Today my old college roomie and very dear friend Mandy came over to visit. She brought along her two little boys--N, who is almost three, and A, who is a gorgeous five month old. It was so fun to sit (well, chase children) and visit and laugh and swap stories--it's been almost two years since we last got together, and even longer since we had a chance to just talk.
I was so lucky in my college roommates. Many are still good friends, although I'm in contact with some more than others, and I had the opportunity to room with a best friend four different times. Kristy and Mandy for the first three years, LaDale for most of the fourth, and Emily for the sixth. That means I was only without a best friend in my own apartment for 1.5 years--pretty awesome, no matter how you look at it.
Anyway, now that I live in northern Utah County, and Mandy now lives in southern-ish Salt Lake County, we have made plans to get together more often. Hooray! I love her dearly, and it will be sooooooo nice to be a part of each other's lives again.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Dinner!!
We live right next to a park, with a soccer/football field nearest our house and the play structure on the other side of the field. The park abuts the school, with a kindergarten playground (closer) and the "big-kid" playground farther away. There are basketball courts and four-square courts and hopscotch and even tetherball poles. (I think we'll buy a tetherball and cord. I have many fond memories of tetherball, both at home and at school.)
Now that the weather is warming--and hooray for spring, even a fitful, tentative Utah one--my kids are really starting to take advantage of our location. Even Hebs, at four-and-a-half, is allowed to go out (with Em or Zee) and play at any part of the park/school grounds. And I love it. It gets them out of the house, it gets them away from the TV/computer/Xbox, and it tires them out. Win-win-win.
But I don't love trudging across the fields to gather them in for dinner or bed. So I'm totally going to buy a dinner bell. A good, loud one that can be heard across the fields and playgrounds. I'm so excited.
I'm trying to decide between a handheld one, like this:
Or a mounted one, like this:
Both have pros and cons. I can control the use of the handheld one better than the mounted one--I just have to make sure I have a good high location for it. And I can walk to the edge of our property and ring it, to get that much more coverage.
But the mounted one will always be available--I could just walk out onto the porch and ring-ring-ring! And it won't clutter up my cabinets, and I won't have to remember to put it away. But the kids could--would--play with it, at least until I yell at them a few times to STOP IT NOW. And the wind might ring it, as well.
So I don't know. The handheld one is cheaper, with Prime shipping on top of that. The mounted one is slightly more expensive, has shipping costs, and extra time for shipping as well. And I'd actually have to mount it on my pretty stucco.
Decisions, decisions...these are good ones to have. I can't complain.
Now that the weather is warming--and hooray for spring, even a fitful, tentative Utah one--my kids are really starting to take advantage of our location. Even Hebs, at four-and-a-half, is allowed to go out (with Em or Zee) and play at any part of the park/school grounds. And I love it. It gets them out of the house, it gets them away from the TV/computer/Xbox, and it tires them out. Win-win-win.
But I don't love trudging across the fields to gather them in for dinner or bed. So I'm totally going to buy a dinner bell. A good, loud one that can be heard across the fields and playgrounds. I'm so excited.
I'm trying to decide between a handheld one, like this:
Or a mounted one, like this:
Both have pros and cons. I can control the use of the handheld one better than the mounted one--I just have to make sure I have a good high location for it. And I can walk to the edge of our property and ring it, to get that much more coverage.
But the mounted one will always be available--I could just walk out onto the porch and ring-ring-ring! And it won't clutter up my cabinets, and I won't have to remember to put it away. But the kids could--would--play with it, at least until I yell at them a few times to STOP IT NOW. And the wind might ring it, as well.
So I don't know. The handheld one is cheaper, with Prime shipping on top of that. The mounted one is slightly more expensive, has shipping costs, and extra time for shipping as well. And I'd actually have to mount it on my pretty stucco.
Decisions, decisions...these are good ones to have. I can't complain.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Good-bye
Today we finally said good-bye to our sweet little Spanish Fork home.
In December 2004, we arrived with one little 14-month-old toddler. We left in January 2013 with a nine-year-old, an almost eight-year-old, a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and a two-year-old.
I feel totally ridiculous for feeling so broken-hearted about leaving our little brick house. It is 69 years old, small, awkward, low-ceilinged, oddly wired, and drafty. It is definitely NOT handicap-friendly. The windows don't always close properly, and if you drilled into the outer walls upstairs, to hang a curtain rod, say, you discovered that the walls were nothing but brick covered in plaster. No insulation.
And yet...we lived and loved in that little old house for eight years. We brought four of our five children home from the hospital there. We laughed and played and made friends and put down deep roots.
So my heart hurts a little tonight, to say good-bye to my beloved home.
And yet, I know that this is the right choice for us. We put the house up on the market on a Monday. By the following Monday, we had three good offers in writing. Less than six weeks later, we signed the closing paperwork this morning. I am amazed that it all happened that fast.
But I think the Lord wants us here in Lindon. Our buyers told us their story: They had been looking for a home for their family since last October. The wife kept getting an impression to wait until March. So during the first week of March--the week I listed our house--she impatiently combed through all the listings, and found nothing. Frustrated, she finally opened up the Craigslist ads and...found our house. They fell in love with it at first sight. After they walked through it on that Friday, she called me and asked, "What can I do to make this house mine?"
I'm so glad their bid was the natural (in other words, best) pick, because I just felt like it was Meant To Be. They seem like such wonderful people, and will love my little house as much as we did, I think. They will also be a good fit for the neighborhood, with a nine-year-old boy, almost-eight-year-old girl, and five-year-old boy. :)
I will miss my sweet little house, but I'm glad to leave it in such good hands. Thanks for being so good to us, Spanish Fork. We love you!
In December 2004, we arrived with one little 14-month-old toddler. We left in January 2013 with a nine-year-old, an almost eight-year-old, a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and a two-year-old.
I feel totally ridiculous for feeling so broken-hearted about leaving our little brick house. It is 69 years old, small, awkward, low-ceilinged, oddly wired, and drafty. It is definitely NOT handicap-friendly. The windows don't always close properly, and if you drilled into the outer walls upstairs, to hang a curtain rod, say, you discovered that the walls were nothing but brick covered in plaster. No insulation.
And yet...we lived and loved in that little old house for eight years. We brought four of our five children home from the hospital there. We laughed and played and made friends and put down deep roots.
So my heart hurts a little tonight, to say good-bye to my beloved home.
And yet, I know that this is the right choice for us. We put the house up on the market on a Monday. By the following Monday, we had three good offers in writing. Less than six weeks later, we signed the closing paperwork this morning. I am amazed that it all happened that fast.
But I think the Lord wants us here in Lindon. Our buyers told us their story: They had been looking for a home for their family since last October. The wife kept getting an impression to wait until March. So during the first week of March--the week I listed our house--she impatiently combed through all the listings, and found nothing. Frustrated, she finally opened up the Craigslist ads and...found our house. They fell in love with it at first sight. After they walked through it on that Friday, she called me and asked, "What can I do to make this house mine?"
I'm so glad their bid was the natural (in other words, best) pick, because I just felt like it was Meant To Be. They seem like such wonderful people, and will love my little house as much as we did, I think. They will also be a good fit for the neighborhood, with a nine-year-old boy, almost-eight-year-old girl, and five-year-old boy. :)
I will miss my sweet little house, but I'm glad to leave it in such good hands. Thanks for being so good to us, Spanish Fork. We love you!
Good-bye Grand Parade in our front yard
Good-bye Speedy Spaniard race ending at our front door
Good-bye gorgeous park outside my front window
Good-bye beautiful orange-red bricks
(Sniff!)
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Telephony
I have a total love-hate relationship with the telephone.
I love that I can chat with far-flung (and not so far-flung) friends and family, without anyone else listening in (except J. Edgar Hoover, naturally), and at my convenience.
I love that I can arrange business transactions from Lindon to Salt Lake to St George (and farther) from the comfort of my home.
I hate waiting for return phone calls, because I never know what the home situation will be when the call comes.
And today the phone would NOT STOP RINGING.
I shouldn't (really, I shouldn't) complain. Almost every call was someone returning one of my calls, mostly from yesterday. I tried to get through a huge list of tasks yesterday, but apparently it was still Spring Break for most people, because most of my calls ended with messages to voice mail.
These return calls should not be a problem. (Yay! People getting back to me, to answer my questions or help me out!) However. My 2.5 year old Yum-Yum has decided the phone is her best friend. Whenever I am on it, she longs to talk. She ardently desires to talk. She NEEDS to talk.
This is fine when I am chatting with my sister or mother-in-law, but not so much when I am trying to get a quote for radon mitigation.
When I tell her "No", she reacts in one of two ways: 1) Collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears; or 2) Running three steps away, and then collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears.
What was that you say? I should walk away from her, and let her have her temper tantrum alone? Oh, my Yummy is far too clever for that. She immediately hops up (still screaming and scolding), and follows me around, latching onto my legs if I am not fast enough to get away. It's probably an amusing sight, mom running away from angry toddler. Except, you know, when you're the mom and it's the city offices on the line and you're trying to explain the issue with not knowing exactly where your property ends and the park begins...and no one can hear a thing but Yummy screaming "NO!!! I WANT A TALK!!!!!"
So. That was my day today.
I talked to two sisters, one mother-in-law, one realtor, one headstone-cleaning lady, one Santa Clara cemetery official, one Lindon city official, one radon mitigation person, one plumber, one doctor, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I could be wrong about that last one, though. It's hard to know, given the adorably exasperating little girl screaming in my ear.
I love that I can chat with far-flung (and not so far-flung) friends and family, without anyone else listening in (except J. Edgar Hoover, naturally), and at my convenience.
I love that I can arrange business transactions from Lindon to Salt Lake to St George (and farther) from the comfort of my home.
I hate waiting for return phone calls, because I never know what the home situation will be when the call comes.
And today the phone would NOT STOP RINGING.
I shouldn't (really, I shouldn't) complain. Almost every call was someone returning one of my calls, mostly from yesterday. I tried to get through a huge list of tasks yesterday, but apparently it was still Spring Break for most people, because most of my calls ended with messages to voice mail.
These return calls should not be a problem. (Yay! People getting back to me, to answer my questions or help me out!) However. My 2.5 year old Yum-Yum has decided the phone is her best friend. Whenever I am on it, she longs to talk. She ardently desires to talk. She NEEDS to talk.
This is fine when I am chatting with my sister or mother-in-law, but not so much when I am trying to get a quote for radon mitigation.
When I tell her "No", she reacts in one of two ways: 1) Collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears; or 2) Running three steps away, and then collapsing on the ground in furious, screaming tears.
What was that you say? I should walk away from her, and let her have her temper tantrum alone? Oh, my Yummy is far too clever for that. She immediately hops up (still screaming and scolding), and follows me around, latching onto my legs if I am not fast enough to get away. It's probably an amusing sight, mom running away from angry toddler. Except, you know, when you're the mom and it's the city offices on the line and you're trying to explain the issue with not knowing exactly where your property ends and the park begins...and no one can hear a thing but Yummy screaming "NO!!! I WANT A TALK!!!!!"
So. That was my day today.
I talked to two sisters, one mother-in-law, one realtor, one headstone-cleaning lady, one Santa Clara cemetery official, one Lindon city official, one radon mitigation person, one plumber, one doctor, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I could be wrong about that last one, though. It's hard to know, given the adorably exasperating little girl screaming in my ear.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Visitors
Bradley's sister Michelle, her husband John, their five children (ranging from almost-eight to seventeen), and Grandma and Grandpa Ross came to visit tonight. It's spring break for the Gillelands, and so they have been hanging out in South Jordan. John, while up here on business, came and saw the new house right after we moved in, but Michelle and kids hadn't, so we gave them the grand tour. They brought dinner from their BBQ restaurant--Dickey's BBQ--soooo delicious. The kids played, the older boys lounged, and the adults chatted. It was a wonderful evening.
Of course, that meant that before they came, we were frantically happily cleaning the house, the kids and I. Such a joyful event that was, with helping hands and singing and...oh, who am I fooling? No one, that's who. I really need to learn to help my children learn to clean without loosing my temper and yelling. I'm a real charmer during chore time, I tell you what.
It is nice to have a clean house, though!
Of course, that meant that before they came, we were
It is nice to have a clean house, though!
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Generally Speaking
I was looking at old posts on my blog today, and I'm kicking myself for stopping. Why haven't I blogged in so long? Part of it was the move, part is because my laptop stopped working, and part is because of the huge backlog of events that I feel like I need to chronicle. Thanksgiving, Christmas, moving, saying goodbye to my dear Spanish Fork and my dear friends, saying hello to a new school, ward, neighborhood, and city, getting settled, Em's eighth birthday and baptism...yikes! It feels impossible!
But I don't want to miss out on recording the memories we are going to make in this new stage in our lives. So I'm going to start up again, and work on the backlog a little at a time and in between normal, day-to-day stuff.
General Conference this weekend was marvelous! Saturday morning was especially pleasant. Bradley and Zee weren't home (Zee spent the night with cousins, and Bradley was at the old house mowing the lawn--PS, we're closing on Tuesday!!!!), Em was still asleep (yes, until noon. She's eight going on fifteen), and it was just the three littles and me. They were content to cuddle next to me on the couch, and watch the puzzle I was working on while I listened/watched. We were peaceful and calm and quiet, an unusual occurrence in my house that should be noted.
We made the children watch the Sunday morning session, and I'm so glad we did. As an extra incentive for attentive listening, we chose a "candy" word for the session. Anytime they heard the word "love", they could have a piece of candy. The younger three could glom on and claim to have "heard" it when someone else pointed it out, but we were a little more strict with the older two. Don't worry, though, because they got plenty of candy. It was an inspiring scene: All my children, gathered around the TV, hushing each other and their parents, listening intently. All for candy, but it's a start.
I always feel a little sad at the end of the last session, because I really do love conference time. Even watching/reading/listening to the talks after just isn't the same as the first time through.
But I don't want to miss out on recording the memories we are going to make in this new stage in our lives. So I'm going to start up again, and work on the backlog a little at a time and in between normal, day-to-day stuff.
General Conference this weekend was marvelous! Saturday morning was especially pleasant. Bradley and Zee weren't home (Zee spent the night with cousins, and Bradley was at the old house mowing the lawn--PS, we're closing on Tuesday!!!!), Em was still asleep (yes, until noon. She's eight going on fifteen), and it was just the three littles and me. They were content to cuddle next to me on the couch, and watch the puzzle I was working on while I listened/watched. We were peaceful and calm and quiet, an unusual occurrence in my house that should be noted.
We made the children watch the Sunday morning session, and I'm so glad we did. As an extra incentive for attentive listening, we chose a "candy" word for the session. Anytime they heard the word "love", they could have a piece of candy. The younger three could glom on and claim to have "heard" it when someone else pointed it out, but we were a little more strict with the older two. Don't worry, though, because they got plenty of candy. It was an inspiring scene: All my children, gathered around the TV, hushing each other and their parents, listening intently. All for candy, but it's a start.
I always feel a little sad at the end of the last session, because I really do love conference time. Even watching/reading/listening to the talks after just isn't the same as the first time through.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Back with a Bang (aka Hebs' Adventure)
We had just finished FHE and family prayers Monday night when it
happened. I was in the laundry room when I heard a scream of pain and Zee calling "9-1-1! Emergency, Momma!" (He wasn't telling me to call
911, that's just his way of telling me something is wrong. Charming,
yes? Heh heh heh.) I turned around to see Hebs (4 years old) on the
floor next to the smaller leather couch, clearly having fallen off the
arm of it, with his left arm fully extended to catch himself.
As soon as I saw him, I thought to myself, "Here's our second broken bone!" I'm not sure why I thought that -- heaven knows he falls and tumbles and twists and turns enough in one day to make this little tumble no big deal -- but whether it was mother's intuition, inspiration, or the Spirit, in that instant I knew he'd broken his arm.
I scooped him up and loved and hushed him, and he eventually calmed down. Now, Keryn, I thought, don't overreact. He's just fine, and he'll fall asleep and be just fine in the morning. I helped him get ready for bed, and he wasn't freaking out when I gently touched his arm. I made him bend his wrist one way and the other, and it clearly hurt, but it also wasn't causing him to break out into fresh tears. I put him into bed next to Gee, and he fell asleep in minutes.
I decided that I had been wrong about a possible fracture, and knew that, if it was still hurting in the morning, I would take him down to our doctor in Spanish Fork. Just in case.
Of course, we didn't get to wait that long. Hebs woke up just an hour later, at nine-thirty, crying in pain. We made a little bed for him in our room, on the floor so his arm wouldn't get bumped, and I went to get him some ibuprofen for the pain. But by the time I got back downstairs, he was asleep again. I left the medicine nearby, and tried to go to sleep myself.
About an hour after that, my poor boy woke up crying and just could not stop. Even after we gave him some medicine, he was inconsolable. Daddy helped him get his pants and shoes on while I got dressed. By now, of course, at almost eleven, it was too late to go to any InstaCares, so it was to the American Fork Hospital ER we went. (I've been to the ER five times in my whole life, I think. Once with Mandy after her grand mal seizure, once with Kristy when she had a bad reaction or bronchitis, once for myself with mono, and twice with my Hebs. Golly, I love that kiddo.)
The medicine started to finally kick in as we drove, which was a relief for both of us. The ER had been very busy before we arrived, and became quite busy after we were triaged, but when we walked in, there was no waiting. Whew! We did have to wait for a bed to be cleaned up, and they were (politely) eager for us to be seen and fixed and OUT so they could put someone else in our space. That was just fine for us!
When we got to our bed, my Hebs was shaking and shivering, probably as a reaction to the pain. He said he was so cold, though it was warm in the ER. The nurse brought him a warmed blanket, and that perked him right up. He was funny, tired and a little punch drunk, but so sweet and talkative. He charmed everyone in that place! After about ten minutes, it was time for three X-rays (he was so brave! Standing there, all by himself, almost not tall enough to put his arm in the right place, while the tech and I stood behind the (presumably lead) partition), and then back to the bed (and blanket) to wait for the doctor.
By now I was feeling a little foolish. I wasn't sure if I had been overreacting, and I was just waiting for the doctor to come in and tell me that everything looked just fine. It's a lovely feeling, you know, to wish your kid actually DID break a bone, just so you don't look like an idiot. But, no, that was not the case. The doctor informed us that Hebs had indeed fractured his radius bone, right next to the wrist, in what is known as a buckle fracture. It is a pretty common fracture, in kids especially, when they throw out their arm to break a fall. (As he did.) Fortunately, it is well-placed to heal quickly, and didn't need any complicated casting or (horrors) surgery.
We had another wait, which wasn't long but seemed that way, seeing as it was now 12:15 and I was exhausted. A poor gentleman was placed in the room next to us in so much pain that I practically cried, and desperately hoped that Hebs would stay oblivious to it. (He did.) This gentleman was born in 1921 (you can't help but overhear through the curtain), and had just been released from the hospital that morning following gallbladder and appendix removals. He didn't seem to have anyone with him, and it made me feel so sad that he was all alone and in so much pain. I hope that his family was driving as fast as was safe, and got there to be by Grandpa's side right after we left.
Finally, the nurses had a chance to come in and splint Hebs' arm with an Ace bandage and some cool material that hardens, when they add water and air, into the correct shape. I was given the normal instructions (don't unwrap it unless his arm swells, check for circulation, ice it through the bandage, keep it dry, and see your doctor on Thursday or Friday for a cast), and we were released! Hooray!
We got home at about 12:45ish, I think, and settled Hebs on the little bed on our floor. He slept really well, considering. It probably felt so good to have the arm all cosy-wrapped and braced. The pain was really manageable, too; better than when he broke his leg. He only needed children's motrin a couple of times a day for the first two days, and then just once on the third day.
We saw our doctor on Friday, and Hebs picked out a stylish green cast for himself. It's a short cast--just below the elbow--and he'll have it for four weeks. We've already decorated it with glitter glue and jewel stickers (which promptly fell off), and so it is quite the sight. Fortunately for all concerned (especially me!), it does not hinder him from playing his favorite addiction, Lego Pirates of the Caribbean. Oh, and he is my only leftie, so of course he broke his left arm. Heh heh. At least he's not in school yet.
As soon as I saw him, I thought to myself, "Here's our second broken bone!" I'm not sure why I thought that -- heaven knows he falls and tumbles and twists and turns enough in one day to make this little tumble no big deal -- but whether it was mother's intuition, inspiration, or the Spirit, in that instant I knew he'd broken his arm.
I scooped him up and loved and hushed him, and he eventually calmed down. Now, Keryn, I thought, don't overreact. He's just fine, and he'll fall asleep and be just fine in the morning. I helped him get ready for bed, and he wasn't freaking out when I gently touched his arm. I made him bend his wrist one way and the other, and it clearly hurt, but it also wasn't causing him to break out into fresh tears. I put him into bed next to Gee, and he fell asleep in minutes.
I decided that I had been wrong about a possible fracture, and knew that, if it was still hurting in the morning, I would take him down to our doctor in Spanish Fork. Just in case.
Of course, we didn't get to wait that long. Hebs woke up just an hour later, at nine-thirty, crying in pain. We made a little bed for him in our room, on the floor so his arm wouldn't get bumped, and I went to get him some ibuprofen for the pain. But by the time I got back downstairs, he was asleep again. I left the medicine nearby, and tried to go to sleep myself.
About an hour after that, my poor boy woke up crying and just could not stop. Even after we gave him some medicine, he was inconsolable. Daddy helped him get his pants and shoes on while I got dressed. By now, of course, at almost eleven, it was too late to go to any InstaCares, so it was to the American Fork Hospital ER we went. (I've been to the ER five times in my whole life, I think. Once with Mandy after her grand mal seizure, once with Kristy when she had a bad reaction or bronchitis, once for myself with mono, and twice with my Hebs. Golly, I love that kiddo.)
The medicine started to finally kick in as we drove, which was a relief for both of us. The ER had been very busy before we arrived, and became quite busy after we were triaged, but when we walked in, there was no waiting. Whew! We did have to wait for a bed to be cleaned up, and they were (politely) eager for us to be seen and fixed and OUT so they could put someone else in our space. That was just fine for us!
When we got to our bed, my Hebs was shaking and shivering, probably as a reaction to the pain. He said he was so cold, though it was warm in the ER. The nurse brought him a warmed blanket, and that perked him right up. He was funny, tired and a little punch drunk, but so sweet and talkative. He charmed everyone in that place! After about ten minutes, it was time for three X-rays (he was so brave! Standing there, all by himself, almost not tall enough to put his arm in the right place, while the tech and I stood behind the (presumably lead) partition), and then back to the bed (and blanket) to wait for the doctor.
By now I was feeling a little foolish. I wasn't sure if I had been overreacting, and I was just waiting for the doctor to come in and tell me that everything looked just fine. It's a lovely feeling, you know, to wish your kid actually DID break a bone, just so you don't look like an idiot. But, no, that was not the case. The doctor informed us that Hebs had indeed fractured his radius bone, right next to the wrist, in what is known as a buckle fracture. It is a pretty common fracture, in kids especially, when they throw out their arm to break a fall. (As he did.) Fortunately, it is well-placed to heal quickly, and didn't need any complicated casting or (horrors) surgery.
We had another wait, which wasn't long but seemed that way, seeing as it was now 12:15 and I was exhausted. A poor gentleman was placed in the room next to us in so much pain that I practically cried, and desperately hoped that Hebs would stay oblivious to it. (He did.) This gentleman was born in 1921 (you can't help but overhear through the curtain), and had just been released from the hospital that morning following gallbladder and appendix removals. He didn't seem to have anyone with him, and it made me feel so sad that he was all alone and in so much pain. I hope that his family was driving as fast as was safe, and got there to be by Grandpa's side right after we left.
Finally, the nurses had a chance to come in and splint Hebs' arm with an Ace bandage and some cool material that hardens, when they add water and air, into the correct shape. I was given the normal instructions (don't unwrap it unless his arm swells, check for circulation, ice it through the bandage, keep it dry, and see your doctor on Thursday or Friday for a cast), and we were released! Hooray!
We got home at about 12:45ish, I think, and settled Hebs on the little bed on our floor. He slept really well, considering. It probably felt so good to have the arm all cosy-wrapped and braced. The pain was really manageable, too; better than when he broke his leg. He only needed children's motrin a couple of times a day for the first two days, and then just once on the third day.
We saw our doctor on Friday, and Hebs picked out a stylish green cast for himself. It's a short cast--just below the elbow--and he'll have it for four weeks. We've already decorated it with glitter glue and jewel stickers (which promptly fell off), and so it is quite the sight. Fortunately for all concerned (especially me!), it does not hinder him from playing his favorite addiction, Lego Pirates of the Caribbean. Oh, and he is my only leftie, so of course he broke his left arm. Heh heh. At least he's not in school yet.
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