Thursday, July 29, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Forced Family Outing: Fort Ross
We loaded the children into the car and headed out to Fort Ross. It is a cool old Russian fort with cannons and little vignettes of how those Ruskies lived back in the early 1800's. Apparently they kicked a bunch of Spanish butt from that fort.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Nemo, for the 87th time
Despite having seen Finding Nemo at least 8 dozen times, Windham was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the huge whale that swallows Marlon and Dori. He knew it was coming, yet still held his hands in anticipation.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sunday Parkways-Eastside Edition
A beautiful day riding with our friends Mandy and Elena in east, and I mean east, Portland.
The kids were admiring the many decorated helmets along the route so as we finished the ride, they had their chance.
Don't they look amazing?
Next time we will break out the hot glue gun for some more permanent flair!
The kids were admiring the many decorated helmets along the route so as we finished the ride, they had their chance.
Don't they look amazing?
Next time we will break out the hot glue gun for some more permanent flair!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
From the Mixed-Up Files of one Windham Porter Holliman
as told by his other mommy:
I am putting Windham to bed tonight. The following conversation ensues. We have just returned from the playground playing with neighbor kids, trying to wear them out to go to bed without fuss. Harps is asleep. Windham, at 9, is still awake and thinking, a lot. While I rock him and he is drinking his milk, he begins:
W: Wanna make a fire.
M: Inside? We can’t make a fire inside.
W: Yeah, make a fire inside.
M: No fire inside.
W: Wanna make a fire outside, at that house.
I realize he’s remembering the time we stayed at Sharon and Greg Hill’s trailor, had a fire, and made smores, on Whidbey Island. This was MANY months ago, and NOT something we've reminisced about since, at all.
M: You wanna go back to Sharon and Greg’s house, where we had a fire and made smores.
W: Yeah. Wanna bring bags, not all the bags, one plastic bag. Not eat it.
In summary, over the next few minutes, I realize he’s trying to tell me we have to have that plastic bag from Sharon and Greg’s trailor that had the smore makings in it. He knows we don’t need lots of bags, just that one plastic bag with the food in it. To tease him, I don’t guess this just yet.
M: What’s in the plastic bag?
W: Food.
M: What kind of food is in it?
W: Yellow and pink food. (Then he sticks out his tongue and gives me a big happy goofy smile.)
M: You are trying to tell Mommy you want to go camping again and sleep in the tent and make a fire and eat outside.
W: Yeah and eat the food. What’s that food?
M: Marshmallows and graham crackers. They’re called smores. You cooked them with Mommy over the fire, then ate them.
W: Wanna eat ‘dem smores.
M: You like camping?
W: Yeah.
M: Will you wake up in the tent in the nighttime and be scared and scream and cry?
W: No.
More blathering…
W: I can’t step on the rocks?
M: No, you can step on rocks. What do you mean?
W: Fire rocks. I can’t step on fire rocks. (He’s remembering that mamas told him not to walk on the rocks around in or in the firepit.)
M: You can walk on rocks at the beach, or at the park, but not in the fire pit.
W: why?
M: because they’re too hot.
W: Why?
M: because they’ll burn you (anticipating another why) and THAT will HURT.
Moments of quiet thought, then he begins again.
W: I want a little yellow ladder.
M: Why?
W: Harper need a big ladder.
W: Why do you need ladders?
Then he just continued to tell me how he needed a ladder but wouldn’t explain why, then summarized our conversation by throwing his head back with a big ridiculous grin and saying, “Won’t eat the little yellow ladder, or the plastic bag, or the rocks, or the tent….”
My sweet silly boy.
Oh, and the highlight of the day for Windham was when a new friend with a 4 month old was astonished when Windham informed her that her baby doesn’t like the sun, because he was squinting. This was true. But my sweet boy was standing 3 feet below the baby, looking out for the baby's needs.
I am putting Windham to bed tonight. The following conversation ensues. We have just returned from the playground playing with neighbor kids, trying to wear them out to go to bed without fuss. Harps is asleep. Windham, at 9, is still awake and thinking, a lot. While I rock him and he is drinking his milk, he begins:
W: Wanna make a fire.
M: Inside? We can’t make a fire inside.
W: Yeah, make a fire inside.
M: No fire inside.
W: Wanna make a fire outside, at that house.
I realize he’s remembering the time we stayed at Sharon and Greg Hill’s trailor, had a fire, and made smores, on Whidbey Island. This was MANY months ago, and NOT something we've reminisced about since, at all.
M: You wanna go back to Sharon and Greg’s house, where we had a fire and made smores.
W: Yeah. Wanna bring bags, not all the bags, one plastic bag. Not eat it.
In summary, over the next few minutes, I realize he’s trying to tell me we have to have that plastic bag from Sharon and Greg’s trailor that had the smore makings in it. He knows we don’t need lots of bags, just that one plastic bag with the food in it. To tease him, I don’t guess this just yet.
M: What’s in the plastic bag?
W: Food.
M: What kind of food is in it?
W: Yellow and pink food. (Then he sticks out his tongue and gives me a big happy goofy smile.)
M: You are trying to tell Mommy you want to go camping again and sleep in the tent and make a fire and eat outside.
W: Yeah and eat the food. What’s that food?
M: Marshmallows and graham crackers. They’re called smores. You cooked them with Mommy over the fire, then ate them.
W: Wanna eat ‘dem smores.
M: You like camping?
W: Yeah.
M: Will you wake up in the tent in the nighttime and be scared and scream and cry?
W: No.
More blathering…
W: I can’t step on the rocks?
M: No, you can step on rocks. What do you mean?
W: Fire rocks. I can’t step on fire rocks. (He’s remembering that mamas told him not to walk on the rocks around in or in the firepit.)
M: You can walk on rocks at the beach, or at the park, but not in the fire pit.
W: why?
M: because they’re too hot.
W: Why?
M: because they’ll burn you (anticipating another why) and THAT will HURT.
Moments of quiet thought, then he begins again.
W: I want a little yellow ladder.
M: Why?
W: Harper need a big ladder.
W: Why do you need ladders?
Then he just continued to tell me how he needed a ladder but wouldn’t explain why, then summarized our conversation by throwing his head back with a big ridiculous grin and saying, “Won’t eat the little yellow ladder, or the plastic bag, or the rocks, or the tent….”
My sweet silly boy.
Oh, and the highlight of the day for Windham was when a new friend with a 4 month old was astonished when Windham informed her that her baby doesn’t like the sun, because he was squinting. This was true. But my sweet boy was standing 3 feet below the baby, looking out for the baby's needs.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
At Least Emergency Rooms are Air Conditioned
Yesterday when we picked Harper up from Art Camp she had fallen and busted her lip open. On first glance it didn't look too bad. It had stopped bleeding quickly and she was fine.
On further inspection, it was a full-on gash that we decided deserved a trip to the doctor. Laramie called, made an appointment, confirmed our insurance was accepted and off she went. When she arrived, guess what. No deal on the insurance. Thankfully they were helpful and suggested the clinic down the road that would accept our insurance. Back in the car and down the road they went.
The doctor at the next clinic took a look at the gash and proclaimed it out of his scope and suggested it could even require a plastic surgeon. Now we are moving into Holy Shit-ville. And off to the ER where at least it is air conditioned.
At this point, Nana and Poppy swoop, take WPH and then Big Joe drives me to the ER to meet them. I arrive to find Harper in great spirits despite the ordeal and mostly focused on when she will get her popsicle. The girl has her priorities straight to be sure.
We wait and wait and finally the ER doctor takes a look and decides stitches are indeed necessary. He can do it but the Pediatric Surgeons are on their way so better let them handle it. More waiting. A whole lot of TV. More inquiries as to the arrival of the promised popsicle
The surgeon arrives, they dope her up with ketamine, put in 2 layers of stitches and we are done. After her world stops moving she finally gets the popsicle. And better yet, a belly full of peanut butter MILKSHAKE to end the night.
The stitches will dissolve, her smile is intact. One might not even know we spent half of yesterday in the ER. That is until she uses it to her advantage to manipulate her moms into giving her what she wants. We are on to her; we are playing right long!
On further inspection, it was a full-on gash that we decided deserved a trip to the doctor. Laramie called, made an appointment, confirmed our insurance was accepted and off she went. When she arrived, guess what. No deal on the insurance. Thankfully they were helpful and suggested the clinic down the road that would accept our insurance. Back in the car and down the road they went.
The doctor at the next clinic took a look at the gash and proclaimed it out of his scope and suggested it could even require a plastic surgeon. Now we are moving into Holy Shit-ville. And off to the ER where at least it is air conditioned.
At this point, Nana and Poppy swoop, take WPH and then Big Joe drives me to the ER to meet them. I arrive to find Harper in great spirits despite the ordeal and mostly focused on when she will get her popsicle. The girl has her priorities straight to be sure.
We wait and wait and finally the ER doctor takes a look and decides stitches are indeed necessary. He can do it but the Pediatric Surgeons are on their way so better let them handle it. More waiting. A whole lot of TV. More inquiries as to the arrival of the promised popsicle
The surgeon arrives, they dope her up with ketamine, put in 2 layers of stitches and we are done. After her world stops moving she finally gets the popsicle. And better yet, a belly full of peanut butter MILKSHAKE to end the night.
The stitches will dissolve, her smile is intact. One might not even know we spent half of yesterday in the ER. That is until she uses it to her advantage to manipulate her moms into giving her what she wants. We are on to her; we are playing right long!
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