A heaping pile of ... yeah, you get the picture

It's good to know God's still got a sick sense of humor ... and also a good one, in my opinion.

So this morning, a little drama ...

Was sitting at home on the verge of tears, trying to motivate to do something fun with this day when I got a call from Wilder's school. He'd choked on his breakfast and, though breathing normally, was still complaining of something stuck in the his throat. I called Jerry while throwing mine and Hunter's coats on, and Jer told me to get him and get him to the emergency room, because if that "something" got into his airway, we'd have trouble.

I honestly was pretty calm, but as I drove a little maniacally to his school, I had a little conversation with the creator of the universe in which I actually threatened him/her. "So help me," I muttered under my breath, so Hunter couldn't hear, "if anything happens to my boy on the same day you took my mama away, I will ... well, shit, I dunno, but I will figure something out."

I got to school and quickly saw that Wilder was OK. At which point, not being as calm as I guess I thought I was, I burst into a mess of tears. Since I was about a hair's width from them all morning anyway, it didn't take me long to get all weepy and weird. I explained my overblown reaction to his teachers, who then proceeded to make me cry more with hugs and kind words.

Jeez, I'm a mess.

But back to that little threat toward the Great Beyond and the whole sick sense of humor bit? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that whoever's in charge out there had a great little chuckle over my empty threat. And he/she got me back later, as I stepped in a gigantic pile of dog crap in the back yard while playing soccer with the boys.

Message received. Got it.

Rogene Ann Scott (Kallemeyn): 9/21/43 to 12/15/2000

I remember thinking at some point, in the first months after she died, that someday she would be gone 10 years. I couldn't imagine that amount of time without her. Today is that day. I still have a hard time figuring out how I made it all this time without her guidance, but it's a testament to the kind of mother and friend she was that I've done OK.

Love you, Mama.

The fog lifts ...

OK, I admit it. I'm not a big fan of December or Christmas. I mean, I like so many things associated with the holidays, but there are so many more that I don't like, chief among them the proximity of the holiday to my mom's death. Try as I might, I can't get past it. Yes, I know she would want me to (she LOVED Christmas) and yes, I know I should for my kids' sakes. For the most part, I do. But there is a time each year when I am in an incredibly dark place, a place that I can't lift myself out of. I just have to endure it and wait for that day when I wake up and realize the fog has lifted. Every year I wonder if it will; because, honestly, some years, the fog just feels like a thousand pounds on my shoulders. I go through the motions, but it's like I'm swimming in molasses with all the color drained out of my life. This has been one of those years.

Yes, I probably need meds. Got it ...

So anyway, a few days ago, the fog lifted. I don't know if it's chemical, hormonal, or if it was just a function of a couple of very good friends who spent the day with me and helped make my world feel normal again ... the power of friendship cannot be underestimated. And, lucky for me, I have some amazingly good people in my life.

So, at any rate, I'm enjoying the holidays a little bit more now. And because of that, I wanted to share some photos here that have made me smile each time I look at them. And share one anecdote:

Today, when I picked Wilder up from school, he brought me a beautifully decorated card and brown paper bag. I opened it when we got home, and in it was an ornament for the tree that he had made. And yes, I guess I'm a big sap, but it brought tears to my eyes. It takes my little tree, that I keep jokingly and lovingly referring to as the Mexican hooker of the flora world, and makes it into something very, very personal and lovely. When it comes time to take the tree down, I will wrap this ornament in tissue paper and keep it safe for all Christmases to come. And I suspect that it will be one of those things that, in future years, makes me feel a little bit better about this time of year.

So here are the shots from the last week or so. Hope everyone is having more peace and joy than frantic and crazy this holiday season.

Hunter asleep with Jo-Jo, the reindeer his Arizona grandparents sent him.

He is in LOVE with this guy.

The other night, we made a secret reading/drawing/storytelling spot under Wilder's bed. He and Hunter insisted on sleeping in the same room this night. It didn't pan out, but they sure had fun for the couple hours it took us all to realize that no sleep would be happening as long as they were in the same room.

My friend Karen brought her girls (same ages as the boys) over the other day.

Can you tell they like each other?


The aforementioned ornament. On the left is Wilder in his Kwanzaa crown. And on the right he shows off his creation with a "Happy Hanukkah!" sticker on his forehead. I love that he's learning so much about different ways to celebrate this time of year.

LegoMaster

Wilder with his latest Lego creation. It's a "shooter house," and it can "kill a dinosaur."

Boys ... :-)

Wilder's turn ...

So a few weeks ago I wrote about Hunter's parent-teacher conference and how it made me so proud of him. Well, guess what? What a lucky mama I am ... because the same thing happened today with Wilder's conference.

I will start by saying that I am always a little more trepidacious when it comes to Wilder's conferences. I want to state adamantly (and especially for Future Wilder if/when he should ever read this) that this is not because he is any less wonderful or smart or good or anything than his brother. It is simply that Wilder and I have a more complicated relationship. We are different than each other (and yet in some very important ways the same), and sometimes I am at a loss as to how best to motivate him or encourage him.

That said, he is brilliant. Just brilliant. In so many ways. He's smart as a whip. His embrace for life is a constant source of amazement to me. I am constantly trying to figure out the multitude of ways in which his mind works. He builds things from nothing and proudly shows them to me, and his pride is never -- not even once -- misplaced. I already think he could grow up to be an amazing engineer, architect or sculptor. Or, really, anything he wants to be.

At any rate, maybe it's because I struggle to understand his particular brand of brilliance that I often wonder if his teachers will, too. But today I was so psyched to see that his teacher gets him. She told me things about the way my boy learns that I did not know, things that I will keep between our family because it's really not important or all that unique ... it just makes me understand him more and adds to my arsenal of mama-tools.

And she told me things I already knew: That he's an incredibly quick learner. That he's extra-empathetic for his age (this is something both my boys share and I cannot tell you how happy and proud it makes me to be raising two compassionate small people). That his exuberance for school is almost unrivaled by his peers.

And, Future Wilder, if you do ever read this, know this: You are one in a million, kiddo. We may butt heads more often than either of us would like, but I never, at the end of the day, fail to be impressed by the way you meet life head on, by your incredible and incredibly absorbent brain, and by your kindness. And, when it comes right down to it, you have made me a better mother and a better person. And I adore you, my little love.

I can't wait to see what future P/T conferences hold ...

A recipe you must try

Yesterday was Jer's birthday, so I was searching for a cake recipe and came across this one at allrecipes.com. It was highly rated. It called for boiling water, but I made it with hot coffee to enrich the flavor, and then made a simple chocolate glaze that I drizzled over the top.

For the record, if you make it, you MUST serve it with blackberry ice cream ... the flavors mesh so well together. It was fantastic!

Ingredients
2 cups hot coffee
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter, softened
2 1/4 cups white sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Directions
1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease 3 - 9 inch round cake pans. In medium bowl, pour boiling water over cocoa, and whisk until smooth. Let mixture cool. Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt; set aside.

2.In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at time, then stir in vanilla. Add the flour mixture alternately with the cocoa mixture. Pour batter into a bundt cake pan.

3.Bake in preheated oven for 45-50 minutes. Allow to cool.

Being Debby Downer today ... (sorry)

As much as I love the holidays, this time of year is always touched by a bit of sadness for me. My mom died 10 days before Christmas in 2000, and it's generally unavoidable for me not to be thinking of that starting sometime in November. I remember the last conversations I had with her, how Jerry and I had just bought our first house and how excited she was to come see it (she never got to), and then I remember that call from my father, how I'd never heard him like that before ... how it was so clear from his voice that her illness was serious. How I went to my company Christmas party that night (I'd booked a flight out the next morning) and tried my best to put on a merry front, but failed so miserably.

Enough of that. This could quickly turn into a downward spiral.

So yesterday, a bit of this was on my mind, and a realization hit me. She's been gone almost 10 years. I'm almost 40 (well, 39 on my next birthday). That means I've lived almost a quarter of my life without her. I mean, it should have been obvious, given the simple math ... and perhaps the fact that I've gotten married, bought two (soon three) more houses since that first one, had two of her grand-kids since her death ...

But I'd never thought of it in that way. A quarter of my life. That seems like such a big chunk. A heartbreakingly big chunk.

I just miss her. All the time. But more this time of year, given the timing of her death and how much she loved the holidays herself. She'd be in her kitchen right now, cooking like crazy in her sweats and an apron, probably, if she were still alive.

Well, anyway ...

If you are spending part of your Thanksgiving holiday with your mom (dad, grandparents, anyone you love and can't imagine not having in your life anymore ...), give them a big hug. You really, truly never know when it'll be your last chance.

The making of lemon chess pie

Got our Thanksgiving pies made today, too, and BONUS! The batter made for two pies -- not one as the recipe said. Woot! BONUS PIE!!

Not sure if they taste good, but they smell and look pretty, as Hunter would say, "deewishus!!"

The fixings await ...

That handsy, sample-happy sous chef strikes again!

Ta-dahhhhh! (Now let's all pray they taste decent ...)

The chronicles of cranberry sauce

Thanksgiving has begun at my house, which, in essence, means that I have to start cooking a couple days early so that, come 4 p.m. on Thanksgiving day, I don't have to shake the flour out of my hair, crack open a bottle of bourbon and sink down to the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears and pity.

This year, much to my delight, I'm hosting my Denver-based family, which means I'll be cooking for 9. Of course my lovely siblings will be bringing side dishes (you GO Jay with your big, bad relish tray self!!), but I'm roasting the turkey and throwing in a bunch of other sides and desserts because, well ... because I'm masochistic?

No, actually, I love making a big holiday meal, even if it does usually mean a lot more stress than I bargained for. And it is particularly sweet this year since we're back where we belong. Now I'm just hoping for big, big snow on Thursday.

Anyway, back to today: My sous chef (also know as Wilder) and I made Triple Cranberry Sauce, something I've made every year for about the last seven, I think (and gratitude to my awesome mom-in-law, Teri, for the recipe). I decided to take some pictures because this is really the first year Wilder has been able to help me cook the big meal. He's an awesome sous chef ... a little liberal with the tastings, but great nonetheless.

Here are some photos:

The berries begin to pop ... my favorite part.

My sous chef, hard at work ...

Busted!

Seasonings, etc. await ...

Ready for the dumping ... and ...

There we go!

Wilder gives it a good final stirring.

And voila! The finished product.

Give me five, sous chef!

Our morning project

I'm not one of those crafty moms. But this morning something came over me. Maybe it was the knowledge that, if nothing was done, I would be asked approximately 1,726 times over the next month and a half this question: "MAMA????!! HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS?!!?!!?"

So, behold ...

The Scott Family Christmas 2010 Countdown Calendar:


Now I should only be asked that question 876 times, at which point I will simply point to our 3-foot-long, 18-inch deep crazy creation and say: "Count."

But, in all seriousness, it's cute, no? Construction paper just my be my medium of choice from now on ...

Proud mama

Just got home from having a parent-teacher conference with Hunter's teacher. Yes, he's 2. No, it makes no sense. And honestly, as I was sitting there waiting, still somewhat sick, wishing I was at home on the couch in my robe and fleece pants, I was thinking what a total waste of time it was going to be.

And, pretty much, it was. She handed me a folder of his artwork and a checklist of his skills and a few anecdotal incidents of him being sweet to his fellow students. And I didn't learn anything I don't already know. Which makes sense, of course: He's my kid.

But I did leave there pretty proud of him. Miss Naoko, his teacher, told me again and again how wonderful his social skills are, particuarly his ability to feel empathy for his friends and fellow classmates. "We don't see this level of social interaction in 2-year-olds, hardly ever." she said. Sometimes it takes someone else's angle on your own kid to remind you that there is something special there. I mean, I know Hunter is an exceptionally sweet boy, but I don't walk around all day thinking about it.

She asked me at the end of our meeting, half joking: "Maybe you can share with us how you raise him?" And I told her what I genuinely believe: That kid came out of the womb like that. It's not that I don't think I'm a good mom (sometimes), but I think those who know Hunter best, like me, will agree that he was just born that way. He's got a certain way of looking at life that involves equal parts mellowness, kindness and humor.

So that's all I wanted to say: Hunter is pretty damn great. (And Wilder is, too, but his p-t conference isn't for another couple weeks, so I'll brag on him then.)

/bragging

Can you smell that smell?

Me, to Hunter: "Wouldn't you rather just admit you pooped than have people think you just smell like poop as a natural state of being?"

Hunter: (Pause ... grins) "Yeah."

Me: "So then you pooped, yes?"

Hunter: "Nope!"

Sigh ...

Thoughts on "Babies"

Just finished watching the documentary, "Babies," which is one hour and 20 minutes of nothing but footage of the lives of four babies from around the world, covering birth up until they turn 1.

It's an OK movie ... in terms of having a message, there's not much there, but that's kind of what's cool about it, especially in this hyper-helicopter parent culture where we all sit around and secretly judge each other's parenting techniques and skills. It lets you draw your own conclusions, and I like that.

The babies are from Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo, Japan and San Francisco, and one of the coolest parts of the film is watching the cultural differences. For instance, I was amused as all get out at the Namibian baby, who spent his first year in the dirt, sucking on rocks, old bones, sticks and drinking from the local gulley wash (or whatever). I could not help but think of the father I saw at the park on Friday, who was having repeated freak-outs every time one of his kids -- a son and daughter I estimated to be about 6 and 3, respectively -- would touch the sand at the playground. He looked exasperatedly at one mom and sighed, shaking his head: "The other playground does not have sand." He kept fussing at them about being "dirty" and getting sand in their shoes.

Dude, those kids are going to have some issues if he doesn't lighten up. I kept picturing him watching that little African boy picking an old bone from the dirt, or sitting six inches from the carcass of some animal his mother was skinning and gutting. I bet he'd break out in a sweat and have to shower or something.

The funniest part of the movie, probably unintentionally, was when the Californian kid was at some kiddie music and movement class with her father, and all these liberal white people (I am a liberal white person, so I can poke fun with impunity, right?) were chanting in some other language and then following that up with another verse about how Mother Earth will provide. It was all very Kumbaya-esque, and therefore giving me great fits of eye-rolling. Anyway, the kid, Hattie, gets up and makes a beeline for the door and starts shaking it, like she's trying to escape the hippie drum circle.

Hilarious.

I was a little worried that watching the movie would make me have pangs for another kid. But no ... I checked my exhaust-o-meter and it still reads that I'm pushing 40 and not getting nearly enough sleep as it is. So a family of four we shall remain. Although, if I could get my hands on that little Mongolian kid, I might adopt him. Seriously ... that kid, by the end of the movie, is right up my alley. Equal parts mischief, cheeks and nerve. Almost edible, that one.

Because the blog can't be all allergy bitching ...

A few more pics of Wilder's birthday night. And stay posted for more pics, later today or tomorrow (depending on how long it takes me to sleep off this medication), of a hike the boys and I took yesterday.

Evil, wicked meds

What's that? You didn't get enough of me talking about my allergies in the last post? Oh, well, good. Because I have more to say.

In essence, it's this: The allergy medication I'm on is EVIL. I noticed the very first time I took it, back when Jerry and the boys and I took a trip to Beulah and our doctor friends gave me a pill. A couple hours after taking it, we were at a party with a bunch of strangers and I could literally not get out of there fast enough. It's not that the company was bad, or the music was awful or the food tasted badly (exact opposite on all fronts) ... it was that I literally felt like a lobotomized, exhausted zombie (or at least how I imagine them to feel, having contemplated these things ad nauseum). I could not look anyone in the eyes, much less carry on an intelligent conversation.

So, when I was prescribed the very medication by my allergist, it was not without some reservation that I agreed to take it. Then I found out how much it cost and that wasn't pretty, either.

So I've been on it for two months now, and I've been taking the pills before I go to bed, because of the zombie-like fatigue. Let me state for the record that it does mask my allergy symptoms quite well, and for this, I would gladly shell out for the exhorbitant co-pay. And, for a few weeks, it also was helping me sleep.

But then, the last week ... OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH the last week. The. Last. Week.

See, it's not like I'm normally an exuberant, cheerful person. Or at least not consistently. I'm am given to certain amounts of what could be kindly coined "moodiness." I am also the mother of two small boys, boys who do not feel an ounce of guilt about sitting in their beds at night loudly singing, hollering, caterwhauling, etc. about not wanting to go to sleep, boys who routinely (and falsely ... and here I'm looking at YOU, eldest child) claim to have nightmares, which from what I gather is a dream not involving unicorns shooting rainbows out their ... ahem, horns). So, yes, I have bouts of tiredness.

But, I am also an adult woman who realizes my limitations and eccentricities and, for the most part, I try to keep them to myself. If I'm moody, you will most likely find me tucked away in my own corner of the house keeping quietly to myself so as to not inflict my mood on anyone else. If I'm tired, I just put on a good front and power through.

But this last week was different. I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept. Hadn't slept in, like, 1,000 years. I looked in the mirror and, not for the first time, realized I'd put on close to 10 lbs. very quickly. I started having disturbing dreams, the most recent involving my mother being in the hospital again. And, if you know me very well, you know that A) I almost never dream about my mother and that makes me sad, and that B) having my mother suddenly appear in my dreams but (and this is a big BUT) having her appear so from a hospital bed ... well, that made me very, very upset indeed. As in, I'm almost bursting into tears again just writing about it. There were other details that made this dream even worse, but I'll spare you those, as I'm already blocking them out of my own consciousness.

So, yes ... the allergy drug I'm on ... well, let's just say I'm no longer on it. Last night was the last night. You see, I want my children to like me, and I want my husband to want to stay married to me, and I want my house to not look like the house from "Grey Gardens," and I want to do all that and have all that with 10 fewer pounds around my midsection (well, really, closer to 20-25, but that last bit's on me).

Oh, and I want to sleep. I want to sleep for days, and then, I want to wake up, evil-allergy-med free, NORMAL again.

Me time (with needles!)

Things I don't like about living in Colorado: dry, dry skin and allergies.

Things I like about living in Colorado: everything else.

Yep, that pretty much sums it up. And on that note, I finally began my allergy injection therapy this week, which is a fancy way of saying I get about 10-12 shots every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. After each shot, I have to wait 20 minutes for the next one, and then 30 minutes after the last one, before they'll let me leave. They're waiting to see if, at best, my shot site gets itchy and inflamed (so far, so good) or, at worst, my throat closes up on me (so far, so thank the lord that hasn't happened).

So, yes ... it's kind of a pain in the butt that, in the middle of my very busy life, I have to go into some allergist's office three times a week -- and two of those times sans boys -- and sit there for an hour or two.

On the other hand, I can bring coffee, a magazine, a good book, my iPod and/or my phone and do what I almost never get to do, which is sit there on my butt and read or just chill. It's an opportunity to slow down a little, which happens so rarely these days between work, Wilder, Hunter and the mountains of laundry, dishwashing and other assorted household tasks.

So, yeah, go ahead ... stick needles in my arm and I'll get back to my good book (this week, at any rate, it's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver).

And speaking of being busy most of the time, we just ended what it one of our most frenetic times of the year, when Wilder's birthday, Jer and I's wedding anniversary and all assorted Halloween-related events align in the same week.

For W's birthday, we had a swim party at the Westminster Rec Center and had a really good group of folks join us. I made three dozen chocolate cupcakes decorated with French buttercream icing and M&Ms and rainbow sprinkles ... it was the first time I attempted something like that (normally I buy our birthday cakes from the grocery store), and I think they turned out pretty awesome. And, since I made them over two days, I didn't lose my mind.

So yes, Wilder had a great birthday. And other than the fact that he's calming down some, the only change in his new, 5-year-old existence seems to be that for some reason he thinks that being 5 means you can wear socks to bed. He's quite adamant that Hunter cannot, and he also told me this morning that when he's 6 he'll be able to wear his shoes to bed. I only look at him quizically and wonder how in the hell his brain works.

His brother, on the other hand ... well, I think I know all too well how his brain works. And, in essence, that means it works just like mine. He is equal parts curmudgeon and comedian (sound familiar?) and, for the most part, equal parts exasperating and entertaining. He will be kicking me out of his room, post-nap, one minute and killing me with some rollicking good physical comedy the next.

I think that, given that they mirror Jerry's and my personalities so completely (Wilder is mini-Jer and Hunter is mini-me), they are destined to be the best of friends, just like Jer and I. I hope so anyway.

Have to wrap this up as it's nearing time to go pick the boys up from school, but our busy, busy October was great. AND I'm glad it's over. I posted some photos on Facebook, and I'll try to post some extras here later. Now, onto Thanksgiving menu planting (oh, and voting ... don't forget to VOTE!!!)

Things to remember from today ...

Apparently, when you are 5, you no longer kiss your mother on the lips, especially in front of your friends at school. You kiss her on the cheek and look at her like "go AWAY NOW."

Harumph. Moving on ...

This morning, while eating a hard-boiled egg, Hunter did what he always does when he gets to the middle part. He squeals with delight, pulls out the perfectly round, cooked yolk and screams "BABY EGG!!!!!" And then shoves it into his mouth. (He also dug through the spice drawer and insisted on putting chili powder and oregano on his egg ... a fledgling culinary artist, methinks?)

Later today ... some additional birthday pics I didn't post on Facebook.

The fox, the hound, and Wilder

Just a bit ago, Wilder and I were watching "The Fox and the Hound." It was one of my favorite Disney films growing up. My mom used to take me to see them in the theater and, while the memories are hazy, I do recall sitting there in the dark with her and feeling like we were having a magical experience.

At any rate, the part of the movie came up where Widow Tweed has to take Tod deeper into the forest and say good-bye to him. The hunter has vowed to kill him, and she wants to keep Tod safe. Wilder asked me: "Mama? What's happening??" So I explained to him that, while she was sad to leave him behind, she had to in order to keep him safe.

At which point poor little Wilder's big heart just couldn't take it anymore and he dissolved into tears. He just slumped against me and sobbed and sobbed.

I have no idea if such a level of compassion is normal for a kid his age, but he never ceases to amaze me with his ability to feel empathy (unless, of course, you're talking about empathy for me having to repeat the same thing about 47 times a day). I have a friend who last her husband a couple of years ago, and she has two small boys just a little older than Wilder and Hunter. Wilder wanted to talk to me about where Luke's daddy was, and whether he'd be coming back. When I explained to him as best I could, he just couldn't take it and cried and cried. I gathered he both felt sad for his friend and was scared the same thing could happen in our family. I assured him the best I could, but ever since he's had a small preoccupation with the "Summerlands," which is what we refer to heaven as in our house.

Lately, we've been talking more about things like this. My own mama's birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and in talking about her and where she was now and what she was like, I think for the first time it has started to make sense to Wilder that people go away and don't come back. I wish there was a way to cushion him from this, but I know, all too well, that it's part of life. I remember when my own grandpa Wayne died, when I was about 7, I think ... I was so distraught at the funeral and I just could not seem to stop crying. I fear Wilder might have inherited this from me.

At any rate, I am proud of him for this sense of compassion. Yet, at the same time, it makes my heart hurt for him. He will feel things deeply in his life ... both good and bad.

Note to Future Wilder, should he ever read any of this: You are an extraordinary young man. I am proud of you for many things, but I don't think I am ever prouder of you than when you show what a sensitive and kind human being you are.

As I typed that last sentence, I heard the credits for "The Fox and the Hound" running in the background. And then this exclamation from Wilder: "That was AWESOME!!" So are you, kid. So are you.

Fall hike shots

Somebody loves his pup ...

Hunter was in quite the "pose for the camera" mood tonight (something that doesn't happen often). He grabbed hold of Betty to give her a hug, and Wilder told me I should take a picture. He was right ... they're awful cute together (though one is clearly enjoying the Kodak moment more than the other).

The boys had doctors appointments today and, if it wasn't already clearly official, it is now: They're HUGE. Especially Wilder, who is pretty much off the charts in terms of height. Doc says: "You could put him in room with 100 kids his age, and he'll be the tallest." I guess we already knew that, though. Hunter too is tall, but less skinny ... my little linebacker. He also impressed the doc by following a number of commands and simple instructions. "Wow," the doctor said. "It's very rare for a 2-year-old to do all that."

Mutantly large geniuses, my boys. Heh heh. Yeah, right.

If I may ...

I need to brag a little bit on Hunter. Each day that I pick him up from school, I get a feedback sheet. It tells me how his mood was, what he ate and played with, if he pottied, etc. It also includes a little blurb each day about something he enjoyed or did special.

And almost always, I get a comment on what a good boy he is. Things like:

"You were a very good listener today."

"You are always mellow and happy."

"Today you went out of your way to avoid conflict."

And he is a good boy. I'm never surprised to hear this stuff because, for the most part, it's exactly what I see from him at home. I'm just pleased that other people notice this stuff about him.

For the record, Wilder doesn't get feedback forms or I'd probably be posting similar stuff about him. He might not always be as mellow and easy as his little brother, but he's a good boy. And he makes me a better parent.

A harvest-festival kind of weekend

So this weekend was busy, and apparently exhausting, if how I'm feeling this morning is any indication. We hit a couple of different festivals: the Arvada Harvest Festival on Saturday and the badly named but very fun Harvestival, in Wellington, Colo., yesterday. Both days were fun days, and the latter let us take another long drive in this state we both love so much. We took 287 (instead of the interestate) north, and it goes through a bunch of little towns like Lafayette, Longmont (where I used to work), Loveland, the not-so-little Ft. Collins and so on. Unfortunately, another wildfire broke out west of Loveland, and what was a single and small plume of smoke as we left at 10 a.m. yesterday turned into something much more major by the time we drove home in the late afternoon. So sad.

The highlight of Saturday, for me anyway, was watching Wilder do the Eurobungy (photo below). Wilder usually wants to try stuff like that but will, at the last moment, decide his personal safety is threatened and back off. This is also known as chickening out, I think. But he took one look at this contraption on Saturday and had to do it. And do it he did ... he was a bit little for it, and had a hard time maintaining the bounce of the bungy, but he got some good height and really impressed me with his bravery.

Sunday's festival was way more mellow, which is just what we were hoping. Jerry got to see one of his personal heroes, Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm, speak. That was great. And we also got to see cool stuff like old school buses turned into chicken coops, a trebuchet demonstration, tons of baby ducks, massive tractors, a livestock viewing area filled with cows, llamas, sheep, pigs, donkeys and a goat and more, and a hay maze that I think Wilder could have spent all day in. The boys had fun, but I think we all need a day of recovery today.

This coming weekend, Jerry and I are headed to the Great American Beer Festival on Friday night. And the boys are headed over to spend the evening with their cousins, Allie and Colin, and my brother and sister-in-law, Jay and Deb. I cannot express how happy it makes me to know they'll be there while we're out sampling a bunch of yummy beers. Having family around is not something I will ever take for granted.

Signing off ... enjoy the photos.

The boys and Jer check out a massive tractor.

The Boo-Boo Chicken Coup Bus.

Zoning out at the Arvada festival on Saturday.

Wilder after conquering the Eurobungy!

Bungy boy bungy!!

Hunter feeds some sheep. "Heeeeere sheep sheep sheep. C'mere girl." So cute.

Wilder hay-bale hops.

Jer and Wilder check out the baby ducks.

Baby ducks!

Hunter (who insisted on wearing his Home Depot apron he got at the previous day's festival)