Specificity works! (also begging…). So yay! I got the fancy little slimline Casio Exilim camera that I wanted for my birthday (thank you parents, Hubby, and SIL). It’s teeny tiny so it fits in my purse/diaper bag/crochet bag, has video capture, and it’s even red. So cool!

Apparently if you email everyone who might buy you presents with the make and model of what you want, a picture of what you want, where to buy it, how much it costs, where to get online coupons for it, and that if they possibly might do a group gift, you are much more likely to get what you were hoping for as your birthday present. Who knew?

This is the first time I can remember that I’ve actually had something over about $30 that I’ve wanted for my birthday, so being that particular felt really weird but now I have a cool new camera. Yay! Plus my Hubby bought me this cool new Wireless SD Card that automatically uploads your pictures to your computer through your wireless network.

What that means is that all I have to do is be in the house and turn on my camera, and my pictures get sent to my computer. I don’t have to mess with adapters or any of that stuff. I do have to plug it in to get the video on the computer, but even that is pretty uncomplicated.

Last week Hubby worked 76 hours on site (as opposed to at home) between Monday and Saturday, so we basically didn’t see him all week. I spent most of the week trying to keep the kids nice and busy so they didn’t drive me totally crazy. We went to the park with the wading pool, the library, Grandma’s house, Bunya’s house (Grandma on the other side, the Russian side), and ate half a flat of fresh Oregon strawberries.

Since it is strawberry season, I had to make my favorite strawberry season breakfast that I (and now the kids as well) look forward to all year. See? Strawberry crepes. Just tell me this doesn’t look delectable.

What did you have for breakfast (also known as “neener neener, I had yummy crepes and you had nasty corn flakes”)? If you have only had those flavorless loser California strawberries that they try to pass off as real fruit in the grocery stores, you have no idea what you are missing. It’s worth living in Oregon rain country just to get good berries for two weeks in the summer.

As my son astutely pointed out, Oregon berries don’t have all that white blech in the center of the berry. They are red all the way through. I’m going to buy a whole flat this week so I can freeze half and, well, wolf down the other half. That should probably hold me for another year.

Okay, well I guess that covers this year’s ode to strawberries. I did make one other discovery recently that I am planning to put to good use this summer. As you know, me and mopping do not get along well. So the week before Family Camp I was trying to get the house clean in an effort to not have every ant in the county trailing along the kitchen floor eating all the leftovers my children graciously leave for them.

I asked my charming children who wanted to play Cinderella. The girls all tripped over each other with excitement so I gave them a mop bucket with some soap and each of them a rag, and they mopped the entire floor. Did a pretty good job of it too! Georgie decided he didn’t want to play (!), but would rather be the Wicked Stepfather and go around telling them all that they were having way too much fun. Overall it went very well.

This week I decided that this new game needed to be a more regular event, so they played again on Monday. Georgie decided he didn’t want to miss out this time and mopped as well. Unfortunately, this added an unstable element to the otherwise fairly tame mopping time, and I had to reprimand the children for trying to clean the ceiling by throwing the rags at it, mopping the walls by spinning cloths on them (which sprays mop water all over the house), and doing target practice by dropping rags from upstairs over the staircase railing to bullseye into the mop bucket. Should this behavior occur again next time, mopping will again become a girls only activity. Argh!

So I leave you today with some video of my mopping maniacs (note Faithy’s cute hat that I actually made). The video is about a minute long. Thank you, Mr. Disney!

In case you’re really bored and have 27 seconds more to burn, here is some video of Henry rolling over. It was late at night on Saturday while George was still at work so I was going to take pictures of Henry and fiddle with my new camera. He didn’t seem to like that idea though and immediately rolled over for the first time. I switched the camera to video mode, propped Henry back up (because he liked it so well the first time as you can tell….), and shot this:

Ciao!

So last week we were at Family Camp, and every year at camp they have a dance night (yes, at church camp. We go to a cool church). The dances are always set dances like the Virginia Reel and Scottish Jigs and things like that (okay, I guess my whole “cool” argument has just gone out the window). Half the people love this and the other half sort of wish maybe we could do some couples dances like the waltz or some swing. Nothing too radical here. We’re not talking the lambada!

Somehow this year we finally got to have two dance nights: one for set dancing and one for couples dancing. I think this may have had something to do with the fact that two of the three elders on the elder board are excellent dancers. One of them, my Dad, cuts quite the lovely waltz while the other one does a very energetic swing.

To encourage people to actually come to the dances and teach them how to do it, they taught a dance lesson for those two dances on the morning of the event. Now, I love to dance. Twirling around the floor is just bliss to me. Unfortunately, my handsome spouse thinks that dancing would be an effective military torture method. Naturally, this disparity of thought has led to much mutual frustration. However, I’ve been scheming for some time now how I might find myself a consistent dance partner. It’s easy! I just need to grow my own. Bwahahahahahaha!

And so my hapless nine year old son is the beneficiary of his father’s refusal to dance. I told the children before we even left for camp that we were going to the dance and that they were all going to the lesson and I didn’t want any complaining!! Naturally that prompted a slew of complaining from my son so I explained that he (and my daughters who were doing no complaining whatsoever) was GOING to learn to dance for three reasons.

1. So that his wife wouldn’t be stuck wanting to dance with someone who didn’t dance (I did omit the possibility that he could be the one stuck with a spouse who doesn’t dance).

2. Because at our church, we dance at almost every wedding plus other
events like Family Camp and in a few years he’s going to decide that hmmm, some of those girls are kind of cute and he might want to dance with one or more of them. The girls will be standing near the dance floor tapping their feet and looking around with big eyes, which is of course the universal sign for I sure wish one of these knuckle-headed boys would hurry up and ask me to dance, and if my son knows how to do it he will feel all cool and the girls will be pretty happy about it too.

By this time Georgie was rolling on the floor laughing. I proceeded to number three, which was of course….

3. So that I CAN HAVE A DANCE PARTNER!!!!

For some reason he seemed to think this entire conversation was funny. I told him to go pack some church clothes for the dance and four minutes later he came out to show me the shirt he was all excited about wearing because it would look very handsome. Odd how when you tell children they absolutely, positively must do something they aren’t really enthusiastic about doing and there will be no weaseling out of it, half the time it takes them less than five minutes to decide that whatever it is they were just railing against might actually be fun after all. Hmph!

So after I got them all mentally prepared for this whole dance thing, I noticed that the lesson was scheduled at the same time as the kids’ Nature Walk, which they all wanted to go to. But I conned sweet-talked my Dad into holding a separate lesson for the kids in the garage of the house were staying at. We managed to wrangle a few other stray children into coming as well and ended up with a nice group.

Georgie wasn’t too impressed at the beginning of the lesson and it took him awhile to really get his feet to move in a box step, but by the end of the lesson he was doing it perfectly and had asked Trinity’s friend Ruthie to practice with him (Ruthie just turned nine). They happily waltzed around the garage holding an animated discussion about the spider that was crawling up the wall and remaining completely oblivious to the snickering adults who were watching. I was pretty impressed that after half an hour he could not only waltz properly but stay on the
right foot and on time with the music while talking. Very complicated stuff!

So that night was dinner, chapel, and then the dance. When I went to go sit down for chapel, he cornered me in the doorway.

Georgie: I did it!

Me: Ummm, okay. What did you do?

Georgie: I went and asked Mr. Dahlin if I could take Ruthie to the dance.

Me (stuttering): You… errr… uhhhh…. you did what???

Georgie: He said I could dance two dances with her and that he would be watching me {here he mimics Mr. Dahlin by pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at me in commando hand gesture style}. He said if I did something he didn’t like, he would give me a big squeeze. I told him my Dad gives me perfectly good big squeezes, thank you very much. He also said that now I have to do something nice for him.

Me: Wow! Way to go, Georgie. That’s exactly what you should have done. How did you know to ask Mr. Dahlin if you could take his daughter to the dance?

Georgie: Well, that’s what you’re supposed to do! That’s what you and Dad said.

Me: Oh… ummm… right… Good for us….

I don’t remember saying that, but hey! I’m not going to argue with a child who says I told him to be polite and then actually went and did it without further reminder. What a good kid! He danced very well with Ruthie and they both looked like they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I danced quite a bit with my Dad, which was a delight. He’s learned some new fancy waltz move that involves a half turn every step. This results in basically swinging and twirling around the entire floor and is wonderful fun (and good exercise!). My husband even danced with me. He
was at the waltz lesson and in the process of helping the kids seems to have become proficient in the box step himself. Hehe!

So phase one of my mission seems to be going along swimmingly, although now that I think about it, I don’t think my son actually danced with me. He danced with his sisters and my mother. Now I feel robbed. Oh well, I have more evil plotting percolating in my brain to advance this whole dancing thing so I’m sure I will get a suitable dance partner out of this yet. Bwahahahahaha!

Actually, I was quite surprised at Georgie’s attention to Ruthie. Trinity is such a pretty little duck that I always assumed that when they got older Georgie’s friends would be eying her. It never occurred to me that Georgie would be eying Trinity’s friends. Duh! Since they’re all under ten, no one is doing a terribly large amount of eying anyone mostly because Trinity’s friends don’t play with Bionicles and Georgie couldn’t care less about Polly Pockets, but I will file this away for
future reference.

Oh, and in case you were wondering about my philosophical rationale for teaching my children to dance (and really, who isn’t dying to know this?), my thinking is that I would rather give my children an organized outlet for contact with the opposite sex that is acceptable and in plain view than wait around until they discover that the opposite sex is oh-so-fascinating and let them come up with their own disorganized, sneaking way of expressing that since they have no appropriate way available to them. Yikes! That’s my big theory anyway. Guess we’ll see how that works out. The problem with child-rearing is that it involves so much thinking (well, that and poopy diapers)!

Rachel

This was the girls’ ballet recital from Sunday. You can tell who the big ham is in our family! In case you have seen us for awhile, in the beginning when they all line up Anika (our six year old) is the
teeny tiny one in the center and Trinity (our seven year old) is the
one on the far right who sort of looks like she’s not terribly sure
what she’s doing.

Rachel