Love Bites

So I say to my daughters, "Come see these ideas I've found for making Valentines for this year," as I gather them around the computer. They hem and they haw. They wander off. A couple of days later I ask E if she has decided which kind of Valentine she wants to make. "Well, Mommy, I'd like to do something you didn't find on the computer. I want to do something different." (A girl after my own heart.) She thinks for a while and suddenly, in a grand moment of inspiration says, "That's it!" And what, dear readers, is "it"?

COBRAS!!

Yes, my sweet daughter is giving out venomous snakes for Valentines. I think they're brilliant.

Marmot Dad likes it when they all face the same way.

Are you feeling the love?

The only problem is that they are fragile--real fragile. We've spent a lot of time gluing tails back together (and someone, who shall remain nameless, blamed me when he glued his own stubby fingers together with the glue).

Those rotten second graders had better appreciate them.

Animal Shelter

The kids have been playing Animal Shelter for quite a while, commandeering the "formal" front room for their shelter. I woke up the other morning and discovered some rules posted at the entrance.

1. Don't do anything to hurt the animals.

2. No jumping.

3. Take off your shoes.

4. No yelling.

5. (my personal favorite) No pocket knifes, smoking, or guns.

6. Only 8 people at a time.

7. No people that are sick.

8. No littering (no staples)

9. No touching the animals.

10. No making caves out of chairs.

11. No playing on chairs.

12. No taking animals out of bed.

13. No fighting

14. No turning off lights at play time (unless the teachers help).

15. No hard balls.

With so many rules, you wouldn't think that the front room would look like this:

But it does. Sigh.

In Which We Improve Our Lot in Life

OK, let's be honest. We live in squalor. At least a quarter of us are unclad at any given time (in case you are unduly worried, let me assure you this is the exclusive territory of the under-five-feet-tall faction). Food is hiding here and there about our house--old, dried out food. Our kitchen utensils are used to dig holes in the back yard and carry the dirt about. And our furniture can best be described as Early-to-Late Thrift Store.

I bring to wit one dining table, made of metal, plastic, and plasticky faux wood stuff:

Pay no attention to that large spot of something on the kitchen floor.

Plastic meets metal:
The chairs are even worse. Let's not talk about their comfort defects but just focus on the aesthetic flaws for the moment. The color. The faux-wood-plastic-backs. The bendy metal frames.
And since they are, I imagine, circa 1952, their mustard-yellow-and-yucky-green-seats are coming apart. Not to mention that there are only four of them (we're now down to three since one was destroyed by the natives a year or so ago) and six of us.
Let's just revisit the table and picture it with the yellow chairs.
Now, hold on to your hats. WE BOUGHT A NEW TABLE AND CHAIRS. MATCHING!!! SIX CHAIRS! NOTHING WOBBLES!

Before you get too excited, let me assure you that this one is also MDF covered with a faux-wood veneer, but it's at least a more lifelike veneer. And the chairs (all except one) are in good repair. And it's probably more like vintage 1970s instead of 1950s. So we're moving up in the world.

This "new" one is also a little beaten up--but people like us would be foolhardy to purchase anything new.
Enter in the new era of civilized living.