Actions? or Words?

Every day, I hear at least one (or two, or fourteen) of the following:

"You're being a brat!"

"Why do you have to be so IDIOTIC?!"

"Mom! Her paper is touching my FOOT!"

"She just ran past me and whapped me in the head on purpose!"

"Stop LOOKING at me!"

"Well, fine! Then I don't want to play with you EVER AGAIN."

"Aaaaaargh!" (door slam)

But when I go through the pictures I've taken over the past week,I find these:

I guess even the best sibling relationships have their moments of dysfunction? For example, I can clearly remember being furious with Uncle Awesome in the base comissary when I was about eleven. I can't remember what his offense was, although I can assure you that it was annoying in the extreme. What I can remember is my hand literally ITCHING with the need to punch him. I also remember weighing the swift and terrible punishment my mother was sure to rain down on me versus the satisfaction of wiping the smirk off his face. So I guess I get it.

What it's hard to communicate to your eleven-year-old is that someday, years from now, you're going to think your little sister is really cool. Even though today she seems to be Satan.

Or convincing the eight-year-old that the condescending despot posing as her older sister will someday be her best friend.

I promise.

Bitten By the Political Bug

In the past few weeks, Bug has been fascinated by the outbreak of campaign signs around town. She reads them out loud, asks me if the candidate is Republican or Democrat, and whether I plan on voting for them. As more and more appeared in our neighborhood, she began to wonder when we would get ours in the mail.

You have to go to the campaign office and get them, I told her. Well, what in the heck were we waiting for? she wanted to know.

We had signs for the last election, and I have been meaning to pick some up, but never seem to think of it when I'm downtown near the Obama campaign office. The one time she reminded me when we were downtown, I had ice-cream in the back and couldn't stop.

The kid is a little bit relentless when she gets something into her head. Every day for the past week, she's asked if today is the day we will get our yard signs. No. Today? Well, then, how about today? It was when she elected to stay up to watch the vice-presidential debate with us (eight, the kid's eight!), that I knew I REALLY needed to get those signs.

Today was The Day. I picked both girls up from school. We drove downtown and crossed the square to the campaign office. The window was painted red, white, and blue with OBAMA/BIDEN in gigantic letters. We strode purposefully in and requested yard signs.

They're out of the fricking signs.

Worst. Mother. Ever.

Better Than Therapy

Yesterday I took the day off from being a mom to help my BF Jen deliver wedding cakes to a ski resort up north. I heartlessly (one might even say gleefully and not be stretching the truth by much) left Daddy Shortbread to deal with Saturday homework, driving the Bear to ballet, and what to feed the two finicky short people who live with us. You know, the ones that liked bananas last week but this week are tiiiiiired of them. Yesterday? Not my problem.

My BF and I wore our cute jeans and makeup. We got Starbucks lattes the size of our heads. We practically wet ourselves laughing on the drive up. It was HEAVEN.

As we got farther north, it was also peak foliage season. We were surrounded by this:
Driving into Kingfield, you follow this little river all the way to the mountain. Jen graciously pulled the van over every time I squealed and patiently let me shoot about ten billion pictures. She refrained from whining and complaining, unlike my usual van companions (who are darn lucky they're cute and biologically related to me sometimes).

We drove and gawked at the four million dollar "vacation homes" that dot the base of the mountain. Some of them have a ski lift that comes right to their back yard to whisk them up the mountain. (Who ARE these people? They can't all be neurologists from Boston.)

We lunched at a delightfully eclectic, girly cafe/flower shop, whose menu would have caused my kids to faint in horror. Nary a chicken finger, nor a french fry to be found, just wonderful salads, wraps, teas, and sparkling fruit juices. Delish. We lingered and chatted, keeping a wary eye on the wasp that had wandered inside and taken up residence on the window beside our table.

Finally, we drifted homeward, feeling the need to stop at both farm stand and garden center. The van smelled both earthy and delightfully spicy and fall-like from the pumpkins, squash, and pots of mums we shoehorned into the back.

Lovely.

Autumn Sunrise + Unmitigated Bragging

When I caught a glimpse of this amazing technicolor sunrise out the kitchen window Monday morning, I snatched my camera and ran out into the yard in my pajamas. Within two minutes, the color was completely washed away by the rising sun. It was worth the damp socks and public display of nightwear to capture it.

In other news, Bear brought home her very first junior high school progress report today. We've been working hard with her to keep her organized, and she has been putting a lot of effort into homework, so it was with a face flushed with pride that she handed me a printout with the following grades:

Band - A+

English - A

Reading - B

Social Studies - A

Math - A

Excel Science - A

Well, look at that. Hard work and organization does pay off. I could swear someone's been telling Bear that. Now, who was it? Hmmm... Oh, right. ME. (And possibly her father, too, but this is my blog, so I get most of the credit).

Introducing Mr. Tung-Wup Whipper

Isn't he ... um, something?

Bear's assignment was to make a mask from a culture of her choosing and write an essay detailing the construction process and how it was significant to the culture. Right off, she knew she wanted to make a kachina mask. Both kids are very proud of their Native American heritage and love to show it off.

When Bug's class was studying Indian tribes a couple of weeks ago, she made me write down the name of her tribe and the family Indian name on a Post-It note for her. She took it to school in the pocket of her jeans, so she could tell the class at their morning circle time.

Bear remembered seeing photographs of kachinas in a book of Arizona photograpy. She knew they'd be perfect for this assignment.

It took awhile looking through Google images of kachinas to settle on one, but once she saw the Tung-Wup Whipper, she was hooked. I mean, what's not to love?

He is a Hopi kachina. During the dance ceremonies, he whips naughty children with a yucca vine. Can't you just picture Hopi moms threatening their kids to behave so the Tung-Wup Whipper doesn't come after them? Could be handy. Forget behaving so Santa will bring you presents, this dude's going to WHIP YOU WITH A VINE if you're bad. Genius.

And, yes, Maisy did notice the fuzzy feathers on top of his head. And, yes, she tried to get them.

When I came in from a walk this morning, I caught her with the bag of leftover feathers (still sealed) in her mouth. She froze and stared at me like a drug addict in rehab caught with a baggie of crack.

A Bug's Eye View of Last Night's Debate

Bug wandered into the room toward the end of last night's presidential debate. She studied the screen.

"So, that one's McCain?" she asked, watching him speak. We nodded affirmatively.

The camera switched to Obama.

"Oh! Obama's CUTE!" she exclaimed, "I bet people who work in fashion will TOTALLY vote for him."

And she sashayed out of the room.