This post is brought to you by the letters T-i-n-o

Tino wanted to write this post because it features him goofing around at Stirling Castle. Of course there were cannons and arrow slits and stairs... so many stairs. Our tour guide informed us that her boss gets emails from people complaining about "Why was the castle build on a hill? It's so hard to walk around and all the stairs and..."

Well, gee, call me crazy, but I'd want good drainage AND the ability to spot any invaders headed my way if I was the one who was going to be living in a castle...

The next four won't be as funny unless you've seen the Lego Batman movie where he is throwing a temper tantrum on the stairs and saying "no, no, no, no, no, no." Just picture that when I ask, "Tino, whaddaya say we do some more stairs?"

I wore that poor guy out! And as I'm running around the castle taking his picture, a foursome of high school kids approached me and asked if I'd take a picture with them. I assumed they wanted me to take one of the four of them, but the boys attached themselves to both sides of me while I have Tino in front of me and the girls snapped a picture! I said, "of ME!? You guys are funny!" They probably tried to find the craziest person in the castle to get a selfie with. *sigh* So somewhere on the internet there's possibly a picture of Tino, me looking windblown, and some laughing kids. Adventures!

 

Double digits

It's official, folks. The baby of our family has entered his double digits. Damon Sebastian, who was born as a tornado was menacing the area- which is fitting, now that I think about, it as we often call him "Crash" or "Smashin' Sebastian"- is an entire decade old. 

I informed his Dad that age ten is probably a good time to get him his first knife. I didn't get mine until college, but that's besides the point. I figured we'd go with a Swiss Army knife, one with the tweezers and toothpick and fancy little doodads, stuff to keep a ten year old amused. 

Looks like things loaded out of order again, sorry. 

The house rule here at Lalaith Havens is that you can only be on the outside of as many stairs as you are old. This kid has been pushing and pushing and pushing to be allowed on the 10th step and I kept telling him that he wasn't allowed on it until 1:24 AM on June 5th. This is him, promptly scurrying around his ten stairs. 

All winter this kid wanted to play what he called "Badmit," never mind that we corrected him at every opportunity. Seems like a June birthday is the perfect excuse to find a badminton set, especially as Covid 19 has closed our community's swimming pool for the summer. Otherwise these boys would just play on video games in the basement all day every day. Damon would probably survive because he's sturdy but Liam doesn't eat much and we say he lives on fresh air and sunshine. I'm afraid if he doesn't at least get those that he might shrivel up and turn into dust!

Now, I should be clear here. They're not interested in rules or how to play, even. They're 10 and 14, so they're deeply vested in whapping it either as high as possible or as fast as they can straight at each other. There's no finesse going on here. They're outside and they're enjoying it so it's all good.

Pap came out to help us eat cake and ice cream and goof off. He was even a willing participant in some of the badminton "games." He didn't even seem to mind that his usual bedroom here had been mostly taken over by Dada's work-from-home paraphernalia (wow, is that ever a weird word to try to spell. I butchered it so badly I had to go look it up because spell check didn't even recognize it.)

I know I tell you this all the time, kid, but our family wasn't finished until we had you and I am so glad we did. You make me laugh every single day. You have this incredible zest for life once you shift your attitude from how mean I am to make you get off the video games to whatever needs done next. You're so big and long and tall and are so funny and dirty and goofy and adorable and delicious that I just want to eat you up all the time. I love that you still want read to at bedtime, that you want Oreos after every meal, that you pout and laugh, "you're so mean" whenever I remind you to clear your spot at the table, that you're getting so good at emptying the dishwasher, that I can hear you just about anywhere in the house, and that you worked your butt off for distance learning this spring to the tune of all A's and B's. I love you for a million reasons and I'm so glad you're you. 

This Old House

After 40 plus years, my parents are moving.

Sorry, shoulda had you sit down first.

We stopped in on our way home to see the new place for the first time but I didn't take any pictures as they still have boxes and plastic wrap over the carpet so it wouldn't have done the place justice. However, some of us then made a trip over to the old homestead.

Some of you have been to Ye Olde House on the Hill and may have fond memories of hanging out on the porch swing ("that is NOT a roller coaster. Be gentle. GENTLE!"), or sliding down the now lily covered hill (which my Dad used to have to mow) on the Twister tarp ("what are you DOING!?") or coloring with sidewalk chalk all over the corner lot ("Girls, we need rain. Can you go draw, please?").

This is the porch swing where my bestie and I used to snooker my little brother into being a "patient". Once we had his consent and he was prone, we'd tie him to the swing with a jump rope so he wouldn't fall off and then would proceed to "operate" on him with our Fisher Price doctors' kits. Being extremely ticklish, I was always surprised that he'd consented more than once...

This was the Storage of Christmas Stuff room in our attic. I never thought I'd see the day that it was empty. There are crayon scribbles on the ceiling behind the cameraman and Carrie asked me if I'd done it. "Seeing as it says 'Jack B wrote this', what do YOU think?"

My parents' eat-in kitchen. Looks forlorn without the full view of mom's baskets on the walls and fun things in the cubbies. Also looks naked without the fridge and stove, haha.

The living room, with PaPa's vacuuming triangles if you look close. I always loved the French doors.

This was my bedroom, my gorgeous floor. When I lived here, it was covered in hideous (not an exaggeration) wallpaper showing large avocado, sunset orange, and yellow flowers. When I was small, second grade maybe, my parents redid it for me in Holly Hobbie wallpaper with soft blue trim. That lasted until about my junior year of high school when I'd worn my parents down with my begging and pleading to paint it Bermuda blue. AND they let me do a mural featuring a dragon on the smallest wall. Once I moved out, my mom papered it and had a very restful seaside theme going, featuring shells from the ocean and adorable stuffed crabs we'd picked up in our travels. 

And that would be Carrie helping unwallpaper during one of her visits when she was small. The bed fit between those windows and she saw a peely part so she "helped."

So send your good vibes to my parents as they downsize and, most importantly, enjoy only one flight of stairs in their new home instead of four. 

I shudder to think what Shenanigans this old house would report if these walls could talk.

Gotta love THAT phone call...

By now the entire literate world knows our big kids are testing this spring for their black belts in karate. This makes them "candidates" and we're really excited for them. 

So last Monday I'm doing the usual tidying up post-weekend and am sprawled over the dog as I brush out her tumbleweeds when my out-of-reach cell phone rings. I almost ignored it and got in the shower anyway, because let's face it, I just am not going to live a life tethered to my phone. It's not who I am. I don't call anyone if I can possibly help it. 

Then my gut grumbles, "aw, it's probably the school." It meant the elementary school because that's where Things Two and Three spend their days, and if anyone was having a meltdown or some bordering-on-the-unbelievable accident, my money was on either of them. Or both.

Nope.

Maybe that's what they mean by, "don't let your feelings become the facts." Ha.

The voicemail runs something like this: hi, uh, Mom? Y'know how you said since I'm a candidate it'd be a bad time to get hurt? Sorry. Yeah, I sprained my ankle. Can you come get me?"

*insert colorful metaphors here, cuz that's what I did*

I get her and the story goes like this. She was headed down the stairs, got hooded from behind (though she swears this was unrelated), WAS HOLDING THE RAILING, DAD, clipped the stair overhang wrong so twisted her ankle to the left, then rammed into the next stair down which twisted the ankle to the right, then went down some stairs on her nonexistent bum, all while still holding on to the railing. A friend hauled her up and had to pry her hand off the railing because she was clenching it so hard. 

So my brain pipes up, "remember all those urgent care commercials on the radio that say they can treat stuff for less and for faster? Remember sitting in the ER when Damon stuffed the bead up his nose?"

Right. We head to urgent care, sign in, are seen, finally are asked what the problem is and then are informed that their Xray machine is down. They give us a scrip to head to the outpatient Xray wing at the hospital where she is in and out in probably a half hour including wait times.

We call the urgent care for the results (that's what the ER folks told us to do) and get the news: normal, no fractures.

So air cast goes on and we do the recommended RICE- rest, ice, compress, elevate. She stayed home the rest of the day and skipped Tuesday because she felt it was too stiff to try walking on. Since the kid rarely misses school and their big state tests were going to be Wednesday and Thursday, I figured we could let it slide since they're probably not working them really hard pre-tests. Of course, that means that my Monday was totally derailed between school/urgent care/ER and I had a patient on Tuesday in between all my errands. 

She skipped all her karate classes for the week (and that is why I make you go more often than you need so, so that you have the backup classes under your belt during a catastrophe, charming daughter) and then she and her brother both aced their second of three (self defense) black belt tests.

Well done, you two. Her partner was super sweet and considerate of her injury as she went to the test wearing the air cast for extra support. I kept telling her that someday she'll have to say, "sorry, Mr. Attacker, can you take it a little easier on me cuz I was in a cast for my black belt test and Savannah was not enough of a bully..." I think those two grinned at each other the whole way through the test. I should probably mention Savannah is already a black belt and is testing for her next degree and Carrie is a twig who could easily be snapped over Savannah's knee...

So anyway, all is mended and we are that much closer to having black belts in the house. I suppose the lesson is to grow a bum because there's no guarantee that the railing will come to your rescue.

Corolla light house

The big kids did the Corolla lighthouse with Dada and Lainie while Damon and I stayed ground-bound. Glad I did, because I'm not a sprial staircase fan and Liam said there were 200+ stairs. Thanks to Dada for taking all these pictures! 
 

 

 

 

 

Below, the elbow is Liam's. The blue dot just below the middle tree is my dress, and the tiny orange dot is Damon.
 

 

I LOVE this one of Carrie. It'd be a neat place for wedding gown pictures, I think!
 

 

 

 

Lainie's new knees are only a few years old and she said they held up pretty well for the climb and descent.

Then the kids wanted a silly picture, naturally.
 

 

Camp ain't ALL roses...

Sometimes there are accidents at camp.

The toilets clog.
 

 

The steps break, nature takes over.
 

 

The Dutch oven dinners burn to cinders.

Boots fall off.
 

 

Your buns... er, the kitchen's buns get really big.

Uninvited guests show up and expect to be fed.
 

 

The roof springs a leak.

The Hobart destroys your water bottle.
 

Not only do you get into the wrong shower, you forget to get undressed entirely!