This used to be fun.

It’s been almost four years since I started writing on our blog. I don’t remember exactly the process of deciding to share my now-infamous Mother’s Day thoughts here, but I do remember how wonderful it felt to write it all down and hit that “Publish” button. It didn’t matter that maybe only one or two siblings would read it. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t pretty. All that mattered was that I’d thought of something and wanted to put it here, as a record, almost a public journal.

It continued to be that way for a long time. I would write sporadically, whenever I came up with something that I thought was funny or silly or thought provoking or interesting. Confessional: That time I admitted that I’ve used my babies as napkins. Frustrated: That conversation with my hair stylist about motherhood. Assorted: The animal antics, the sartorial experiments, the food! And, honestly, who could forget the six geese-a-laying?*

But somewhere along the way, I started thinking about numbers. And pictures and readability. And making sure every post mattered somehow and was totally representative of the important things in our lives. And was complete. Was worth posting on Facebook. Deep, meaningful, worth advertising to friends and family. Blah blah blah.

I got so concerned with curating the blog perfectly, making it just so. So now every time I think about blogging, I think about all of this stuff.

And it’s just not fun anymore.

And because it’s not fun, I’ve missed out on sharing things I really wanted to share—big things like Coriel’s epic Muddy Buddy obstacle course race that we held in our yard last year, little things like the time I broke out into uncontrollable laughter when Koa peed on his own face.

So ptui! on all of that. I want this to be fun again. So, from here on out:

~ I may or may not notify the world of Facebook that I’ve written something here. Sometimes yes, sometimes no, depending wholly on my own whims. If you actually want to read my posts, you’ll just have to figure out how to follow me from the blog. Or figure out how to get carrier pigeons to bring you notifications.

~ There may or may not be pictures.

~ I will make little-to-no attempt to present a complete picture of my life here. For my foo who live far away, sorry. I’d love to say that I’ll try harder to keep you up to date on our lives, but that would be a bald-faced lie.**

~ I will continue to write sporadically—I mean, really sporadically—but I will no longer feel guilty about it. If you want to hear from me more, I write equally sporadically at Callooh Callay Callay and fortnightly-ish at MMW (and here’s a handy link to just my posts).

~ I will not apologize for occasionally being badly edited or long-winded or whatever. Because it just takes too much time sometimes, and I get all perfectionist-y, upon which I spit!***

And I think that covers it. If I sound cranky, it might be because I slightly am. I don’t like that I have let blogging turn into drudgery. I want it to be fun again!

On that note, I will leave you with this: (It is most amusing if you flip quickly back and forth between the two pictures.)

* The answer to that question, I am well-aware, is everyone on the planet except for me.

** Is that the right expression? Bald-faced? Because that seems ridiculous to me.

*** Okay, if we’re being honest, I will undoubtedly continue to apologize for ridiculous things like missing smart quotes and badly used semicolons, but that’s just how I roll.

Field Trip

On the 12th, Coriel and I went together on her very first field trip. She was very excited about it, and I was too actually. I was excited to go get to hang out with my sweet daughter and just focus on her (well, and on pumpkins) (and on her as a pumpkin!).

There were some wacky gourds there, including gooseneck gourds, birdhouse gourds (go look it up—and then imagine a little girl Coriel’s age saying, “This one looks just like my father!” Everyone thought it was hilarious, possibly except for her father.), and the ones below.

Peanut gourds.

Apple gourds. (Although I think they look like a cross between apples and watermelon.)

Paying rapt attention. Here’s something I noticed: Coriel can be very loud and energetic and bouncing off the walls at home, but she was remarkably quiet and focused while the gourd man was talking and while we looked around the farm.

She got to pet the bunny and look at a bunch of other animals.

Did you know a male donkey is called a jack and a female is called a jenny?

Curse that obnoxious strand of hair. But even with ridiculous hairdos, we had a fun time on the hayride.

I have to confess I was slightly disappointed to discover that “picking pumpkins” entailed just grabbing ones that had been scattered around a field, already cut off. But Coriel was pretty jazzed about it, jazzed enough for both of us.

Good times were had by all!

Now, just for the record, I will mention that once again blogger defeats me and my attempts at pretty formatting. It is a sign of just how fully it has defeated me that I only spent about 15 seconds on it before giving up completely. Sigh. How the mighty have fallen.

Photos 1500–1588*

It turns out that very few unusual things happened over the course of pictures 1500–1588. 

 Coriel eating her dinner (actually, that’s not all that usual).**

Coriel painting my toenails.

And treating her unicorn like the family pet (and yes, in case those of you who read my Facebook post are wondering, this is the unicorn that apparently has been cooking Coriel her dinner).  

Addra playing in a very organizational manner. She has a pretty amazing cleaning streak that must have come from some seriously mutated genes.

Singing and dancing awesomeness.

And of course, amazing accessories. No day at the Stay household is complete without accessories. The more, the better.

Pretty much the only thing out of the ordinary was the making of some fabulous peach melba—poached peaches and raspberry ice cream (usually it’s vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce, but we decided to take a walk on the wild side). You are now permitted to be jealous. 

*Can I mention that I am jazzed that I got my blog to do an en dash?

**(It should also be mentioned that she doesn’t always show it off to us in such a charming fashion.)

The First Curry of the Growing Season

The day has arrived, my friends. This week we celebrated the first curry of the growing season. Our first two zucchinis came off the bush (already!) and one went immediately into the curry. By the end of the summer, I’m hoping our curries will also include carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, yellow squash, zucchinis, and maybe even green and red peppers from the garden. Wouldn’t that be shiny?

You will think I sound like some amazing gardener with mad skills. My life must be so put together since I’m growing such a fabulous veggie garden. Um, no. Will it help if I send you a picture of the top of my dresser? Or the box full of papers I keep meaning to file? Or, heaven forbid, the undone items on my to-do list?

But this post is not about me. This post is about curry and its sheer awesomeness and our celebration of its existence. I think we are going to make this into an annual Stay family holiday.

So let’s all take a moment to be grateful for the gift of curry and veg from the garden. Yum.

P.S. You can only do so much to convince your average four-year-old that curry is not an abomination. In our case, that is not enough. So we settle for convincing her to try a bite. Sometimes with her nose plugged. In the last picture here, Addra (ever wanting to be like her older sister) is attempting to plug her nose too. Good times. 

P.P.S. I'm sure that if I had mad skills, I would be able to convince the html in this ridiculous blog post to not randomly change the font type at the drop of a hat. But I don't.

P.P.P.S. And please, let's not even mention the curly quotes again. It's getting a little OCD, don't you think?

Top Five Reasons Why My Husband Is a Poohead* ** *** (those are asterisks, not swear words)

1. It is 9:53 pm. He is being my voice of endurance, forcing me to do my writing today (which I haven't done yet, even though I'm on a month-long streak of writing every day) instead of playing WoW with him.

2. He stops me from eating too much sugar when I tell him, "I've hit my limit. Any more and I'm going to feel terrible."

3. Sometimes, on the night of a social event I've been looking forward to, I suddenly say, "Ugh, I don't want to go. It will be too long and I'll be leaving you here with the kids all alone. I don't really need to go. Waily waily waily, excuses, excuses, blah blah blah." Then he says to me, "You've been planning on this all month. You are going." And then I go. And have lots of fun.***

4. Sometimes when I want to stay up reaaaaaally late reading (which will lead to me feeling lousy the next day), he tells me I have a time limit and I'm going to be in "big trouble" if I don't go to bed by then.

5. Pretty much he acts in place of my better self when my better self has taken a vacation or is sitting on the couch watching movies instead of helping me do things that are wise and will make me happy. He helps me be far better and stronger than I otherwise would be.

What a poo, huh?

*No, I really don't think he's a poohead.
**This post was written in the horrible composer that has no smart quotes. Please ignore this terrible oversight.
***Yes, I realize that no one but me finds this to be an oversight.
****A note to Meghan: This comment did not apply to your baby shower. I was unerringly excited to go to that.

Day #12: Drummers Drumming

(Another haiku)

Yours: Radiohead.

Mine: Dido. Different drums, but

Perfect harmony.

Happy Three Kings’ Day, Brice! You’re the best.*

*Please note that I had to copy and paste in the smart quotes because the cursed composer doesn’t automatically create them. 
*Please also note that after typing this, I had a very long debate with myself and Google over whether it really needed an apostrophe at all. The jury is still out, but I'm leaning toward none. Argh. (Granted, I could just fix it, but where would be the fun in that?)
*Please also also note that the previous note has a straight quote, but I'm tired of fixing them and then fixing the font and blah blah blah. So we shall just ignore it and call it artistic.