Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

We've had a week of Christmas.  A week of travel.  A week of family. And fun.

But, you know, sometimes a week can be summed up best by two bags of Christmas sugar.

Deep Purple.

This last weekend we scooted back from a visit with the fabulous baby zoe in Eastern Washington, and landed right smack dab in the middle of Henry's guitar recital. 

It was everything you'd want from a recital with 6 - 10 year olds. Tinking pianos, screeching violins and some scragly guitar strumming.

Henry did great. His performance was a combination of Mary Had a Little Lamb and Deep Purple.  Which, you know, is such an obvious and streamlined musical combination.

I didn't get pictures of him performing, as I was videoing with my camera.  And the file is too darn large to add.  30 MGs of good musical fun, in fact.  But here's a quick look at Henry, the guitar star, before the big show.

 Big, crazy fun on a Sunday afternoon.

Bark.

So, I spent yesterday afternoon at the doctor's office with Henry. 

No cold.  No fever.  Just bark.

In his ear.

Because if you're going to do a magic trick for your friends in which you need to make a piece of bark dissapear, what better place to put it?  Way down in your ear canal makes sense at that point.

It's a bit later when the logic starts to get a bit flawed.  Like when the school nurse calls your mom to come get you or when your doctor is sticking a very long instrument down into your ear on a Monday afternoon.  

But, all that said, I think we might be able to call the magic trick a success.

Lights.

Sometimes...if you're lucky...you see lights in a tree AND in the sky.

On the very same day.

Working It.

So I'm currently reading this horrible (fictional) book about these kids who are raised for the sole purpose of being organ donars. 

What?

Merry Christmas, everyone.

It's called Never Let Me Go.  And this group of teachers tries to prove these lab-created chidlren have souls by teaching them art and music. The more fabulous their art, the more humanely they're treated...is the theory anyway.  Gawd this book is bringing me down, man.

ANYWAY, for better or worse, it's made me take notice of all the things these two little stinks of mine have been creating lately. Always paints, always tape, always crayons, always little books to draw in.

I suppose if they were characters in the book, they'd have a better shot at not losing a eye with all this artsy-fartsy craziness.  But since they're here - I think I'll just get em some new water colors and call it a day.

I may need to stop reading this book soon.  That's the real point of this story. 

The end.

Thankful.

Gobble Gobble.

So I'm a super big fan of a striking example of who my kids really are and what they like.

With Stella, it's the ying-and-the-yang.  It's contradiction. She wears super hero costumes with tutus.  She loves to carry her soft penguin and Thor's hammer at the same time. And, on a less proud note, she'll punch you right in the arm and then give you a big hug. I mean, it's completely brilliant - this craziness.

Henry has a bit more of a lazer focus on the things he loves. And money is right at the top of the list. Cold hard cash is second only to blue dog. We have countless pictures of him playing with money on the living room floor, counting coins, sitting by his coin sorters (there have been many) and wrapping up little piles of one-dollar bills like they do at a bank.  He has jars of coins all over the house. Clear jelly jars full of money.

Which is why it wasn't a suprise, but certianly comical, to see what he pulled together for a recent class project.  His teacher asked that each student dress up a construction paper turkey in disguise so you couldn't tell what it was. Some of the kids dressed their turkeys up like spacemen, some like hippies, some like doctors. Not Henry though. He had a better idea.

I found the moral of this excercise to be - you are who you are who you are who you are.

And that maybe he'll buy his mom something pretty with all that hard-earned cash-money he has one day.

There's Some Smoke. And Some Water.

The Freaks Come Out At Night.

Sleeping with the fishes.

Or swimming with them. 

Whichever.

The kids have swim lessons on Saturday mornings. And I'm a huge fan of watching...because here's a confession that will bore you straight to tears. 

I can't swim. 

Well, let's see, I can dog paddle (which Henry tells me is for dogs...what-evs).  But I can't manage that graceful, fabulous swimming that the olympians (or regular people) do.

Actually, if I was on the outside looking in - I'd say this is another example of me living vicariously. But I'm not on the outside, I'm on the inside. So it's fine. Just fine. 

Anyway. It's a cold, fantastic way to start the weekend. 

And here's another confession.

I totally dig being out-done by two sinky Sewards. 

2 + 2 = 7

Sometimes things just don't add up.

Wearing shorts in 45 degree weather.

Sportin' sunglasses when it's raining and cloudy.

Scooping up wet dirt (aka mud) only to infuse it with more water via neon colored water bottles.

You see what I'm saying, right? 

No?

Perhaps this may help.

Well.

I suppose getting the right answer isn't always what it's cracked up to be.

Mas Musica.