A Small Host of Small Things

I locked us out of the house the other day. 

We'd been away from home for nearly six hours, and everyone was tired, hot, hungry and thirsty. I had the garage door opener, but I'd locked the door from the garage into the house the night before. And our one and only house key was somewhere in the truck ... which was locked ... with the only key to open it ... in the house. 

So, with a moping sigh, I loaded everyone back into the van and we went to a toy store, and then to the Pepperidge Farm outlet (though at that point I was seriously concerned I might fall asleep at the wheel), and then to a park that Penny googled for us (my only requirement being that she find us a park with lots of shade) while we waited for Mike to finish a meeting he was in so he could drive up to our rescue. I don't know why Mike should be able to find a way to get us in when I couldn't. And yet, I knew he would. I don't know how, but there is nothing Mike can't figure out or solve. And when he did arrive? He had us in within minutes.

I don't know how anyone in the world lives without Mike. He is complete safety and security. 

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Shasta and Biscuit have adjusted to the rental. Apparently, cats can freak out a bit in unfamiliar environments and just run off and so need kept inside for a few weeks ‘til they know the new place is home. (I wouldn't have bought it only the minute we set Shasta down in the rental, he fled in terror to a spot under my bed where he stayed for nearly two days.) So it is quite a relief to have them adjusted and fine being primarily outdoor cats again. Another day of them inside round the clock (and mostly another day of having a litter box in the house) and I might have lost my will to live.

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The other day Anders walked into the living room—flexing and admiring his biceps—and said, "I thought going through puberty just meant getting a deeper voice and growing more hair, but for me the only thing it means is bulging muscles."

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We had to head down to Ogden for some doctor appointments earlier in the week. I heard Summer mentioning it to Mette like this: "Tomorrow at 8:30 we have to go back to the homeland, Mette." (I informed her that actually, it might be more correct to call Logan the homeland since we are moving onto land that has been in the family for 100 years.)

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Abe created a new text stream for the family yesterday. What's different about it was quite clear by what he named our text group. Haha. Sad. (Also, I think it's great that every time Abe makes us a family text group he puts Hans's face as the group photo. You can see his reply when I mentioned it.)

It's true. We love pictures of the Hansie.

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Starling continues to: wear pink, mostly refuse to have her hair done, and put makeup on herself whenever she gets the chance.

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Normal old chocolate chip cookies are not the cookies I most often make, but I have become quite frustrated recently at my inability to make chocolate chip cookies that don't run flat. I've tried ALL of the tricks. Colder butter, fresher baking soda, more flour, chilling the cookie dough. I don't know what the problem is. IN any case, I was on the phone while some were baking the other night when Penny slipped this note under my door:

(Also please note the "no cap". [I think it's sort of like "Not even kidding".] Penny gets great pleasure out of purposefully using ridiculous teen/hip lingo that she knows I don't understand.)

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I thought you all would like to see a bit of the spackling Mike has done at the Pleasant View house. I don't even know what to tell you. All I can think is that our kids have spent the last decade and a half running around the house ramming long metal poles into walls. There's no other explanation. 

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Mike tells me that these purple flowers around the pond (and that I see dotting various fields around here) are a weed and that at some point we will likely get a notice from the county telling us we have to get rid of them. I understand the trouble with invasive species. I did take Ecology after all. But they are just so darn pretty! I don't want them going anywhere!

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Lastly, an evening at a nearby (well as "nearby" as anything is around here) splash pad. There wasn't a soul there, and no water to speak of, so I assumed they had pulled everything out. Turns out ... you just had to push a button.