in the hall and take a running dive into the tub (no one in my house can stand missing out on a bath) I felt just a little put out. This wasn't on the schedule for the morning. But they're so cute, you know, so sweet. How can you stay grumpy with two little ones in the tub? All those bubbles and splashes, soapy clean smells and giggles. When the nine year old decided to join in the fun it just felt perfectly, well... perfect. Two little ones in the tub, warm and shiny, a big one perched in the corner, serenading (guitar practice without threats or shouting, check!) them with his entire play list while they danced and laughed, well, I was just glad to be home, free to enjoy such a lovely unscheduled and unplanned moment.
How many of those moments would be missed if we were caught rushing off to our important days elsewhere? How sad would it be if a baby's 6-grain hairdo were enough to start everyone's day off wrong (too rushed, late for school, late for work)? Those moments, simple and unstaged, are the ones that fill our family memory-bank, easy and quick to pull out on rainy days and hold on to during troublesome times. And so grateful are we, to be present here, filling our bank with memories we share, gathering moments of grace together.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Outsmarted
This afternoon, in a mad rush of trying to finish up a sewing project that wasn't working well, nursing the baby, tidying up the family room (and the epic mess of post-fort-deconstruction AND an entire box of party crackers and a block of cream cheese-don't ask), presents to wrap, and a shower still to take:
Me Miles, if you touch that drill (toy) one more time before the family room is tidied up I will take it away for the rest of the day.
Miles Okay, I'm sorry. I won't touch it.
Fine. Except that he quietly went upstairs and came back down with ziploc sandwich bags on his hands, and picked up the toy drill and started back to his "work".
Me Miles, I told you not to play with that drill.
Miles No you didn't Mama. You told me not to touch it. I'm not touching it, see? I'm being really careful. I'm really not touching it one bit.
Oh my. He's three. And my head hurts.
Me Miles, if you touch that drill (toy) one more time before the family room is tidied up I will take it away for the rest of the day.
Miles Okay, I'm sorry. I won't touch it.
Fine. Except that he quietly went upstairs and came back down with ziploc sandwich bags on his hands, and picked up the toy drill and started back to his "work".
Me Miles, I told you not to play with that drill.
Miles No you didn't Mama. You told me not to touch it. I'm not touching it, see? I'm being really careful. I'm really not touching it one bit.
Oh my. He's three. And my head hurts.
Friday, December 11, 2009
For Jennifer
Because I was reprimanded for not keeping up with my blogs over the last month or two, and told in no uncertain terms that people want to know everything, even what we eat breakfast:
pumpkin seed cranberry granola, whole milk yogurt(organic), fair trade french roast coffee, whole milk (organic), canned pears (remember our pear canning session?! They're being eaten up like you wouldn't believe!), Emergen-C tangerine.
Everyone happy now?
Seriously, though, everyone is well (knock on wood) and happy (again, the wood....) and I'm elbow deep in cleaning and cooking and baking and preparing and we've got a birthday party and a Swedish supper party, plus a tromp up the mountains to find two trees, a church play for Avery to prepare for, a million gifts to make, lots and lots of good stuff to get to work on. I feel like the whole last month was lost to our weeks of sickness and despair, and now we're all jolly elves on double time!
So no worries. No good stories yet, but that's just because we're too busy to get into trouble!
pumpkin seed cranberry granola, whole milk yogurt(organic), fair trade french roast coffee, whole milk (organic), canned pears (remember our pear canning session?! They're being eaten up like you wouldn't believe!), Emergen-C tangerine.
Everyone happy now?
Seriously, though, everyone is well (knock on wood) and happy (again, the wood....) and I'm elbow deep in cleaning and cooking and baking and preparing and we've got a birthday party and a Swedish supper party, plus a tromp up the mountains to find two trees, a church play for Avery to prepare for, a million gifts to make, lots and lots of good stuff to get to work on. I feel like the whole last month was lost to our weeks of sickness and despair, and now we're all jolly elves on double time!
So no worries. No good stories yet, but that's just because we're too busy to get into trouble!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Pirates
My brother has a big boat that just happens to be in dry dock right now, in our very state, instead of Alaska. So we went to visit him a few weeks ago, before everyone got sick and everything in our house broke (Did I mention the stove broke on Thanksgiving? Did I?!). One of his crew members was there, working, when he arrived- a very sweet girl with tight black jeans, a striped shirt under a sweatshirt, severe black hair, some facial piercings and tattoos. She seemed quiet, nice, and smart, though she was mostly working hard most of the time we were there.
ANYWAY...
Yesterday Miles came running to me in the midst of the epic boat-fort building game he and Avery were engaged in, wanting, no NEEDING, to know the name of "Uncle Trevor's Pirate".
Uncle Trevor's Pirate?
Trevor's leg is broken, he was in a cast when we were there, but it didn't seem like a peg leg, did it? No one had lost an eye or a hand- no patches or hook-hands were seen. Finally I figured out he meant Shannon! Trevor's girl-crew member. His "Pirate". Of course.
Because ships have pirates. Duh.
And who else but a pirate would make gold look so fierce?
I wonder, should I take my kids out of this poky little town more often? Should they know that pirates aren't the only people with piercings and tattoos? How embarrassing will it be when they go off to college and think their dorm mate is a pirate?
ANYWAY...
Yesterday Miles came running to me in the midst of the epic boat-fort building game he and Avery were engaged in, wanting, no NEEDING, to know the name of "Uncle Trevor's Pirate".
Uncle Trevor's Pirate?
Trevor's leg is broken, he was in a cast when we were there, but it didn't seem like a peg leg, did it? No one had lost an eye or a hand- no patches or hook-hands were seen. Finally I figured out he meant Shannon! Trevor's girl-crew member. His "Pirate". Of course.
Because ships have pirates. Duh.
And who else but a pirate would make gold look so fierce?
I wonder, should I take my kids out of this poky little town more often? Should they know that pirates aren't the only people with piercings and tattoos? How embarrassing will it be when they go off to college and think their dorm mate is a pirate?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Miles
I've been so lucky to have my wonderful Mom and a talented physical therapist Aunt here helping our family out during this difficult time. I really don't know how we'd have managed without my Mom here, holding fussy sick babies and cleaning up puke, taking temperatures and making chicken soup, exuding confidence that everything would be okay, that Miles would pull through.
Miles, you know, is 3 years and 9 months old, full of fire burning bright, the one who jumps headfirst into every experience, and pulls all the rest of us along with him. He is so funny and sincere and beautiful that he gets by with a lot that a more serious, less antic-filled kid wouldn't be able to get away with. Of all my boys he's the one always in the center of the action, making everyone laugh, causing trouble, and smoothing things over with his incredible sweetness and generosity. He is healthy and strong, positively glowing with youthful health and rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and cheerful laugh. Glowing, I tell you.
But Miles is the one I always secretly worry about. Always. I imagine it's because of the worry of my pregnancy with him (preterm labor and 4 solid months of bedrest) and how sick I was after he was born, at least that's what I tell myself. The other boys, though of course I worry, I feel more confident about, healthwise. Miles is the one I am sort of irrational about, the one I really have to talk myself down about. Every bruise might be a sign of some awful thing, leukemia or a clotting disorder. Every cough whispers pneumonia. I know it's crazy. I talk myself out of it all the time, or else we'd be in the emergency room more often than we already are (and Lord knows we're there for legitimate reasons often enough that it's a joke among our friends).
So you can imagine how I was feeling this week, with Miles trying to recuperate from an appendectomy and swine flu at the same time, lying in his hospital bed pale and feverish and still, not wanting to eat or drink, not wanting to talk or watch TV or even respond to us. I spent the whole time talking myself down, trying to trust that he would be well. And he is.
He is well. He is bouncing off the furniture, climbing the walls, shrieking and laughing and running around. You've never even know he'd been sick, except around the edges. That raggedy cough, a low grade fever that hasn't gone away just yet, the quickness to anger, the quickness to tears, the length and restlessness of sleep-times.
And so, last night, when my Mom and Aunt were talking about all the phone calls between the extended family, and how worried everyone was, when I asked "Why was Grandma crying?" they were shocked. As though I didn't understand how dangerous this all was, how close we'd been to Miles slipping away from us. And I couldn't correct them. I couldn't bear to just say that I have lived four years with the constant fear of him slipping away, and I am so used to constantly telling myself I am being silly, he is fine, HE IS FINE, that the knowledge that other people, rational, reasonable, intelligent people were as worried as I was more than I could deal with.
But he is fine. He is funny and sweet and energetic and you wouldn't know he'd been so sick. And I feel no choice but to keep on reminding myself of how fine he is.
He is not slipping away anywhere. He is jumping off the couch over a giant pile of cushions and onto the coffee table. He is running away and laughing, and I am so grateful. Running away laughing is as good as in my arms. He's definitely not slipping anywhere.
Miles, you know, is 3 years and 9 months old, full of fire burning bright, the one who jumps headfirst into every experience, and pulls all the rest of us along with him. He is so funny and sincere and beautiful that he gets by with a lot that a more serious, less antic-filled kid wouldn't be able to get away with. Of all my boys he's the one always in the center of the action, making everyone laugh, causing trouble, and smoothing things over with his incredible sweetness and generosity. He is healthy and strong, positively glowing with youthful health and rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and cheerful laugh. Glowing, I tell you.
But Miles is the one I always secretly worry about. Always. I imagine it's because of the worry of my pregnancy with him (preterm labor and 4 solid months of bedrest) and how sick I was after he was born, at least that's what I tell myself. The other boys, though of course I worry, I feel more confident about, healthwise. Miles is the one I am sort of irrational about, the one I really have to talk myself down about. Every bruise might be a sign of some awful thing, leukemia or a clotting disorder. Every cough whispers pneumonia. I know it's crazy. I talk myself out of it all the time, or else we'd be in the emergency room more often than we already are (and Lord knows we're there for legitimate reasons often enough that it's a joke among our friends).
So you can imagine how I was feeling this week, with Miles trying to recuperate from an appendectomy and swine flu at the same time, lying in his hospital bed pale and feverish and still, not wanting to eat or drink, not wanting to talk or watch TV or even respond to us. I spent the whole time talking myself down, trying to trust that he would be well. And he is.
He is well. He is bouncing off the furniture, climbing the walls, shrieking and laughing and running around. You've never even know he'd been sick, except around the edges. That raggedy cough, a low grade fever that hasn't gone away just yet, the quickness to anger, the quickness to tears, the length and restlessness of sleep-times.
And so, last night, when my Mom and Aunt were talking about all the phone calls between the extended family, and how worried everyone was, when I asked "Why was Grandma crying?" they were shocked. As though I didn't understand how dangerous this all was, how close we'd been to Miles slipping away from us. And I couldn't correct them. I couldn't bear to just say that I have lived four years with the constant fear of him slipping away, and I am so used to constantly telling myself I am being silly, he is fine, HE IS FINE, that the knowledge that other people, rational, reasonable, intelligent people were as worried as I was more than I could deal with.
But he is fine. He is funny and sweet and energetic and you wouldn't know he'd been so sick. And I feel no choice but to keep on reminding myself of how fine he is.
He is not slipping away anywhere. He is jumping off the couch over a giant pile of cushions and onto the coffee table. He is running away and laughing, and I am so grateful. Running away laughing is as good as in my arms. He's definitely not slipping anywhere.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
... and holding... again
Yep. Holding my breath again, just waiting for this week to end.
Thursday Miles developed appendicitis, Friday was spent at the pediatrician's office (first thing in the morning) and the emergency room (the rest of the day). Who knew the health insurance companies require preapproval for CT scans, unless it's an emergency room doc? Yep. So, ER, then surgery. Is anything more heart rending than a three year old being rolled away to the operating room screaming and holding his arms out to you? (If there is, don't tell me, please!) My Mom arrived just after the surgery, and thank goodness- having three adults meant someone could stay with miles, another could stay with Avery and Ansel, and the third could do errands and travel back and forth.
Saturday started with Miles spiking a fever and developing a cough, and getting sicker and sicker. Guess what? Swine flu, that's what. And we all got it.
The pediatrician at the hospital prescribed Tamiflu for us all, which definitely seems to help shorten and lighten the impact. But it wasn't the nicest way to learn that we have an entirely separate $600 deductible for name brand prescriptions, and that for the four of us (plus the last three days dosage for Miles) would cost us $412. Cash.
Some dear friends turned their house over to us and the convenience of having a crash pad directly across the street from the hospital was a blessing. Especially since the hospital has a ban on visitors under 14, which meant that the nursing baby couldn't come in to the hospital, and I had to leave Miles' bedside to take care of the other boys.
Back at home Miles has asserted his anger at the pace of his recovery in many dramatic and awful ways, shouting and throwing and generally acting out. Including kicking the computer off the couch and killing it. We just got word from the shop. Dead. With the whole entire year's worth of school lesson plans painstakingly written out but not backed up. When will I remember to do that?
I won't even mention the pipe under the sink bursting and making a big mess everywhere.
Or the baby's ear infection.
Anyway, I'm glad I took that good long breath last week. I needed it more than I knew.
This week seems to be all about holding it again. Holding and hoping.... please, God, let nothing else go wrong, at least not this week....
Thursday Miles developed appendicitis, Friday was spent at the pediatrician's office (first thing in the morning) and the emergency room (the rest of the day). Who knew the health insurance companies require preapproval for CT scans, unless it's an emergency room doc? Yep. So, ER, then surgery. Is anything more heart rending than a three year old being rolled away to the operating room screaming and holding his arms out to you? (If there is, don't tell me, please!) My Mom arrived just after the surgery, and thank goodness- having three adults meant someone could stay with miles, another could stay with Avery and Ansel, and the third could do errands and travel back and forth.
Saturday started with Miles spiking a fever and developing a cough, and getting sicker and sicker. Guess what? Swine flu, that's what. And we all got it.
The pediatrician at the hospital prescribed Tamiflu for us all, which definitely seems to help shorten and lighten the impact. But it wasn't the nicest way to learn that we have an entirely separate $600 deductible for name brand prescriptions, and that for the four of us (plus the last three days dosage for Miles) would cost us $412. Cash.
Some dear friends turned their house over to us and the convenience of having a crash pad directly across the street from the hospital was a blessing. Especially since the hospital has a ban on visitors under 14, which meant that the nursing baby couldn't come in to the hospital, and I had to leave Miles' bedside to take care of the other boys.
Back at home Miles has asserted his anger at the pace of his recovery in many dramatic and awful ways, shouting and throwing and generally acting out. Including kicking the computer off the couch and killing it. We just got word from the shop. Dead. With the whole entire year's worth of school lesson plans painstakingly written out but not backed up. When will I remember to do that?
I won't even mention the pipe under the sink bursting and making a big mess everywhere.
Or the baby's ear infection.
Anyway, I'm glad I took that good long breath last week. I needed it more than I knew.
This week seems to be all about holding it again. Holding and hoping.... please, God, let nothing else go wrong, at least not this week....
Thursday, November 5, 2009
A Good Deep Breath
Ah! Doesn't that feel nice?
I realized, in the midst of messy house, screaming children, unfinished school work, yet-again-still-at-work-way-too-late-husband, utter exhaustion and unbidden tears streaming down my face at a simple question ("How are you?") that I've been holding my breath through all the busy-ness, celebration, and even the simple routines of autumn. I've missed out on really being present for my favorite season, my grounding and hearth-warming season. I have been holding my breathe so long and tight that I've started floating away, my head in the clouds, busier imagining all the brighter futures we could have instead of doing my work, making THIS life, here and now, as bright and beautiful as possible. Unfortunately children and housework, school work and all of the day-to-day couldn't join me on my dream-tour, and had to make do here on earth without me.
I've been holding my breath for fear of crying out loud at the terrible prospect of MORE job losses, ones that could directly affect our little family, ones tied to the whim of voters. Holding my breath for fear of saying out loud all the ways I've been worried. One person in the family being stressed out is enough, and worry is my husband's job. My job is eternal optimism, unshakable confidence that it will all work out just right, no matter what IT is. Anxious weather watching, sunny-day umbrella carrying, that's his job. Silver lining shining, pot of gold finding, that's mine.
But election day is over, the voting is done, all those opinions have been counted. The sales tax that pays 1/3 of the office budget passed, overwhelmingly. Overwhelmingly! Jobs are a little safer, for awhile anyway. Mortgages can be paid, groceries bought, Christmas and oh! all those birthdays maybe not so bleak. I can breathe.
I can take a deep breath, let it go, take another, and come back down to earth. Back down to the house full of boys and chores and laundry. Landing on a mountain of laundry, it turns out, is a pretty soft landing after all, and is a great vantage point for scoping out rainbows' end. And silver linings are a lot easier to see when the storm clouds are just passing over, not dumping down on your head.
I can take another breath, an even deeper one, one full of gratitude and thanksgiving. Here I am, here we are, and it is wonderful, right here and now!
I realized, in the midst of messy house, screaming children, unfinished school work, yet-again-still-at-work-way-too-late-husband, utter exhaustion and unbidden tears streaming down my face at a simple question ("How are you?") that I've been holding my breath through all the busy-ness, celebration, and even the simple routines of autumn. I've missed out on really being present for my favorite season, my grounding and hearth-warming season. I have been holding my breathe so long and tight that I've started floating away, my head in the clouds, busier imagining all the brighter futures we could have instead of doing my work, making THIS life, here and now, as bright and beautiful as possible. Unfortunately children and housework, school work and all of the day-to-day couldn't join me on my dream-tour, and had to make do here on earth without me.
I've been holding my breath for fear of crying out loud at the terrible prospect of MORE job losses, ones that could directly affect our little family, ones tied to the whim of voters. Holding my breath for fear of saying out loud all the ways I've been worried. One person in the family being stressed out is enough, and worry is my husband's job. My job is eternal optimism, unshakable confidence that it will all work out just right, no matter what IT is. Anxious weather watching, sunny-day umbrella carrying, that's his job. Silver lining shining, pot of gold finding, that's mine.
But election day is over, the voting is done, all those opinions have been counted. The sales tax that pays 1/3 of the office budget passed, overwhelmingly. Overwhelmingly! Jobs are a little safer, for awhile anyway. Mortgages can be paid, groceries bought, Christmas and oh! all those birthdays maybe not so bleak. I can breathe.
I can take a deep breath, let it go, take another, and come back down to earth. Back down to the house full of boys and chores and laundry. Landing on a mountain of laundry, it turns out, is a pretty soft landing after all, and is a great vantage point for scoping out rainbows' end. And silver linings are a lot easier to see when the storm clouds are just passing over, not dumping down on your head.
I can take another breath, an even deeper one, one full of gratitude and thanksgiving. Here I am, here we are, and it is wonderful, right here and now!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Halloween 2009
Avery as "Teen Vampire". Scary was his top priority this year.
Miles as "Spider". Miles was adamant about his costume choice- every single time he decided!
Ansel as "Gnome". He wasn't very excited about his costume for some reason....In any case we had a great time, some good friends and family came over for pizza and trick or treating and it was all just good, easy fun. big boys running from house to house, little kids trailing, everyone falling to a deep sugar-coma sleep and waking up WAY to early this morning. Yay for Halloween!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sneak Peek
Yep. Ansel is going to be a gnome for Halloween. Ridiculous! You just have to wait for the rest of the pictures, though- and not just because I'm madly working at them while trying to pack for an out of state birthday party quick trip and clean the house for out trick-or-treating party scheduled to commence right bout the time we get home....And it's been raining and the drier is still broken, and we haven't carved our pumpkins yet....
But, oh! my house is full of cute little gnomes, so I'm as happy as can be!
Pumpkin Patch
The Grandparents from Iowa usually visit at just the right time to go to our favorite pumpkin patch- Thompson's Farm in Naches, WA. The farmer is a funny guy, and he seems to spend his spare time fixing up old tractors, collecting farm implements, and building pumpkin cannons. Awesome! All our favorite things in one spot! It doesn't hurt that he always has someone making and selling pumpkin donuts right there. Grandpa ate 2 1/2 dozen before he tackled the 4 dozen he bought to go! The boys were in awe. And have stated their desire to be grownups so that I can't stop them from eating 30 donuts in one afternoon. Moms are so mean like that.
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