Christmas 2009 pictures

Mark and the boys made a gingerbread house on Christmas Eve. Oh, and that black shadow under Ethan's eye is not a trick of the light. He has a big bruise from playing too rough with his friend.

Making Christmas doughnuts.

Enjoying those same doughnuts.

Opening stocking gifts. Don't they look thrilled?

All dressed up!

I loved this shot, until I noticed what Ian was doing.

The boy, the bruise, the book from Aunt Holly and Uncle Chris.

Nana sent the boys matching luggage. Ian has declared that they are "ready for `venture!"

Aunt Holly is getting wacked with one of these mallets, when next I see her. At least he's making noise in style!

His new train bridge has already been incorporated into the town!

Frolicking Munchkins

A few pictures of the boys, and the dog, in the snow:


I really love this shot, it looks like a magazine photo advertising winter weather gear!





His expression seems to say that he's just discovered that the horse REALLY isn't going anywhere, now! Also, bonus points for color coordination- Gramma would be so proud!



I wish I could tell you that Ethan valiantly rescued his poor stuck brother. Sadly, Ian spent the whole afternoon stuck in one spot or another. A foot and a half of snow, when you are slightly less than three feet tall, is a real drag!

See those bright red boots? Those were a Christmas gift from Granny that we had to open early. They are the best snow boots ever made for kids- easily put on by the kid in question and bright red, so you can quickly locate said child when he's head first in a snow drift.


It turns out Mark was actually trying to take a picture of Ethan here, but Katya had to show off. She really loves the snow, but this much (notice that the height of the snow-wall to the right of her is nearly level with her back- and that isn't a drift or piled higher from shoveling) hurts her back and hips. She plays a bit every time she goes outside, but comes in and promptly collapses on the warm rug in front of the vent.

Update:9pm

Well I'm officially done measuring ( and freezing my arm off in the process. Reason #112 to own a yardstick!) and at 9pm our total is 20inches in the "flat area" with the drifts being 2-3 inches higher. It is actually still snowing, but coming down much slower and the radar tells me that we'll be finished with this storm in a few hours. We'll be taking the boys out to play tomorrow, though we may lose Ian in the process!

Here are some pictures from today:

3:30pm in the backyard. Roughly 14-16inches

The shed and side of the yard at 3:30pm.

Out front at 8pm, a full 24hours after the snow started.

The backyard and wall at 9pm.

1:30pm update

The measuring took a bit of work this time, since we're now at 16inches.

And from the East came a great light...

.. which was really just the light reflecting off the snow. The Washington DC metro area is forecast to receive a "record-breaking" snowfall. That would be rather impresive given that the northern suburbs accumulated 25inches during the President's Day blizzard of 2003. We lived in Bowie during that time and I can still recall staring at the gully of a driveway where our cars were SUPPOSED to be and then calling the office to tell them I wouldn't be in for the day. We only had 17 inches in Bowie for that storm.

Since we've lived in Springfield the biggest snow we've had was the 9-10 inches we received in February 2006.

At 7:45 this morning my measuring stick said we had 9inches in the backyard. The National Weather Service is reporting 10inches for our town. I will provide updates and pictures as the day progresses.

Do YOU think we'll make the forcast 22inches?

Christmas Baking

We signed the sale documents for the house on December 11th. We will be “renting back” until the end of January to give us time to find a new place to live. Given the savings between our rental rate and the mortgage, and the difference in cost of homeowner’s vs renter’s insurance, it is like getting a Christmas bonus!

Today our realtor came to pick up all of the “staging” paraphernalia and I’m officially finished with making sure the boys don’t break anything that isn’t ours! To celebrate I’m starting my Christmas baking. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I made peppermint bark, chocolate covered pretzels, and sugar-free dark chocolate and pecan bark this past week. Now, though, the REAL baking begins!

Christmas treats:

1. peanut brittle
2. bourbon balls
3. triple chocolate mousse cakes (for Christmas dinner)
4. spritz cookies
5. peppermint Yule Log
6. chocolate truffles
7. chocolate mint truffles
8. “Derby Pie” truffles
9. fudge
10. magic cookie bars

Anyone want to volunteer to taste-test? Job requirements include: well regulated blood sugar, “taster stripes”, and ability to tolerate Christmas carols sung extremely off-key.

The Picture Says It All

Given how things were going with Mark’s company, we decided at the beginning of October to put our house on the market and be prepared for any contingencies. Mark has not been laid-off, but many of his friends and co-workers were laid off today.

Preparing the house and worrying about the job have been a huge amount of stress on Mark. While we do not know what the future holds employment wise, we are better prepared, now, should we need to move.

The house went on the market October 30th. We signed a sales contract, contingent upon appraisal and inspection, on November 8th.

On a different note, I will have Ethan’s birthday pictures uploaded to Flickr in a day or so and will post the link here.

Look! Distractions!

But WHY is she painting trim and grouting floors? Why are there super secret meetings with strange people in her home?

WHAT HAS SHE DONE NOW?

All will be answered in good time. For now.. Look! Down there (points downward on the page)! Pictures!

Standing outside outside the Piazza de Roma, near our hotel, on the Grand Canal

Santa Maria della Salute, across the Grand Canal from St. Mark's basilica.


The face of St. Mark's. We arrived after 6pm so the basilica was closed for tours, but we enjoyed roaming around the square and exploring the bell-tower. The tide was out and the square was completely dry.

San Giorgio Maggiore, located on an island in the lagoon near the terminus of the Grand Canal.

Look toward d'Salute, during sunset, from the belltower Campanile di San Marco. The ride to the top of the tower was definitely worth the 8 Euros per person. We were up there at the half hour mark when 2 of the huge bells rang. My ears still hurt....

The afore-mentioned bell tower as seen from below.


Obligatory shot of the Rialto bridge and gondolier


Sunset on the Grand Canal

Life Lessons from the Weekend

Here are a few essential Life Lessons I learned while working on the house this weekend.

1. The estimated time of completion for any home improvement factor should be increased by a factor of 5 for each child present in your home. Even a “simple” task like vacuuming the lone 10 ft by 10 ft square of carpet left in your house becomes a chore when you first have to retrieve the vacuum extensions from a band of vicious pirates.

2. The reason home improvement specialist charge 2 arms and 1.5 legs to grout or re-grout ceramic tile is because they have to pay their out-of pocket mental health expenses. No matter how hard you smash, cajole, curse and otherwise force that tile to lie flat, the floor will not be level if the sub floor beneath it wasn’t level to start with.

3. Having the volume on your MP3 player is cranked to “imminent deafness” level and ensuring you cannot therefore hear yourself singing does NOT make you any more able to carry a tune or hit the high notes in that Celine Dion song. Also, Celine Dion? Really? Why? Your children and spouse will love you if you will stop signing all together, but in lieu of that, lay off “My Heart will Go On” before your boys are permanently scarred.

4. In the time you spent bitching about a task you could have completed it already.

5. Yes you WILL have to remove the shades and curtains from that window in order to paint it. Get over it already. (See #4)

6. Kindly recall that you DID remove the shades and curtains from said window when you suddenly decide that it is too hot and that painting in the nude will be ok as the boys are asleep. Your neighbors will thank you for this.

7. Just because you have meticulously color matched the trim paint in every other room in the house does not mean the previous owners were as thoughtful. It is Murphy’s law of painting that the trim you only wanted to “touch up” will be one shade darker than the paint you just merrily slapped on that “one spot”. Previous owners hated you. You should know this by now. See #4 and get to painting.

8. Don’t wash out grouting tools in the tub that has notoriously clogged every other week for the past 6 years. Grout hardens in the absence of water, moron.

Addendum to #8: Draino fumes mixed with paint fumes mixed with grout sealant fumes cannot be a good combination. The switch for the fan is across the floor you just sealed. Idiot.

9. The afore-mentioned curtains did not magically hang themselves while you were in the shower washing off all that paint. That sound you hear is the neighbors weeping.

10. Home improvement is best done in your twenties. Before that time frame you don’t have the money or motivation for it. After that time frame your mind and greed are writing checks your body just can’t cash.

Please excuse me while I go collapse on the bed and contemplate my half painted trim and beautifully grouted bathroom floor.

Venice: Part 1

To celebrate our tenth anniversary, Mark and I decided to take a Mediterranean cruise. We flew into Venice on a Friday morning and spent the net 36 hours exploring the city before hopping aboard the Royal Caribbean ship “Splendour of the Seas”. From Venice we sailed to Split, Croatia and then to Corfu, Athens, Mykonos, and Katakolon Greece. We also spent one whole day at sea before arriving back in Venice early Saturday morning. We flew home that day stopping in Lyon and Paris, France. It was 10pm before we finally arrived back home a full ten days after we’d left.

I will be uploading pictures here on the blog and also on Flickr, as I have the time. Check back for updates!

When we arrived in Venice on Friday morning we’d been traveling all night. Mark managed to sleep on the plane for a bit, but I had not and we were both very tired. All my guidebooks and on-line research had stressed the importance of a detailed map of the city. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong! We found our way from Marco Polo airport across the lagoon to the city with no issue thanks to the wonderful bus service. Once in the Piazza le Roma, however, we were directionless. I knew the address of our hotel, but street addresses in Venice are not like any other addresses in the world. We finally had to call the hotel and ask for directions.

The hotel was a very short walk from the Piazza (which is the last place you can drive to or park in Venice) and, bonus, located just off the Grand Canal. They offered luggage storage so we didn’t have to drag our luggage around the city while we explored. (We couldn’t check in until 2pm.)

By this point we were starving and set out to find what the guide book called “the best neighborhood pizzeria in Venice”. As we walked, we learned more about how Venetians designated where they live and how to get around. There’s a very good reason they fought off the Turks and neighboring Italian states for all those centuries: visitors and invaders are constantly lost! We did finally find the pizzeria. It was everything the guide book promised and more. Favored by the locals and situated off the main tourist track, Al Sportivi Pizzeria was the best possible introduction to Venice cuisine and the city inhabitants.

Mark's pizza had onions and spicy salami. Mine was covered with buffalo mozzarella, proscuitto and arugula.

A Venitian-style deliery truck loaded with fresh vegetables and fruits.

Check back for the tale of our first visit to St. Mark's and the dinner from hell!

10 Years

Ten years ago today my family and friends gathered with Mark’s family and friends in a church yard in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. A bagpiper started to play.

I ripped the lace of my dress on the door hinge as I exited the church to walk into the yard and down the aisle of white chairs and yellow roses. The ring bearer rebelled three steps down that same aisle. A train blew its horn as the ceremony started.

But what do I really remember about that day? The sun was shining. Teresa, my maid of honor, kept trying to make me laugh and gave me the hiccups instead. My bridesmaids and flowers girls, cousins and friends, were giggling like the little girls they were. I remember Tom in full dress uniform with Gel by his side, looking on with that amused glint in his eye as if the two of them knew some secret that Mark and I were about to discover. I remember Todd teasing me; Jon rolling his eyes; Alex making lewd jokes; Dalton, the rebelling flower boy, toddling among us.

Mamma was glowing. Linda’s smile threatened to overwhelm the sunshine. I remember Holy and Chris happily serving cake and champagne. I recall Tami and Todd playing with Dalton to keep him entertained while the big people partied. Ed looked so proud that day. I remember my father taking my arm and saying “It’s time”.

The tears come now when I remember Adrian ducking his head in embarrassed pride as he took Morgan and Lena by the hand to lead them down the aisle. I remember Pappa asking me “what’s that for?” when I kissed him on the check as we danced. Today I truly hope there is an afterlife so that they, and Uncle Eric and Mark’s grandfather, can look upon us and remember the part they had in that wonderful day and all the days afterwards.


Over the past ten years Mark and I have been through literally dozens of jobs between us. We’ve purchased two houses and sold one. I uprooted us and moved us hundreds of miles from our families and our comfort zones- on a chance. We’ve survived living in a single room in Baltimore, sleeping on an air mattress. We’ve lived through tornadoes and a hurricane and we’ve shoveled snow drifted far above our heads. Katya still drives us crazy and there’s two boys in the family now. Two wonderful, adorable, funny, witty, sarcastic, maddening boys who make everything else seem so very worth it.

Through more trips to the hospital than some folks make in a lifetime….through weddings, funerals, long car rides, even longer separations on business trips….through the terror of almost losing the boys and the real pain of losing another pregnancy… through the earth shattering grief of losing loved ones… through the terror of 9/11 and anthrax… through career changes and all the ups and downs of office politics (and national politics)…through bad rental agreements and hideous homeowners associations... through family drama on all sides… through growing older, gaining weight, losing weight, losing hair… through losing friends and gaining new ones…
Mark has always been there for me. He makes that line in our wedding vows- Where you go, I will go- a reality and a promise everyday. He is my cuddle bunny, my rock, my darling, my husband.

Whither thou goest my darling, be it for another 10 years or another 70, I’ll be proud to do it by your side.

Potty Time

I really hated potty training Ethan, and I had help from his daycare provider. With Ian it’s all on me and I’m not looking forward to the process AT ALL. I’ve been putting it off for any reason I can think of: “He cannot even walk yet!” “He doesn’t talk, how can he tell me when he needs to go?!”

Sadly, I’ve run out of excuses and I’m tired of changing his diaper. So, today we begin the dreaded task. Everyone says the second son is easier. However, this is Ian we’re talking about. He does things on his schedule and the hell with you people and your “norms”, “schedules”, and “ideal ages”.

Wish me luck. Alternately, send bourbon.

Totally unrelated to Potty training:
Ethan fell on Friday and skinned his right knee. The left knee is still healing from the infamous lava-rock cut and trip to the ER. He’s now sporting two huge band-aids, one on each knee. Maybe he’s my son after all. Poor kid.

Three!

When, a week ago, I asked Ian what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday it was mainly a rhetorical question. My mother-in-law, Linda, found a wonderful train engine shaped cake pan late last year and I’ve been dying to try it out. So, even if Ian had said he wanted balloons on his cake he’d have received a “woo woo cake”! Thankfully he immediately said “Woo woo pie!”

“Pie? Buddy do you mean cake?”

“Yeah, ca' (pronounced like the letter K)! I ea’, is mm good!”

“What color cake?”

“RED! RED Woo Woo Ca’!”

And that’s what he got: dairy free marble cake shaped and decorated like a red train.

His Daddy bought him two mylar balloons bigger than both boys put together. Ian calls them “kites”. Ian also received many lovely presents which are now scattered all over the house. He loved his tricycle and his cards and his coloring books, but the shirt with a train on it and the train track pieces from Aunt Holly were, predictably, the biggest hit.

Today we went to the doctor for his check up. He weighs 30lbs, still, is 37 inches tall, is still allergic to dairy, and doesn’t like doctors. The little boy who will exclaim “Hi guys!” to complete strangers does not like it when those strangers ask him a lot of questions, poke and pry at him or just generally make him nervous. He shuts down and curls up in my lap. Since he still doesn’t converse well (He typically doesn’t say the last syllable of a word which makes understanding him a bit hard some days.) the pediatrician recommends following up with the speech evaluation.

After the doctor’s visit we went to Fairfax and had lunch with Mark. Ian sat in a booster seat on the bench, ate fries, drank lemonade from a straw and generally looked ever bit the three year old boy. But, then he’d lay his head on his Daddy’s arm and mumble “I miss you Da-Da” and a glimmer of my baby would peek back out.

Go snow!

Ian yanked my finger off this morning as he pulled me to the window, emphatically pointed at the white landscape, and yelled "Snow! Go snow! Get goes!". ("Get goes"= "get my shoes" in Ian speak)

About Us.. and stuff

Blatantly stolen from dooce.com and then cross-posted on facebook, because not only am I goofing off, but I'm doing so with as little original thought as possible.

What are your middle names?
Cassandra and Edward. No, I may NOT call him Eddie. No he did NOT get the joke when I promised not to foretell the doom of his civilization.

How long have you been together?
We met in August 1995 and “hooked up” sometime that year. We were married in June 1999

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
Dating is such an old fashioned concept… How long before he admitted he was “with” me? That would be about 10 months. There was also that whole period where I refused to acknowledge his presence on the Earth, much less living in the same dorm with me…

Who asked whom out?
He asked me. Then there was the begging to take him back :P

How old are each of you?
His birthday is August 1974 and mine is Jan 1975. Math is hard.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Unavoidably, his. Next question…

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
My depression.

Did you go to the same school?
We both attended the University of Kentucky. I graduated in 1997; he graduated in 1998

Are you from the same home town?
I am an Army brat and ,thus, lack a hometown. He is from a small-ish town in Kentucky. That town is home to a giant tree that flings 6 year olds to the ground and breaks their arms. Not that I have any bitterness, still.

Who is smarter?
I am smarter, but he has some fancy words on his degree that say he attended class more often and thus received better grades. However, I can curse in several more languages. This is a valuable life skill.

Who is the most sensitive?
Oh definitely me, I mean if there isn’t at least 70% humidity in the air my skin dries right out and breaks out in hives… wait… not what you meant? Um.. he’s more tactful. Much more likely to kiss the boy’s boo-boos and less likely to roll his eyes at their drama. He hasn't once responded to a child's world-ending dilemma with "Sucks to be you".

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
Coastal Flats. He eats the seafood and I glare. It’s a great diet plan.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Mexico He tried to knock my inebriated body off a pirate ship. I’m not even kidding about that part.

Who has the craziest exes?
Oh, definitely him.

Who has the worst temper?
*glares at all the people who are reading this and chuckling. Frak y’all!*

Who does the cooking?
I love to cook. I love experimenting. I consider recipes to be “guidelines”.

Who is the neat-freak?
Him. It’s so damn annoying. Like anyone REALLY cares that my bed is unmade.

Who is more stubborn?
*humming*

Who hogs the bed?
He does. It’s obscene.

Who wakes up earlier?
He does. It’s REALLY obscene.

Where was your first date?
Heh. We went to Columbia’s steakhouse for his birthday. I had, accidentally, dyed my hair bright fluorescent pink.

Who is more jealous?
Oh definitely me. Have you seen how women react to him? It’s not like guys even look at me.

How long did it take to get serious?
Serious? We're supposed to be serious? How can a relatioship be judged "serious" when it began with "I'd rather kiss a wookie!"

Who eats more?
He does.

Who does the laundry?
If by “doing” the laundry you mean washing, then drying, then actually putting the clothes AWAY, that’d be him. I cannot help it if I some times get distracted, for days, in the middle of a cycle.

Who's better with the computer?
Strangely, given his profession, I am.

Who drives when you are together?
He does; which, really, is just silly. I have only been in one tiny little fender bender that was my fault and that was totally because Courtney Stillman dared me to blow kisses to Jason McKelvey while pulling out of the parking lot.

Happy Random-Beheaded-Roman-Dude Day!

Yeah, Mark finds it amusing when I refer to Valentine's Day this way. What can I say, I'm a cynical historian? That does not mean, though, that I miss out on the chance to eat dark chocolate covered strawberries (from Godiva no less) and make sweets for my boys.


(I cannot make red velvet cake without thinking about that scene from Steel Magnolias.)

Snowy Days

While we did not get the whalloping that our Old Kentucky Homeland received, we did get a bit of snow and ice this week. On Tuesday Ian got his first chance to really play in the snow and both boys enjoyed sledding. First, though, Ethan had to have his cast removed! The arm of infamy is completely healed.

(I never managed to get Ethan to stand still for a snow picture.)

Three of My Favorite Things

I’m not much for posting on a regular basis. That means you’re lucky to get the “important” updates about kids, broken arms, holidays, or life-changing drama. That also means that you rarely see a post here about mundane stuff like “What am I making for Dinner?” or “Today I Fell in Love with the TiVO”. When you rarely post, there isn’t much need for filler.

But, I have three things that have lately captured my attention and I really feel the need to share them with you today. Plus, Ethan is on a two hour delay for school. I swear I’m going to throw him, in his pajamas, in the snow/ice out the back door if he doesn’t use his INSIDE VOICE! WHERE DID THIS KID LEARN TO YELL?

Moving on….

Right before Christmas I downloaded the new Nickelback album "Dark Horse". I’m not a music connoisseur and certainly not qualified enough to tell you why this music appeals to me. I don’t know what genre it fits into or why I like it. I just know that I like singing along (out of key).

For Christmas Mark bought me an MP3 player. I think I was the last person in the Western world to own one. I specified that I wanted this one: Sansa Fuze. It is so tiny, and perfect, and I’m in love with it. I can listen to music while washing dishes or making dinner without the children groaning about the noise from my computer speakers or Mark grousing about having to hear country music. (Seriously, a boy from Kentucky who gets the twitches when he hears the Judds. Just.Ain’t.Right.) The "Dark Horse" album, along with previous Nickelback favorites, have “most played status” on my player. When, and if, we ever get an elliptical machine I’m looking forward to working out while jamming to my favorite tunes.

For my birthday Mamma bought me then next installment in the “Pink Carnation” series. If you have never read any of Miss Willig’s books, and you are a fan of historical novels set in the English Regency period, PLEASE go pick up “The Secret History of the Pink Carnation”, the first book in the series. Technically speaking these are historical romances, but not in the lewd “Please don’t let my mother/boss/professor of literature see me reading this” way. The author’s prose is polished but not stuffy. Her background, as a Harvard history grad and a lawyer, probably helps endear her to me. That she mixes the historical- and well researched history at that- action with a first person narrative of a self-professed American anglophile working on her dissertation research, only enforces my identification with the protagonist. Willig's characters are genuine, with foibles so recognizable that you’d swear she was writing about your slutty, but endearing, best friend, your outwardly mousy sophomore year roommate who secretly possessed a caustic wit, and your own not-so-minor “did he just look at me?”freak-outs about that gorgeous hunk in the vegetable aisle. Pick up a copy at your local library and tell me you aren’t hooked. I read "The Tempataion of the Night Jasmine" in six hours with barely a break to make dinner and tuck the boys in bed.

So that’s me: jamming to Nickelback on my MP3 player and consuming good books at an insane pace.

(Edited to fix "best fried" into "best friend". Sigh.)

Belated Casting Call

A month ago we were visiting Mark’s mother in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. Harrodsburg’s historic Fort Harrod is right in the middle of town and contains a beautiful and fascinating osage orange tree. There is a picture of it here: http://parks.ky.gov/findparks/recparks/fh/photogallery/album02.htm
When Ethan was seven months old we first took a picture of him sitting in that tree. We have a picture from every year since. So, while visiting over the holidays we HAD to go take the boys' picture in the tree.

I woke up that morning with a splitting headache that was quickly approaching migraine status. So, I stayed at home while Mark took the boys and cousins to the Fort. They had great fun climbing all over the tree and we got some great pictures.

Those older boys are teenage cousins Dalton and Seth, whom Ethan followed around and thoroughly hero worshipped the entirety of our trip. Whether through some need to show off for them or just a sudden spurt of bravery, Ethan climbed one of the higher branches of the tree.

And fell.

Eight feet.

Mark brought him home and carried him upstairs. Ethan was sobbing hysterically. Mark, in his gift of understatement, said “Ethan fell out of the tree. He says his arm really hurts.” In case you are wondering, hearing that your six year old has fallen out of a tree is an almost instant cure for a migraine.

We both fussed over him for some time, checking him for any obvious broken bones or large gashes. He had no bruises and except for a scrap on his head and the arm he was favoring, he seemed fine. He cried and moaned every time we moved his arm, but could move his wrist and fingers. After 30 minutes of being fussed over he cried himself to sleep. Mark and I both decided he was probably just sacred and concluded he would be fine once he woke up.

Except, he was crying again after 45 minutes and wouldn’t let us even think about touching his arm. Finally, after consulting with my aunt who is a nurse and who was worried he might have fractured his collarbone, we decided to head for the local ER.

Once he had been assured that the doctors would not be giving him a shot and that they were only going to take pictures of his arm, Ethan was quite fascinated by the whole process. He joked with the doctors, completely charmed the nurses, and solemnly informed us that he knew all about X-rays because he had learned about them in school. He even said “cheese” when the x-rays were taken.

One look at the x-ray and it was obvious even to our laymen's eyes that his left arm was indeed fractured just above his wrist. The ER splinted the arm, gave him a prescription for Tylenol with codeine and sent us home.

The next day was New Years Eve. I called the local orthopedist but he recommended waiting until Friday or Saturday before casting the arm so that the swelling would go down. Once he heard that we were from out of town, he suggested just waiting until we were back home before having anything further done. Thankfully I called that day to get an appointment with a Virginia orthopedist, since the earliest appointment I could get was for the following Tuesday, 7 days after the injury had occurred!

By the time “cast day” rolled around Ethan had to be continuously reminded that he HAD a broken arm. He was constantly rough housing with his brother and forgetting that his arm was in a splint. The bone was already starting to heal when the cast was applied so he’ll only be in it until January 27. Ethan got to pick out the color- bright orange- and we shelled out the extra $15 for the waterproof version. He’s happily writing with his right hand now (ARGH! Just when we got him to focus on one hand- his left- this has to happen!), has mastered the art of getting his shirt sleeves over his cast, and has had all his friends sign his arm. He told me a few nights ago that he wanted to keep his cast forever.

This was the same night he told me he wanted a motorcycle…..

I think my migraine is coming back….