Celebrating the 4th in the Midwest.

I’ve decided that I really appreciate celebrating Independence Day in the Midwest.  People in the small town heartland seem to be unabashedly patriotic.  The whole week we were visiting my parents, you could see American flags flown in people’s yards, special décor downtown, fireworks going off every night after sundown, and the day of the 4th it seemed everyone was wearing red white and blue.  Singing the Star-spangled banner in church and hearing everyone’s enthusiasm brought a tear to my eye.

Growing up in Colorado the fourth of July was my favorite holiday.  You might say it even topped Christmas and candy-laden Halloween.  I think I can see now that my Mom’s love for the holiday was infectious and she and my Dad always made the day really fantastic.  They would set up an elaborate homemade miniature putt-putt golf course in our yard and invite over a party of their own friends and their families.   (Luckily their friends were the parents of my friends).  Hosting big parties was kind of rare at our house, so I think it added to my anticipation.  After eating grilled meat and the accompanying baked beans and potato salad, we would drive up to Loveland and play card games and frisbee until the fireworks started over the lake.  The view was always excellent and the display spared no expense (or so it seemed to me) and I loved knowing that I was up really late as we all walked back to the car after the show carrying our blankets and following the slow procession around the lake and home.  Whether or not my parents did, I even have fond memories of the traffic (sorry if I complained though, Mom and Dad, I’m afraid you’re going to call me out and say that I whined about it) and the red glow in the car from all the taillights. 

Rosalyn and my mom watching the fireworks.

My mom really loves fireworks, so I always enjoy having her around to make appreciative comments.  I spent most of the night trying to get this picture (above) to work out.  I evidently do not know my camera very well, but I was happy that I got one that actually turned out well.  It was the first time that our kids had seen fireworks and they called them exploding rocks. 

A smiley face firework.

I like this picture from breakfast.  Rosalyn liked to use her charm to gain access to whatever it was that Grandpa was eating.  She was regularly successful and it made me sort of jealous since he eats berries in cream for breakfast. 

One day as we were driving back to my parent’s house with the kids the boys kept on saying “look there’s the sleeping silo!  Another sleeping silo!” Now, there are plenty of silos in Indiana, but there aren’t any around my parents house.  Finally, after much deductive thought and wondering about my kids and their imagination, I realized that there are a lot of weeping willows on the way to my parents house.  When I asked if they were looking at trees, they said “yeah, the sleeping silos.”  Funny. 

We took our kids to visit the fire station for the first time. 

Just as we arrived the fire engine drove out.  Here it comes, below:

Rosalyn found her doggie.

   Luckily there were plenty of other big trucks to snoop around on.  And luckily, we didn’t start any fires. 

 

 

 

Rosalyn is talking to the truck in its ear.

On the day of the fourth we had our good old friends the Davis’s come and photograph our entire family as a gift for my mom on her birthday (the 5th of July).  It was hot, and I was telling Kim that she should charge extra per degree over 95, but she’s a sweet gal and just laughed.  That’s professionalism, folks.  I am excited to see how they handled two 18 month olds, 2 three year olds, 3 kindergarteners, and 6 hot adults.  (Hot, like man my face is melting off hot, not like hot-bod hot.  Although, Nick is that… okay, mush, moving on.) 

They stayed for dinner and rockets.  My Dad has created a bottle rocket launcher, of the 2 liter bottle sort, and the twins and triplets rather enjoyed themselves with it.  My Dad is cool.

That’s my brother Bill, there, hooking up the compressor to the launcher.

Here’s a shot of Kim hard at work with her cute little man at her back taking a picture of my cute little man in his underwear.  You can just tell that we were having a blast. Pun totally intended. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At some point during the week, we went to the Indianapolis zoo with my Brother and his wife Sarah and their family.  This isn’t the greatest picture, but you can see the twins and the triplets and jett and roz trying to touch a shark.   Always a good time.

Kids and sharks seems like a good way to end it.  Bye for now.

I have overcome.

Do you remember this Father’s Day fiasco?  The fiasco in which I attempted to make Nick an icecream cake the extremely easy way and it just, sort of, how shall we say? failed – despite the ease?

 

 

 

Well I’m not one to let failure stop me – some of the time.  And now instead of bragging about how Nick is a great Father (he is) I will brag about my cake. 

Isn’t it glorious? 

I am so skilled.

 

 

This is Brookston’s painting of Nick. 

He wrote the word Dad there too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A stick, a millipede, and a Hotwheels in a basket.  All a boy needs.

Rosalyn’s Mobile

One day at a park I found this amazing branch.  It was so unique and interesting that I carried it around with me for an hour or so, made my boys cry when I wouldn’t let them play with it, and lectured Nick firmly that it was not to be thrown out ever, because I was going to use it for something.  (Does this sound a bit like my topiary?  Yes. I don’t know what it is about dead branches that I just can’t resist.)

Then I had a baby girl, and the dead stick’s purpose was clear:  a mobile.

I must admit that I got the idea for it here:   but she’s no longer selling, and I can cut felt, so I did it myself.

I also made this no-sew bunting for her room.  I just cut the shapes and stapled them onto a golden cord.  This ensured that I would actually finish the project.  Though I love the results of sewing, I usually loathe the process of sewing.  I just make too many mistakes for it to be any fun. 

I want to do something fun to that globe, like paint it or decoupage it like this fantastic lady.

Monkey Roz

A couple of old men.

Three years old to be exact. 

The party started with some root beer.

And progressed on to some expertly not homemade cupcakes.  The party theme was vertical green lines.  You can see that I thought really hard about, and took a lot of time executing, my motif.  I learned it all from Amy Atlas. 

Brookston, the cheeser, and Everett the sweetheart.

Rosalyn and the Pops.

I get sort of weirded out on their birthday, and all I can think about is where I would be during their labor.  I wonder when that will go away and I won’t be so focused on myself on their birthday.  The day before their birthday I was telling Brookston, “right now I would have been in pre-labor with you for about 10 hours”.  As I checked the time I informed him, “yeah, right about now three years ago my water broke” (If you’re curious, it was about 9:00 p.m.).  He looked at me with concern “your water broke?  we should fix it.”  Awesome.

Anyway, Everett ate his cake about 5 hours after his birth time and Brookston, 3 hours before his birth time.

Want to compare to last year?  Take a look. 

So here is what being three looks like for Brookston and Everett:Nutella mustaches. 

A sister sleeping with a truck on her face.

While you sleep without a truck on your face during ‘alone time.’

Play dates in Thomas the Tank Engine underwear.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with friends in Thomas the Tank Engine Underwear. 

Weird crafts involving salty play dough and black spaghetti noodles. 

Painting wooden cars and keeping them in the refrigerator when you’re done with them for some reason.

Having baths with your friends because they were too muddy to get in the car to go home. 

Making up cool games like rolling out paper towel trails in the back yard when your mom is distracted with your sister …in your Thomas the Tank Engine underwear.

Driving your car down pink chalk roads in your Thomas the Tank Engine Underwear. 

Your mom craftily trying to teach you your letters.  You go with it because she gave you a buttery english muffin to munch on while you go.

Living the dream on your harley davidson tricycle. 

Happy Three, Boys.

Nick’s hot geekery

 

Nick is really excellent.  Here is how he spends his free time from time to time.  (I have interjected some commentary in blue to clarify jargon, however, I’m not sure anything is really all that clarified.)  This is a recap he wrote about a Tecmo Superbowl game he recently played online.

 (yes, folks.  that’s a 1991-style pixelated nick.  bless him.)

wk3 eagles @ bills

these 2 franchises faced off in 1972. that was the last time, and the eagles lost by a TD to the feets of the immortal retro OJ simpson.

the story of this game is in the QB numbers (in reference to this player being 32 years old). ken anderson left his eye glasses and dentures on the nightstand--they must have fallen down to keep his terry cloth open-toed slippers company. all this meant is that his helmet fit funny, and he couldn't see his WRs well enough to time the JJs (timed routes that make the receiver jump) correctly.

on the flip side, fergie was on point. so much so that his WRs were able to catch the ball even whilst playing hand jive games with their defenders. bruce harper was seen shaking hands and signing over the lease of his brand new 1981 pontiac firebird trans am to DB mike davis when the pass from fergie came, which he handily caught and ran in for a TD, while davis reveled in the flaming glory of his new 4-wheeled phoenix.

clarence harmon, the hero of the first half for the eagles after housing a KR decided in the 3rd qtr that his life was pointless, handed the ball over to the bills defender on another KR and walked off the field with his head held low. team counselors are working feverishly to heal the emotionally wounded warrior.

feeling sorry for the hapless eagles LB corps, fergie decided to take a few soft sacks, which allowed him to drain some game clock as well. monte jackson was mad at fergie for being a "sissy missy," and promptly intercepted a pass to get fergie back on the field. fergie feeling like an idiot handed the ball of to delaney from that point on, which drained enough clock to finish the game.

31-7 bills final

GG, baxter. glrw, bro. (get going, baxter.  get lost raisin wrinkle, brother

…oh wait, nick says it’s good game, baxter.  good luck the rest of the way, brother)

That’s some wit and dedication.

Safari Day 2, after lunch.

We last left us in Africa at lunch time, and me asking everyone, “are you going to finish that?” 

This is Nick saying “No, Nicole, for the last time, you can’t have the rest of my lunch.”
I remember Liza and Eddie, our drivers, were going pretty fast and not stopping much from this point on.  Evidently we had a lot of ground to cover.   We were traveling from Tarangire to the Serengeti.

We stopped for Liza and Eddie to pay entrance into the Ngorongoro conservation area on the way to Serengeti National park, and hung out with some Baboons who were chillin’ in the parking lot.

Oh, you think they’re close now.  This isn’t the time the monkey got in the car.  Though, on the way back from the bathroom, I did have to move aside for a Baboon to walk by.  He gave me that, ‘I’m not moving over, sister, so you’d better’ look.  Since he lives in Africa and I don’t, I gave him the right of way.

I include this picture because this is exactly how I sit when I sit in trees.  One leg up.  It’s the only way really, and lets others know that you’re willing to give them a leg up in life, which is a desirable personality trait.
We climbed back in our cars and headed on.  It was amazing how many animals we saw.  The horizon was thick with herds.  Liza told us that the herds follow the rains.

Right before we entered Serengeti National park Liza and Eddie pulled into and stopped at a Massai village. They told us that the Masai were open to sharing their culture with tourists, and that we would get to see their traditional dance and get a tour of the village.

Before we got out of the cars we could already hear the Masai singing.  The men and women stood in separate groups.  They seemed to take turns singing.  The leader of the song would sing out a line and the rest of the group would repeat it in harmony. 


Someone would step into the center and jump up and down.  The landing made a loud beat to accompany the song.  Here are the ladies:

After we listened to them sing, a Masai warrior welcomed us and split us up into groups to tour the village.  Mark and I went with the Chief’s son.  First, he led us to a small hut. He told us it was made by the Masai women.  It was constructed of sticks and had a roof of cow dung, though I don’t remember it smelling like dung.  Upon his invitation, we stooped down, ducked through a narrow and curved channel that opened up into a small dark space not quite tall enough in which to stand.
He invited us to have a seat (I’m not quite sure what I sat on, it was dark, but I hope I didn’t break it)  and he then explained a little bit about Masai culture.  He told us they only eat meat, milk and blood.  His people know nothing of vegetables, the are traditionally nomadic, so they do not grow crops.  His accent was thick, but I was able to understand everything he said.  He told us the Masai men spend their time out of the village hunting and the women stay in the village and tend the children and cook.

Nick got to visit the school and see the kids.



I, however, did not get to see the school.  The chief’s son took us right into the center of the village where there was a bunch of jewelry hanging from stick fences arranged in a circle.  He immediately tried to sell us stuff.  Somehow or another Mark got away, and I picked up a following of ladies.  I was interested in getting something, and all the blue beads looked absolutely stunning.  I asked the Chief’s son “How do you say beautiful?”  He gave me a funny look “in Masai” I added.  He got a big smile “eh-bla.”  I repeated it to the ladies.  The all smiled.  The chief’s son started putting bracelets on my wrists.  “oh, ebla” I say.  I wanted to let them know I liked the blue stuff.  “How do you say blue?”  Big smile “oh, ahm-boos. yes”  “Ambus” I start saying to the ladies and pointing at the jewelry.  They catch on.  Soon every blue thing is being placed on my body.  I ask another question: “How do you say, Thank you?”  “A-sheh” he tells me.  “Ashe, Ashe” I tell the ladies.
We work our way around the circle as I get heavier by the minute.  Finally I ask, “how much?”  And then begins the most stressful haggling of my life.  I had been told to half whatever price they tell you, and oh man, I tried that.  I could not get the chief’s son down to save my life.  More and more women surround, I think there are 8 or 9 now.  At one point I had to get my money our of my pocket, I only had a couple of 20 dollar bills.  I couldn’t hide both from them as I pulled out my money.  Big mistake.  I don’t think the guy ever dropped his price and now he wanted that 40 bucks.  He wanted me to buy two bracelets, one big, one small for $40.  “Only one”  I would say.  The price was too steep, and he had never come down on his price.   I don’t even spend that much on jewelry in the US.  All I know is at  some point I felt like running away screaming and at some point I went to finally hand over a $20 and realized one was gone.  I looked around, somehow the chief’s son already had it (I must have desperately handed it to someone in the hopes to just get out of there) and he was about to let me hand another 20.  He broke into a big smile.  By now I was having an anxiety attack.  I think Angie saw my troubles and somehow got me out of there.    I practically ran to the car.
IN my defense, it was my first time ever haggling experience, I was surrounded by 10 people on all sides, covered in jewelry and wanted to be nice.  Just not a good combo.  Also, I later found out that Nick’s Dad had given them a huge tip right after the dancing, so I think that Chief’s son figured I was rolling in it.  Angie told me later that when she said she didn’t have enough money he said “you, go ask father.  he give you.”  I was doomed.  But I got a nice, very authentic and hard earned bracelet.  Blue.  Ambus.  Ashe.
Annnnd, Here we are at the Serengeti visitor’s center.

We took a short short hike to the top of this hill while our drivers paid to get in once again.
And back to the cars.
The Masai aren’t allowed to live inside Serengeti National Park.  You could no longer see villiages or  children tending herds.  It was just wildlife.  It was so incredible to be the only 11 people as far as the eye could see. We would pass a car maybe every 30 minutes.   We had the top up despite our speed and most of the time I stood with my head peaking over the front with the wind tearing at my face.   I’ve never felt anything like it, and once again I’m sad that I’m not a better writer.  You’ll just have to go to Africa on Safari if you want to know what it felt like.
The weather turned cool, and most of my pictures of the Serengeti are blurred from the speed of the car.

Amazingly enough our guides managed to spot some lions, um, lying around.


A Coptic. Pride rock.

We spot a hyena.  Can you see him? 
There he is.
We raced the sunset to our camp for the night.   Evidently cars aren’t allowed out in the Serengeti after sunset.  Who knows why.  Once again as we pulled up to our camp, the Dunia Tented Camp of Serengeti, men were there with fresh scented towels for our faces and fresh fruit juices.

Here we are signing papers again saying that we know there aren’t any fences and that we might die. 

Guides escorted us to our tents and then ran to get buckets of hot water for our showers.  Dunia is a mobile camp and therefore no running water.  It was rather amusing to be in your tent, hear the hurried footsteps of  guide run up, then the sound of some scraping and grunts, water splashing, then “Karibu, your shower!”  Karibu is Swahili for welcome.  Lots of sentences start with Karibu.  I yelled out the proper response thru the tent: “Asante!"  Thank you!  He yells back “Karibu sana!”  You’re very welcome.  His hurried footsteps as he leaves. 
After our real bucket showers we were escorted back to the fire for more mango and passion fruit juice and lime guacamole and chips.  Very tasty.

Peter, our host, arrived to invite us to dinner where our chef announced the meal.  It was lamb, vegetables, and mashed potatoes. 

There was a family from Australia staying there with us and I spent most of dinner soaking up the mother’s amazing accent.  This lady was beautifully on Safari.  She had on a white linen shirt and pant set and a gorgeous shawl wrapped around her shoulders that just seemed so appropriate for the occasion.  Her son, 13 year old joseph, told us he had seen a cheetah take down a wildebeast in the Serengeti.  He was pretty amped.  His guide told him that it was very, very, rare to see, and that he had known professional photographers spend months in the Serengeti trying to witness something like that.   
Would we see a cheetah the next day?  You’ll find out next time.