Weekend 3 way: Baby got photos

This weekend's photo project is challenging one to weave together, let's see:

Beth's baby bugheads

Ellie's baby tootsie-socks over water*

Jacquie's barefoot ninja baby

*I am aware that those are Schlekah tootsies, but I refuse to call him Ellie's baby. So by "Ellie's" I mean Ellie's image. Although Schlekah probably took the photo. How come only one of us has a live-in photographer? 


Happy Mothers Day! Or as my long ago baby boy once exclaimed: "Happy Birthday, Mudder!"

Fiction Friday: Carolina

Della is the kind-of person who will theme name her kids; you know, all flowers or spices or something ridiculous like that. There will be little Sage, and Saffron, and Sorrel. And they’ll all be in matching smocks with knee highs and Mary Janes. Just the thought of it makes me wants to barf, but if I mentioned it to her she’d probably smile sweetly and exclaim, “What a wonderful idea, Carrie!”

Perhaps it’s not completely her fault, seeing as we are all named after US States. I still cannot understand how dad agreed to it. He was probably on some bender and thought it was hilarious, some little joke my mother was playing, but he really should have known better, even falling down drunk. Mom doesn’t make jokes, she’s far to earnest, although mostly she comes across an airheaded wacko -- the kind of person you suspect of being on a very large dose of Prozac, only she isn’t.

Della’s like that too, so some cotton-candy day dream about her very own spice girls is par for the course. Me? I didn’t get the natural-antidepressant gene; nor did my brother. Hell, Dakota’s been a fuck up since he was able to walk.

The Mom-Fest

Sunday is Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day, Mothers!

But we've already had ourselves our own special Mom-Fest a couple of weeks ago, on Easter Sunday, hosted by our young friend The Dowd . . .

This is the scene we saw when we pulled up to The Dowd's house in the Westy.

You've got to agree that's a pretty great scene upon arrival.?

It was so great to have everyone together, but it was most especially great to have the Moms together, all feeling well and looking great and dressed like Easter eggs.

Mark Dowd? The man can grill a piece of meat. Or two. He's a griller extraordinaire. And he and MB are hosts exo* too.

*short for extraordinaire. I just invented it. I like it; I'm using it.

Mom and I had a lot to catch up on. We always do: there is a lot to talk about.

And Mumsie? Well, she was in good form that day, and we're all so grateful. We almost lost the Old Bag last year, afterall. It's great to have her around, but it's even better to have her around and feeling well, and she was that day.

Oh, this doggie was there that day too. A standard poodle like Steinbeck's Charley. This dog is slightly cuckoo.

These two are slightly cuckoo too, but don't tell Kelly I said that.

(Oh, hi Kel!)

What a lovely meal, what a lovely table, what a great group shot!*

*(It was a terrible group shot, which is why I'm featuring only this perfect detail.)

And Spring has fully sprung around these parts, and we had one of those unexpectedly lovely days that we got to spend outside -- the forecast was all "Rain, people. Rain."

We had no rain.

The Dowd and Mumsie have known eachother for something like 35 years. And they're still friends . . .

It was one of those days when the peeps got along great and the weather was lovely and the booze flowed and the food? Holy guacamole the food. The food was sublime.

But mostly it was about the Moms. The three Moms. Our heroes, our support, our fun, savvy, spirited, matriarchs who are, incidentally, the loveliest women around.

See you on Sunday, lovelies!

vail lake

We had ourselves an impromtu westy getaway this weekend! There is absolutely nothing bad about an impromtu westy getaway, despite the mugs in this first camp photo

camp crabby

Thank goodness we also had an a-hole anecdote antidote

never mind those scowling boys in the background. puberty=camp crankypants.

Let's focus on the positive!

pink champagne and bacon? Yes, please.

who wouldn't be all smiles with that breakfast of champions?

Camp Crankypants was on the morning of day two, and in defense of the scowlers, it had been a bit of a rough night for the kids, since they were all freezing while their parents were toasted toasty. In defense of the parents, we heard an awful lot of "God mom, I'm FINE" in the moments before sleepytime, so it's their own damn fault.

The morning was nice and warm, though, and when the afternoon became blazing hot, we happy campers took ourselves over to the pool.

Newly minted royal wave skillz

Autumn and I found this vision of my lovely girl lounging adrift quite inspirational, so we quickly kicked her off the raft so we could copy.

Um. We weren't quite as graceful.

But we managed! And not a drop was spilled. Probably.

In defense of my pancake boobs, please understand that this unflattering bathing suit finally achieved the elimination of my strap marks.

I hope you have a friend you laugh with like this, even when you're not hydrating with vodka juice.

You should have seen the drink passing in this position. Talent!

When we finally relinquished the floats to our girls, it was clear that we had now inspired them.

 

Rookies.

Gotta love the impromtu getaway. Heading home, I had the unique pleasure of being a passenger. It had nothing to do with the vodka juice, I swear. And it gave me a nice chance to capture the nice moments.
 

Designated Driver Dad

Birthday Dog!

Self Portrait

Westy can't wait for her next adventure.

Neither can I!

Bye bye bin laden

Like usual, Twain said it best: "'I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure."

Because really, and I know this might piss some people off, it feels weird to celebrate the killing of another human being. Just watch your young kids' reaction to the news that our president ordered the killing of Osama Bin Laden and you'll see what I mean. When they ask the very sensible question, "Well why couldn't they have just locked him up forever instead?" You try to explain it. It's complicated, right?

Right.

But, that said, the guy did have it coming, and he knew he had it coming, and the cat and mouse game is finally over. It took nearly a decade and an obscene amount of resources, but it's done. And there is no doubt that it was/is a great moment for the US.

And for Obama.

Poor Donald.

Did you hear Obama roast him during the White House Correspondents Association dinner this weekend? HA! Good stuff -- the video is worth watching. (Obama's got a sense of humor, that's for sure.)

We all know Donald is seething, but it's pretty likely all republicans are a bit miffed. As Late Night host Jimmy Fallon said: 'Bin Laden is dead! Just like the Republicans' chances in 2012.' (Shucks, now that's really too bad.)

Now if only this hilarious tweet from @BitterOldPunk was true: "Oh man I so hope the US soldier who killed Osama is gay." Perhaps they'd never recover...

Hands Upon It

Most people cook in a logical, linear, straightforward way. They chop garlic, they mince onion, they boil water.

I do that most times, too.

But sometimes, sometimes, I use my super-powers and just lay my hands upon the food vapors, and create the whole holy shebang with just my awesome positive thinking.

It helps, naturally, to have a comfortable, efficient kitchen . . .

. . . and it also helps to have a Vulcan. Talk about Super Powers.

We do a lot of sautéing of broccoli and mushrooms and tofu and garlic around these parts . . .

. . . how we love broccoli and mushrooms and tofu and garlic around these parts . . . And kale! Oh how we love kale.

But the main thing about the cooking of kale and all her little friends, is the Hands Upon It system of preparation . . . .

Abracadabra . . .

. . . I hereby transform you, kale, into . . . dinner!

. . . oh, and wine! Yes, a pouring splash of wine will make this hocus-pocus magic moment even better.

Oh yeah, it's better.

The best part of the proceedings is when my hands start getting elongated . . .

. . . With my elongated hands I can do anything . . .

. . . Hands Upon It, baby . . .

. . . and . . . Voilà!

It's all in the hands.