Warning: These Kids are Dangerous

So. Now, it seems my children are a hazard to the heath and welfare of other children at the park. Yes. My children are hooligans. Delinquent, rowdy ruffians. Thugs. Troublemakers.

Yes, I like the thesaurus...what of it?

Lemme splain.

When we finished school and lunch yesterday, we headed out to a local park for some sunshine and active play. (Yay! Homeschool = 3 hour recess!) The boys brought along the usual accoutrement of boyish weaponry...most notably a cap gun (with a bright orange tip, identifying it as a play gun), and a wooden toy sword with rounded edges.

Digression:  I gave up on the idea of no weapons when Derek, at two years old and having never watched television nor seen any type of weapon being used, picked up a stick and started shooting. Making the noises with his mouth...the whole thing. Nature vs. Nurture, indeed.

Continuing on...the guys are playing on the play structure, as pirates or soldiers or something like that - going down the slides, climbing up the slides, climbing down ladders, etc. I noticed that they were calling down the tube slide before going down, just to make sure no one was climbing up. They were waiting for "the littles" to go first. They were just generally being the sweet gentlemen they've always been.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a mother get up and walk up to the playground and call her maybe 5 year old boy over. They came in after us, so she didn't know which kids were mine, or perhaps she wouldn't have spoken SO LOUDLY with her cute Spanish accent. (it was cute. i like accents.)

"Andrew! What are you doing? I told you not to play with those big boys. You have to be careful. They're dangerous."

Uh. Excuse me? Dangerous? Are you kidding me? Did you not see them just help that little toddler girl to her feet and give her back her caterpillar after she stumbled and fell?

I watched her for a few minutes as she followed her son around the playground, glaring at him occasionally and staring at my boys as if they were going to haul off and smack the boy down.

They were calling him "lieutenant" and telling him to fortify the base. Evil children.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.  I walked up to her.

"Excuse me. Hi, how are you? Those are my boys. Is there some sort of problem?"

"OH, yes. There is. I see him playing with that stick and I don't like for my son to be there with him because it is dangerous. The stick could hurt someone. I don't even know why he's playing with the stick, it's so dangerous. He could come down the slide and stab someone in the heart and THEY COULD DIE you stupid woman with THE STICK."

Okay. I added the last part. But that's what she was thinking. I could hear it.

"Okay. How about if I go ask him to let me have the, uh TOY SWORD THAT IS WOODEN AND ROUNDED AND COMPLETELY SANDED TO A FINE FINISH while they play. Would that make you feel better about them playing with your son?" I mean, sure - I thought it was ridiculous, but I'm willing to make concessions for the peace of the playground...

"Well, yes. Because someone could get stabbed and hurt because it is so dangerous to be playing with that SHARP STICK."

So I walked over to Joshua and asked him to let me have the TOY SWORD THAT IS WOODEN AND ROUNDED AND COMPLETELY SANDED TO A FINE FINISH so that no one would get stabbed through the heart and DIE.

 He looked at me as if I were a crazy person and said, "okay." Then he stabbed me through the heart gave me the sword and ran off to play.

Then Derek said, "Do you want my gun, too?"

And he ran off and they played with Andrew, and Andrew's mom continued to stalk them anyway.



After all...they are clearly playground punk mobsters.

(by the way - the mom never offered a "thanks for taking the dangerous sharp stick away from your hoodlum son," nor for that matter, a "hello," in response to mine. She did, however, talk to her friend and pointedly glance in my direction repeatedly. nice...)

Weedy

Remember this sweet little face?



And how he was so small, Derek could pick him up?



And he had such cute little jowly cheeks?



The jowls are not so cute and little anymore. And they hold amazing quantities of water after a nice long drink at the water bowl. But only for a half-second, and then they come streaming out in a trail across the floor.



And now, not only can Derek no longer hold him...neither can the couch.

But that's okay.

He only has six more months to grow...

How the Weekend Stacked Up

I painted. Hurray!
***************
The soccer game was so long and not-winnish that I took no pictures. But the players had a great time and didn't care one bit. Also it rained a bit. Because just losing by six goals wasn't punishment enough for one day.
***************
The British on the Green car show wasn't rained out, so we went and checked out the British cars. But I couldn't fine even ONE Italian to annoy. Bummer.



But there was a really cute Scotsman serving ice cream, and when he said things like "chocolate" and "scoop," my heart fluttered a little. Dr. SmartyPants wouldn't let me hang out at the ice cream stand after that.
***************
I bought a new house on the Pappamomick River. (that's the Potomac, for all you non-Joshua native speakers). It has a lovely view and dock and a boat and a wrap-around porch.



The only downside is that the people living there don't seem to remember selling it to me.

sigh...
***************
Happy Monday, my people...

Hello, Lady...

I saw my first ladybug of the season yesterday at the park. She (because they are all girls, right?) flew into the side of my face and then dropped down onto the strap of my bag, and the contrast of that lime green with her deep red shell was just so startling.

I'm still amazed that my iPhone managed to capture it so clearly. Maybe I should ditch the DSLR and just go all iPhone, all the time.

Naaaahhhh....
**************************
Today is the big book sale at the library. I'm planning on getting there as soon as it opens, with a couple of my big grocery sacks and all the cash I can dig up.

I love library sales. It's like one of those everything's a dollar stores, but with stuff you actually want. I'm not sure where I'll put all the treasures I'm sure I'll find, but I figure if necessary, the boys can share one twin sized bed, right?

I have my priorities.
**************************
Why does the forecast always start to call for Saturday rains as soon as soccer season starts?
**************************
We'll likely go to another car show on Sunday, barring any leftover Soccer-Saturday rain. This one features British motorcars, so I am going to try and find an Italian man to offend.
**************************
And finally - I stumbled on this photostream yesterday at Flickr and was completely awestruck. I should have linked to it yesterday, in honor of Earth Day, but it's still appropriate...enjoy..

Have a spectacular weekend, people!

Meh. And Really? So What!

So, I added color, and I'm just not really thrilled with it, but I like the IDEA of it. I've got 5 or 4 other birdy stack up ideas, so while I'm not happy with this one, I am happy with the fact that I have IDEAS and a DESIRE to DRAW something.

I'm also happy because I've made PLANS to TRAVEL and I'm working on some other plans to TRAVEL somewhere ELSE but I can't talk about that one yet, because I don't really have any details or dates or particulars, just a want-to and a lets-see.

Sigh.

I love rainy days, when I have time to sit around and dream...

Feelin' Hot Hot Hot

I'm going to start out by saying...THERE WAS NO BLOOD ON TUESDAY!

Now, you can safely read the rest of this post.

I've been drawing! and painting! and cutting out things! and taping! and gluing! All in the name of doing a little CPR on my creativity.  (Hmmm...CPR...Creativity!Power! R..oh, forget it.)

I started working on a new little birdie drawing, and it was going well until I completely overworked it and couldn't get it back and it was on cold press paper which is the devil incarnate. inpapernate. inpulpnate.



Whatever. It's crap and I hate it.

I was only using it because I thought I was out of hot press.

But then? While I was looking for something else?

I found a whole new pad of hot press - a little smaller than I wanted to use, but at least it's not evil cold press.



And I started something new. Something smooth and hot pressy, with lots of line work. And oh, yes, you bet...there will be color. Tomorrow. And I will not overwork it because I am a strong and powerful woman.

Just like Madonna. (sorry...Glee...love it.)

Anyhow - what's up with the stacked birds? Honestly - I don't know. I'm thinking of stacking lots of different things - maybe it will be my next series...I need a good series...

Any suggestions? What should I stack?

Monday, Bloody Monday

So Monday.

yeah.

Okay. A little backstory.

This is Joshua. He's 8. He's never sick, in his opinion, even when he is.



He picks every dandelion he sees, and gives it to me. I tuck them behind my ear until they turn brown and shrivel up. He's sweet.



So, when he acts sick, I know that he's honestly REALLY sick, unlike some people in this house who sneeze once and spend the next week on the couch. I'm not naming those people, Derek. On Thursday, when he didn't eat much at The Talky Beer Place, we figured it must just be the big snack he had earlier in the day.

That's a ROOT beer, people.

But on Friday, when he woke up and never really woke up and then took a nap? I grabbed the thermometer and checked him out and he registered a bit over 100.  A little ibuprofen later, he felt a little better but we decided he'd have to skip soccer practice and stay on the couch for the evening.



He didn't even protest. Even when he had to miss his first game of the season on Saturday. Not even a whimper. He managed to make it to the Ferrari show, but was reluctant and tired and fell asleep on the way home.

Sunday was not much better. He perked up in the morning, but by afternoon, was back on the couch and zombie-like. He woke up at 3 am with a double barrel nose-bleed that took about 30 minutes to subdue.

Now. Monday. 100 degree temperature in the morning, but seemed to actually feel a bit better.

Until just after the Raisin Bran. When the next nosebleed started.

And people? It was a gusher. Please forgive me if you're squeamish. You may want to stop reading here and go on to this page of my sweet puppy. Because this is where Ridley Scott took over my Monday morning.

We sat with a roll of paper towels and went through one after another after another. And then a couple more. And then I noticed a little smear of blood underneath his eye, on the same side as the nosebleed, so I assumed it was just where he'd wiped his eye with a little blood on his finger.

Then, Derek told me to look at Joshua's eye again. And I saw a big tear-shaped drop of blood pooling up in the corner of it.

On the inside I said..."AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH MAH BABEE MAH BABEE!!!!"

And on the outside, I said..."Well, that's odd. Here, honey, let's just get that with a tissue. Oh yes - nothing to worry about...Just a little bleeding out the eye."

It looked a little like this.

And then? Then I inadvertently removed the alien hamster from my son's nose. Remember the creature that came out of the guy's chest in Alien? Now, just picture it smaller...hamster sized.

Yeah.

All I was trying to do was to swap out the soaked paper towel to exchange it for a new one. The hamster grabbed on the paper towel and slithered right out. I think I squealed a little as it started, then yelled for Derek to help me get the next paper towel ready instead of sitting there gagging, please.

I am not even kidding you when I say I have never seen a larger mass of bloody-ness come out of anyone in all my life.  Ever. Everevereverevereverever. And as disgusting as it was, it was oddly compelling. I kept looking at it, trying to find the eyeballs.

BECAUSE AN ALIEN HAMSTER CAME OUT OF MY CHILD'S NOSE.

I think the Weekly World News might be interested.

I have since learned that when a sinus gets that clogged up with blood and mucus, the blood has to find somewhere to go, and often travels up and out through the tear duct. Which is just not as dramatic as it looks. And also?

When you remove an alien hamster from your child's nose, their mystery fever, bloody eyeballs and other symptoms miraculously go away, especially when you decide to go to the doctor for a quick once-over. Not a smidge of temperature.

From now on, I declare - I've won. Have a bad day, dear? Did it involve your baby's eyeball bleeding? No? Maybe you removed an alien hamster from your darling son's nose? No?

I WIN.

How-To Guide: The Offending People Edition

Because I love you, dear readers, I want to help you avoid the pitfalls into which I regularly fall. One of the most serious issues I have on a somewhat regular basis is, well...

opening my big FAT mouth.

daily.

Let me just give you a for instance, okay?

On Saturday, we went to Reston, Virginia for the Mid-Atlantic Ferrari Club's Annual Spring Thaw. That link is actually for last year's event, which we also attended - because my family are not just car-crazy, but specifically Ferrari-car-crazy.

Anyway - we're wandering around, looking at the cars, listening to the boys rattle off what specific model of Ferrari we see, and whether or not they have one (or more) in their Hot Wheels Ferrari collection. I'm always amazed that they can retain that information - down to what COLOR Hot Wheel they may have in each model...

...but math facts? ppffft.

But, I digress.

I have been known to have an opinion, on occasion. I've been known to express said opinion out loud, unthinkingly, because I've been known to lack a filter between my brain and my mouth. Smart ass comments rise up from my cerebral cortex, travel around my head and jump out of my ginormous mouth before I even realize they were released from the gray matter.

At least one of my sons has inherited this amazing ability. Please forgive me, future wife of Joshua.

So. We're walking down the row of Ferraris, when I spy this one...



It's a 1964 Ferrari 330 2+2, the only year they actually manufactured this particular model with the quad headlights.

Thank goodness.

My father-in-law used to have a Ferrari 330 GTC, which was a gorgeous car and looked like this one:



only, in Ferrari red.

Much better...

As we sauntered past the 2+2, I said that it looked like a Buick. (No offense intended to Buick owners -but really...can you get any farther from a Ferrari?)

No sooner had the words flown out of my gaping maw than a very polite, sweetly British-accented voice said, "Excuse me?"

I turned, face flushing red and quickly said, "Oh, nothing!" I flashed a smile and started tugging on Dr. SmartyPants' arm. He was of no help at all - giggling like a school girl.

"Did you just say that this car looks like a Buick?"

Head hanging..."Yes. Yes I did. And it does. It looks like a Buick with those silly quad headlights. I'm sorry. It just does."

He walks over and proceeds to inform me how exceedingly rare the car is, how it was designed specifically for the American market, etc., etc., etc... He also explains that he still owns the magazine (that came out when he was 19 years old) that debuted the car to the public.

Because he is, of course, the owner of the Buick Ferrari. The owner THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN WALKING AROUND LOOKING AT THE BEAUTIFUL FERRARIS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. But was instead standing around his own car, listening to disparaging comments by uncouth Americans like me.

He called his lovely wife over and explained to her what I thought of his precious automobile and they stood and talked to us for a while in their lovely British accents while I stumbled and stuttered and tried to make it all better and then just decided to tell them I respected their opinion, but my own was vastly different.

I tried to make it better by explaining that there were other cars that I didn't like at the show, too. Like the Dino 308.

They agreed. They said they didn't like the Testarossa. They were incredibly nice and genteel and I could have listened to their accents all day long, even if they were haranguing me for my deplorable lack of taste.

Wow. This is really getting long. I'm sorry. Not only do I blurt out inappropriate comments, but I ramble on and on about ridiculous things.

Wrapping up - IF you are going to say rude things about someone's car, PLEASE make sure the car belongs to a sweet British couple who will ridicule you while at the same time make you feel all spiffy and important because they are talking to you.  (Why yes, I am a bit of an anglophile, why do you ask?)

Just make sure you don't go to a pickup truck show and claim that someone's jacked up 1957 Chevrolet 1/2 ton reminds you of a Volga on stilts, because I don't think Bubba will take it quite so well.

A Huge Helping of Not Perfect

I have wonderful children.



There's mah baby. He's funny and cute and sassy and smart.



And there's my big boy. He's sweet and cute and quirky and smart.

But you know what?

They aren't perfect.

(gasp.) (I just heard my mother screech a little in the distance.)

It's true. They aren't perfect because, well...



Their father isn't perfect.

(clunk.) (I think that was my mother-in-law fainting.)

(but he's really cute, isn't he?)

Anyhow - obviously their lack of perfection doesn't come from me. I think we've seen time and again how amazingly perfect I am. But, I digress...

So today.  Today.  TODAY. Was not a good day. It was a not perfect day. It was a day that will live in infamy...all over a few math problems, the time it takes to brush teeth, willful disobedience and...

Plush. Stuffed. Animals.

In my defense...I warned them. I cajoled them. I begged and pleaded and gave many many chances.

But now? Let's just say that I am the proud owner of dozens of "stuffies." They live in a large plastic tote box and two plastic bags in the closet of my art room.

I left plenty of openings for air holes.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments and did I mention the wailing, we had a nice long discussion about responsibilities and respect and out-of-whack priorities and how there will be no "stuffies" returned unless some things change, and then they'd only come back one at a time, as payment for a job well done.

sigh.

I don't want to be the mean mama. But something's gotta give, here, people.

So now, after finishing math and helping me walk the dogs, they're sitting here at the table drawing pictures.

Of the stuffies.

that I stole.

from them.

At least they've stopped crying.

How-To Guide: The Procrastination Edition

I thought I would walk you through a day in the life of a top-notch procrastinator.

That would, of course, be me.

Today, we had planned to meet up with a group of homeschoolers at a park nearby, but the rain kept us in, and honestly? I was kind of glad. I wanted to go, but I also wanted to find a little time to work on a drawing or painting or something visually artistic and creatively engaging.

So. After we finished ciphering for the day, and eating lunch, and playing with the dogs and, oh - who knows what else, I sent the boys downstairs to clean their cesspool room.  I figured I'd have an hour or two of quiet time and get something done.

Ahem.

Let me just walk you through what happens during two hours of quality procrastinating:

1. Sit down with mind-mapping notebook.
2. Stare at paper.
3. Decide I need a snack.
4. Go to kitchen - look for snack in basket on top of fridge.
5. Feel nasty greasy residue on top of fridge. shudder.
6. Mix up a batch of Mrs. Meyer's lemon verbena cleaner and grab kitchen chair to get to top of fridge easily.
7. See grimy build-up on cabinet doors, and pretty much everything else in kitchen.
8. Cry a little.
9. Start spraying at top of wall and work my way down.
10. Notice how much Mrs. Meyer's lemon verbena smells like my Aveda salon.
11. Smile a little.
12. Go through an entire roll of paper towels while scrubbing all vertical and horizontal surfaces in my entire kitchen.
13. Realize I forgot to eat my snack.
14. Steal some of Joshua's popcorn.
15. Two hours later, stop, look around, smile, sniff.
16. Clean out sink and put cleaner away.
17. Receive text from Dr. SmartyPants that he's on the way home.
18. Realize I forgot to cook supper.
19. Realize there's no freakin' way I'm cooking dinner in this sparkly clean kitchen.
20. Order pizza.

And that, people, is how it is done. Not one piece of art paper was harmed in the making of this list.

(although one entire tree's worth of paper towels were eradicated from the planet. go earth month. woot.)

He Looks Like a Weirdy!

"I Live with Weirdies"

Create a free slideshow with Picnik!

Good grief, what strange people I have to deal with on a daily basis...but they are cute, aren't they?

We spent the weekend day-tripping around Maryland, trying to squeeze in as many of the surrounding sights and attractions as possible before we head back to our normal, Knoxville life in November. We've been here a bit more than a year, and it seems to have suddenly occurred to us to get busy...we won't be here forever! Of course, I think I spent that first year either driving to or from Knoxville, so that kind of got in the way of actually going to parks and museums and the like. This year should have less traveling back and forth...

At least that's the plan. I'm already trying to see how I can get to Mudbug Madness again this year...and it just may work with the soccer schedules.

Which would be awesome.

And not just because I'm sure Melinda would make me some crawfish etouffee. Etoufee. Eh-tooo-fay. Whatever. It's good, no matter how you spell it.

**************************************
I'm also trying to see how I can fit, oh - I don't know - a little ART back into my life. Not that photography isn't art, and not that I haven't enjoyed playing photographer for the past few months, but my fingers are itching to get a paintbrush in my hands and I just can't seem to find the time to get anything down on paper.

I was sitting at the playground today, while the weirdies ran off some energy, so I made a list of reasons why I'm not finding time to create, and guess what popped up as the number one time suction device in my life?

Yeah. The internet. Duh.

I can always go look just one more thing up, or read just one more inspirational blog, or research just one more painting technique.

Hello. My name is Diahn. I'm an internetaholic.

So. What am I gonna do about it?

Heh. Whine, most likely.

And then set some serious boundaries on my blog surfing, reading, blahblahblah.

Yeah, whatever.

You won't likely notice a change here, because this is the easy part - the part that doesn't take much time.  But, I'll be giving myself a once-daily Google Reader window of opportunity...once a day to check the 973 blogs I read (or whatever...there's a lot. I don't actually count them.)

Because, see...the problem isn't me. It's all YOUR fantastic blogs that keep me from getting my art done.

Stop being so fabulous, why don't you?

(no...don't...I can lick this thing...I just know I can...)

What are your worst time wasters? How do you deal with them? I'd really love to know!

Saturday in the Park

Yet Another Avenue toward Laundry Avoidance

So. I giant red sequined heart the Hipstamatic app.  I've told you that, I know. Even my blog banner proclaims my undying adoration. Love, love, love, love it.

And now...there's this...

SwankoLab - from the makers of Hipstamatic...and people (ahem...LINDA)...

It also works on an iPod Touch. Or an iPad if you have one of those.

You can click on the photo above and see what the different formulas were that I used on the original Hipstamatic print.

No, really...you don't have to thank me. Just enjoy sitting on your couch all weekend playing darkroom.

You're welcome.

I Am (not) Bossy

...but I got to hang out with her last night.



And I couldn't resist giving her a little something to remember me by...



That's Bossy's great dane, Stella, and I was so tickled to see that she made the painting her current favorite thing.

I had such a good time, meeting all those people that live in my computer - it was almost like having real life friends.

From what I hear.

Oh, that's a joke. I have real friends. They just all live at least 500 miles away from me.

sigh.

AAAaaanyway...here's a little taste of the fun we had -


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Quiet, Please.

The boys and I went on a field trip to the library, yesterday, with a group of homeschoolers in the area. The other kids were a lot younger than mine, but the librarian did a good job of incorporating things for all ages. We got to see the behind the scenes stuff that most people don't - sorting out the books, preparing them for re-shelving, etc. Our favorite part was the ordering and receiving department - this library is the central one for the county, and all ordering and receiving comes through them...and it's a huge operation. I honestly never knew how many people worked at a library.

There was one guy? And his entire job? Was opening the boxes that contain the ordered books.

I want that job.

Derek and Joshua said I already have that job, given the frequency of Amazon.com deliveries at our house.

Smart-a...leks.

We go to the library frequently. I love to read. I live to read. Given the choice between a chocolate cupcake and reading another chapter of a really good book, I'd pick the book.

Ideally, I'd eat the chocolate cupcake whilst reading the book. On the beach. Where I live. With my boyfriend, Ewan McGregor Dr. SmartyPants.

Wait. What was I saying?

Oh, yes - reading. Love it. Love it. Lovelovelovelovelove it.

But my boys? They don't love it quite so much. They're good at it. One of them has a high-school reading level, the other retains information like a sponge. One of them started reading when he was four, the other didn't really get it until he was closer to seven, but they are very close in ability, now. So this isn't a case of Johnny can't read...

It's a case of Johnny thinks reading is boring. Johnny hasn't figured out that books can transport you to magical lands. Johnny thinks of reading as a task to check off in order to fulfill a curriculum requirement. Honestly?

I'm not sure who the heck this Johnny is, but I wish he'd quit influencing my kids.

So, back to yesterday. One of the things we found out about was an audiobook called Playaway - it's a self contained audiobook - you just plug in your own headphones and listen. Derek thought that was the coolest thing in the world and wanted to check one out. He found Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and while he's never been interested in the book, the idea of listening to it was compelling.

People - this is adolescent boy literature of the highest order - complete with potty humor, butt jokes and the like - and I just couldn't be happier. Joshua decided to check out the book and read it, while Derek listened to it, and when they got home, neither of them could be pried away from their books. Derek fell asleep listening to his, and you can see what Joshua did - fell asleep curled up with his boy book...and this morning he brought it upstairs to the dining room with him so he could read it while eating his cereal.

Is it great, mind-expanding literature? No. They get plenty of that with the Newbery Award winners we read for school. But I've heard more giggling and laughing and "hey mom, listen to this" going on than I've ever heard in all their reading days...

"Doctor, can I have a new butt? This one has a crack in it... Get it mom? It has a crack in it? HAHAHAHAHA SNORT"

They are discovering the entertainment value in books - the joy of reading simply for the joy of reading.

(and there hasn't been even one "hey, mom, can we watch a Clone Wars episode" today.)

sigh.

That's a trend I can get excited about...shhhh....

Warm Temps Mean Never Having to Say You're Sorry

Good morning, my people. I sure hope that the weather wherever you are has been as resplendent as the weather where I am.

I mean, seriously, people - it's like summer all up in here.

We went to the park yesterday, and both boys looked at me after a few minutes and said, "it's hot." And I was all..."oh, no you di'n't just say that." Because, you know, HELLO. Do you not remember February?

Sheesh.

A Taste of Spring

I hope you all had as lovely a weekend as I did. We had a couple of extra days added to ours, as Dr. SmartyPants was off work, so the pictures...

...they do stack up.

Here's my little Easter gift to you...enjoy!


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

First in the Heart of Their Mother

Gorgeous light.

Gorgeous kids (if I do say so myself.)

Gorgeous day.

Too tired to write.

Looking forward to a nice Easter weekend...

See you all back here on Monday!  

Shhhhh....

I mentioned that Linda and I had worked out a theme for April, right? Right. Well - here it is...

"Quiet Spaces."

We'll be following the theme over at quirk, but also in our other artistic and creative pursuits.

What does that mean for me?

Well. I'm not exactly sure. Quiet spaces are hard to come by in my household, as I'm sure they are in most everyone's. But that is exactly why it is such a timely prompt - we all need quiet spaces, don't we? Time and quiet to think and plan and dream and create...I think I spend most of my day saying, "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," to young boys and young dogs and random stranger's kids in restaurants.

Quiet spaces...ahhh

********************

Dr. SmartyPants was off work today, so we all went down to the Tidal Basin to take in the cherry blossoms - yesterday was "peak" bloom, so the trees were absolutely gorgeous. But, I'll tell you - it was the sky that stole the show - such a deep, intense blue, it just almost looked fake.

It was a much better experience than last year.

I'm sorting through the quockabillion* pictures of cherry blossoms that I took, and as soon as I get them uploaded and put in some kind of order, I'll post a slide show of them, so you can experience that sky, as well.

I'm going to do that for you - my pretty, pretty readers. Because I heart you times a quockabillion.

Until then, I'll be soaking my tired feet, recharging my camera batteries and dreaming of quiet spaces...and trying to regain a little energy for our trip to Mt. Vernon tomorrow...

*A quockabillion is an extremely large value. The exact value is known only to a certain blonde-headed 8-year-old boy who often uses it as hyperbole to explain how many stars are in the sky, or days there are until Christmas, or by how many seconds he beat Derek in that foot race.