Meet Baxter.

We learned a valuable lesson last week:  You snooze, you lose.  The lovely Jasmine was adopted right out from under our noses whilst the kiddos were lemonade-standing for her adoption fee.

Clutching a jam jar of hard-won cash, we took our business elsewhere, to the Elbrook Humane Society. 

Once there, we spent two hours meeting and greeting the various pups who were available.

Our initial choice, Liberty, was a little too-tightly wound for our laid-back bunch.  We were tempted by Chopin, a super-chilled 4-month-old shepherd-hound mix who was great with kids and partially housetrained.  But Baxter stole our hearts, and joined the family yesterday afternoon.

He has delightful manners and a marvelous smile.  

Our new little guy is a beagle-lab mix, and he's four months old.  He has an insatiable penchant for eating grass and lounging on the couch.

We attempted to rename him, but couldn't find a single thing that appealed to us all. (Huge surprise, yes?)  In desperation, we each put a favorite name into a hat and had Shani choose one.  When she pulled out "Darcy," there was a unanimous decision to revert to Baxter. (And I actually liked Darcy.  But, hey---gotta keep the kids happy, right?)

Our jam jar is empty, but our hearts are full. 

(Did that make you gag a little?  It made me gag a little, but I couldn't resist.)

They Call it Puppy Love...

The kids and I spent some time at the Humane Society this evening, and we're smitten.  Her name is Jasmine, and she's a 4-year-old Border Collie-Lab mix.  We're hoping nobody else thinks she's as marvelous as we do, and that she'll still be there when we go in on Monday.  

My apologies---she's resoundingly un-photogenic.  Or perhaps my camera skills are limited to inanimate objects.

Now we are nine.

Our niece, Kasey, joined our family for keeps this week.  

She's eight, and we're beyond thrilled to have her with us. 

She fits right in, right?

Love means never having to say you're sorry...

...even if you've all but stopped blogging, and your faithful readers are left to wonder whether you've perished at the hands of your hangry offspring.  Fear not, Faithful Readers!  I have returned! (Albeit without apologies.  Try to deal.)

There has been a great deal of doctor-going in these parts.  Since I'm usually of the "Doctors-only-make-things-worse," mindset, it has been an awkward experience for me.  I've been in a boot to rest my miserably swollen anterior tibial tendon for almost two months, and it's not gotten a whole heckuva a lot better. So it's off to the doc for an MRI this week, in addition to the usual bouts of carpool, dishes, and laundry.  As for the other doctor-related issue, suffice it to say that all is well.  Whew!

Akiva and I had a date this week...went to an Audubon Society event where we met two falconers and their birds.  It was amazing for him, as he's developed a keen interest in falconry since he read My Side of the Mountain.   For me, it was a little stressful, as I'm not enthusiastic about watching birds of prey gnaw on furry squirrel legs.  But I kept my Good Mom hat on, and managed not to chuck my cookies in public.

Would it be vastly inappropriate to throw in some week-old photos that I should have blogged about before this?  Esti and I took the kiddos to the park on a blustery spring day and got some pretty good camera action.

Spit That Gum Out Right Now! (Pesach 2012)

We've arrived.  All the crazy preparations---the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking---have receded into childbirth-like memory, and we're right smack dab in the middle of the most thought-about week in the Jewish calendar.  

We've consumed our body-weights in eggs and potatoes, and we're not even halfway through.  The seders have come and gone (quite smoothly--but guest-less-ly this year.)  The super-size box of Bazooka has been chewed, and its telltale wrappers linger insidiously throughout the house.  (In the bathroom? Really?  And the laundry room?  WTH?)  The perennial favorites have been baked and devoured, and a fabulous new recipe has joined their ranks.  

And, most importantly, the semi-annual kid-pics have been taken.  Remind me not to hand out the aforementioned Bazooka till after the photo session next year.  Grumble, grumble...

Today's excitement included a very windy trip to the park, but tomorrow we'll be taking on the thrills of Discovery World.   The weather's been gorgeous---none of that freak snowstorm business this year, and we're taking full advantage.

 If you're smart, you'll go bake those cookies now.  That's what I'm doing...

Toothpicks and q-tips and bleach, oh my!

Yup, it's almost Pesach, which means I've been neglecting you, my little bloglings, in order that I may bleach the living bejillies out of most everything in my house.  This evening, my trusty razor blade and I excavated the cracks and crevices of the stove, bringing forth all manner of unspeakable gunk.

Right now I'm itching to clean the kitchen table so I can dress it up in the mind-blowingly fabulous oilcloth I finally scored at my local JoAnn's...

... but first I have to reassemble my poor candelabra, which got completely dissected, cleaned, and polished this evening.  (Note---this was not so much a Passover chore as a "Good Heavens, who was President when that was cleaned last?" chore, but all of the kids were really excited to take on the task.  For the first ten minutes.  Then, guess who futzed with it for an hour and a half?  Why, yes, that  would  be me.  How clever of you to guess!)  It looks better than it has since we brought it home from the store, but (naturally) a piece went missing during The Great Cleanse, so it's all kinds of wobbly.  Not cool.  And the kids are all sleeping, so I can't even bribe them into tracking down the wayward nut.  Nuts!

In other news, my littlest sous-chef did some onion peeling earlier.  She was appropriately garbed for her chore. (Yes, I totally wear these while I'm chopping onions.  When I had contacts, my baby-blues were impervious to onion tears, but now I'm a regular wuss.  I slip these stunning goggles over my shades and look perfectly ridiculous while I'm chopping---and not crying.)

The classes in my studio are coming along really well.  Last week we made puzzles and did some printmaking.

I'm looking forward to a new batch of girls' workshops and a ladies group at the end of the month!

Before I head back to the salt mines, here's a peek at the annual Pre-Pesach Picnic:

Watch out, Punky Brewster! You, too, Rainbow Brite...

My 7 year old dresses herself.  Every day.  

Check out the Pinterest-inspired upccled headband. 

And the Pinterest-inspired menu board for the kitchen.  (Cabinet door from the free pile at ReStore + chalkboard paint + white paint pen.)  Me likey. (Pardon my craptastic nighttime photography.)

Sneaky, sneaky me.

In the girls' room, there's a little room adjacent to the closet that most people would use for storage.  My kids claimed it for a playspace--- in spite of its dark, creepy interior--- the moment they discovered its existence.  I've been hoping to do a mini-remodel on the DL for ages, and last week I did the deal.

This is pretty much what the interior looked like when I started.  Studs everywhere, wood floors---lovely but decidedly un-cozy--and insulated snugly and finished with cardboard boxes.  Seriously.  My first stop was at ReStore to grab some carpet and padding.

The carpet was actually a foot narrower than the 10'x5' space, but I was planning to cover that side with book crates anyway, so I was pretty happy with what I carted home for my ten bucks. 

I thought about painting, and just couldn't see it in such an awkward space---it's kind of triangular---so I headed stashward instead.  Equipped with staple gun, a high tolerance for pain, and mucho fabrico, the ceiling took on the look of a badly pieced quilt.

Once I'd finished with the ceiling (well, mostly---you know how I am about finishing things...) I moved on to the space between the studs.  Armed once again with swathes of fabric and my trusty staple gun, I covered the boring drywall. 

Next on my list---adding shelves.  I hightailed it to my home away from home and picked up a couple of 2x4s, which they obligingly cut into 15" segments for me.  Upon my return home, I remembered how important it is to measure twice.  And how important it is to measure yourself, even when the 12 year old you've delegated to seems perfectly competent.  I headed downstairs for a little quality time with the table saw.  Twice.  Then my drill and I rediscovered the wonder that is making pilot holes, and the shelves went up in what passes for a jiffy around here.  (Remember that all of this was done on the sly---no small feat when one has a three year old following one's every move.)

Then I carted in vast amounts of books, soft toys, and pillows.  I added a few blankets to the mix and hung the music-box that was in my craft room in Des Moines.  Did I ever mention how bad I am at keeping secrets?  I gave up on Friday afternoon, and showed the girls my handiwork.

They were so excited!  They've been in there pretty much every waking moment, and the boys actually slept inside on Friday night.  Totally worth schlepping myself and all manner of sharp tools in and out of this glorified closet all week long...

Shepping Nachas

According to Treppenwitz, 'shepping nachas' can be roughly translated as a combination of deriving great pleasure from something and being extremely proud of someone... for example; when a friend or loved one does something exemplary.  We shepped, big time.

Chevi (#5) had her siddur party at school last night.  (For those of you who think I've suddenly lapsed into gibberish, a siddur is a Hebrew prayerbook, and we make kind of a big production when our first-graders get theirs.)

The kiddos put on a little program, received a blessing from Rabbi Michel Twerski, shlita, then decorated their siddur-covers, and---of course!---ate.  Their amazing morah (teacher) pulled together the whole production, and the kids were involved every step of the way.  They made the pizzas and cakes, created the welcome signs, wrote invitations for their parents, and made their costumes.  It was a pleasure to see how much pride they took in their work.

Chevi and her besties got to sit together, which was as wonderful or me, from a photo-taking point of view as well as a my-kid-is-so-happy-she-may-well-implode point of view.
 

At this point, I'm going to lay off the narration and just go ahead and bombard you with gratuitous snapshots. 

Abba made it just in time, even though he was working an hour away!

intent on what's inside

Chevi and her remarkable morah

Picnic in January?

When my littles came home from school yesterday afternoon, the sun was shining and it was a balmy 51 degrees outside.  Chevi had managed to wangle a much-coveted afterschool playdate, so we pushed off homework and chores in favor of a romp in the (almost warm and entirely concrete-paved) backyard.  Then, in a fit of silly, I conceded to their pleas for a picnic supper.  The three dined al fresco, on lentil chilli and cornbread. With their jackets and their snowboots on. (Except Shani, who toga-ed out in her baby blanket. Whatever.)

Sugar High---Jelly Belly Warehouse Trip

We set the GPS for our destination and headed off for adventure.

Seriously.  Jelly Belly Lane....how's that for an address?  We had no problem finding the place---it's not exactly what you'd call  nondescript.  (And, no, it wasn't actually that gray today.  I think my windshield may be in need of a vigorous scrubdown.)

Once inside, the kiddos were enthralled by the vast variety of goodies on offer---especially the Harry Potter treats.

Bertie Botts' Every Flavored Beans!  (Kosher!)

Chocolate Frogs! (Not kosher---bummer!) 

While we waited for the tour to begin, we browsed around --and took (polite, appropriate) advantage of the free samples. 

And the photo booth.

The tour was so. darned. cool.  There was a tram, first of all.  Everything's better on a tram.

And, obviously, the mandatory paper-hat-wearing added to the overall experience. 

Snazzy, hey?

And then---Peaches, are you listening?---there was the Jelly Belly Fine Art.  Portraits, to be exact.  Composed entirely of Jelly Bellies.  Like so. 

There was an Elvis, too.  But, sadly, not a trace of Inigo Montoya.

Best of all, The Huz  drove, freeing me up to make oodles of earrings in transit. (I do tend to multi-task, even while I drive,  but I almost never pull out the pliers while I'm in the driver's seat.  At least not on the highway...) 

Eyes on the shop tomorrow, folks.  Lots of new pretties headed in!