Kirby changed the oil in his truck...  Bri cleaned out the car, rinsed the driveway:

On my way to nag at them about jackets:

Notice how Wilson's pants are hanging past his feet.  (Usually when he wears those pants, I roll the cuffs up a few times.)  Logan would not tolerate such baggy britches.  In the same way that Angie, as a child, insisted that her sock seams be perfectly aligned along the tips of her toes, Logan grumbles unless his clothes fit him perfectly.

Robert and Kanita were in town, visiting Mo and Dot, came up for turkey dinner...  Kirby said this batch of homemade stuffing made him change his mind about Stove Top being the best. 

I was mostly out of it Thursday.  Tired, 'cause I'd been up much of the night before with Logan, who had a bit of a fever.  Kendric just got over a one-day-fever, so I figured that was that.  I kept Logan warm and quietly busy through the day; he seemed fine.

Ben, Mari and Bri rode bikes down the hill to meet Kirby on his way home from work.  They didn't know that Kirby had to stay 15 minutes late, so they made it all the way past the Job Corps.  Riding around on the pavement, Mari learned from Ben how to ride with no hands.

Bri, sitting in a lawn chair, feet propped on the fire pit, hot dog in hand: "This is the life."

Ben stayed to watch Flushed Away...

Kent and Lois were planning to come over for Kirby's birthday, but Katie is sick...  Plan B: I called Gramma and asked if she'd be willing to watch the kids so I could take Kirby Out for his birthday.  She was all for that, but...

Last night, I was up with Logan again.  He came to my bed asking for a drink of water, and I just let him snuggle in next to me.  Then he vomitted.  After clearing the sheets, we left Kirby huddled on his side of the bed, and brought a blanket to the couch.  He vomitted again.  Yippee.

today:  Gramma Betty said she didn't mind the sick kids, that I should bring them down anyway.  Kirby, Ben and I had Chinese for dinner...  We thought we'd go bowling, but both Polson and Ronan had league games...  Instead, we played pool:

Ben: 2, Kirby: 1

Then, since Valley Club was fairly empty, we stopped there to play shuffleboard:

Two old ladies came over and challenged us to a tournament.  I got the feeling they play shuffleboard a lot more often than we do.  (hee hee)

Kirby didn't win a single match, but he did have a 5 point puck (hanging halfway off the end of the board).  Like I said, the place was fairly empty, but we still came out smelling like a pack of cheap cigarettes.  Bleck.

Drove home, put kids to bed, and opened a package from Kent.  It was a CD with digital copies of old family slides.  Quite an appropriate way to end a birthday, I think, looking at childhood pictures.

Myra was upset because, "She said it was nine fifteen, but it's only nine twelve."  Took a while to convince her that it's not LYING to round off when talking time.  Remember, people used measure the time of day by "the sun is in that half of the sky."  Then they used sundials, which are still fairly inspecific.  Minutes and seconds are only important when you're baking cookies, starting a meeting, catching a train...

Bri sorted through all the cards, rubber banded complete decks, tossed incomplete decks.

One of Logan's old favorites is the People book.  I like the way he identifies people by who they are, not what they do.  The carpenter, waiter, cowboy, etc. in the book are each "a daddy," the painter, the dentist, the nurse are each "a mommy," just like the kids who are running, jumping, eating, etc. are each "a boy" or "a girl."

The girls rode bikes, I pulled the boys in the wagon to meet Kirby on his way home from work.  The road was super smooth, and totally dry in the high spots, PERFECT for bike riding.  The wagon on the other hand, is bumpy and jittery no matter what kind of surface you're on.  Kendric was upset that he couldn't ride his bike, but he's not ready for continual braking.  Logan kept asking to get out and run, but I made him wait 'til we were on relatively flat ground.  Kendric said the highlight of the walk was crawling through the culvert.

I pointed out the many dead leaves along the road.  "See, Kendric, soon they'll turn into dirt."  Kendric was fascinated and disgusted that soil is so full of dead things.  "Even animal bones?!"  Later, as we passed the crabapple tree, he announced, "That won't ever be dead."
Come on, I've told him this before, "Everything that is alive dies."
Kendric: "I don't like dying."
Me: "It's okay, you only have to die once."

Kirby saw the doctor today.  His toe is fine, but while he was there, Kirby asked him to check his skiing injury.  New x-rays show BOTH of his collar bones were broken, healing wrongly, and Kirby is now wearing a brace.  He's also concerned about Kirby's old shoulder problems, and since we've already paid our yearly deductible, he might get that surgery this year.  We'll see.

Just days after I was exclaiming over our relatively illness-free winter, Kendric has a fever.  I tried to explain why I wanted him to rest, "It's like there's a war going on inside your body; the germs are trying to kill your body, your body is trying to kill the germs."  "I think the body will win," because it's bigger, he said.  "Well, your body needs to use its energy to fight the germs, so you need to not use your energy for other things, like playing and running."  Normally, he would not be so willing to take a nap; he was asleep on the couch, now he's asleep on my lap.

Logan and I made tin-can stilts this afternoon; he thought it was cool to stand on them and feel tall, but he wasn't so sure about walking with them.  His sisters were more than happy to take over:

Bri was dressed for The First Day of Spring (she was wearing flip-flops until she went to use the stilts), but it's a rather chilly day.

Burned the dead grass on the hill in front of the house...  Bri, Myra and I rode bikes down the hill to meet Kirby on his way home from work...  Mari watched the kids while I went with Kirby to feed the fish and horses...

Kendric stayed up late (it's his Week)...  We played Go Fish, but it turned out that we'd been using not-a-full-deck, so instead of playing War like he wanted, we played "identify this card" and "which is the highest card in this hand" and so on.  I like Kendric.  He's a funny guy.

Does green grass show up for St. Patrick's Day or does it just seem that way?  The hillside is suddenly green.  I've been hearing a bird or two here and there, but today they were out in force, twittering and fluttering by the treeful.  We even saw a formation of cranes flying north as we drove to church this morning.

Kendric and Logan are home, with Nerf shooters from Uncle Cory and Aunt Rikke.  Now there are little foam suction-cup darts all over the place.

Mari, Bri and Kirby walked over to play cribbage with Grandpa Merle.  I made the leftover stew into meat pies and brought the rest of the kids to play on the swings.  We played a game of team cribbage; Grandpa and I nearly skunked Mari and Kirby, but they had one awesome hand and won the game.

It's been a year since I mentioned this, but I've finally taken the time to find it:

They're Waving at Me
by Robert Crum
(originally published by Christian Science Monitor, Sept. 10, '92, as "Just Who Are They Waving At?")
as printed in Readers' Digest, March 1993

Every year I seem to experience an odd moment shortly after my family and I arrive at the country house we rent in Montana.

I am driving down a back road, minding my own business, when I gradually realize that people are waving at me.  They wave from their pickups and cars, barely lifting their hands off the steering wheel.  At first the gesture is unsettling.  I wonder if they are trying to tell me my lights are on or a tire is flat.  Or perhaps it is a case of mistaken identity.  I've never seen most of these people, so who do they think they are waving at?

Then I remember, I'm not in the city anymore.  And if anything distinguishes city folk from country folk, it's that in rural areas people make a habit of waving at strangers.

Soon I'm waving at everyone, too.  I lift my fingers a little from the steering wheel, and the other driver lifts his.  Or I shift my arm outward a bit as it rests on the window frame, raising my palm, and the other driver does likewise.  One needn't be too obvious or exuberant about these things.  A raised index finger speaks volumes, and a simple nod is eloquent in its restraint.

When I pass our neighbor, he salutes me with his customary broad, slow wave, which makes him look as though he's cleaning a window.  His wife waggles her fingers to wave hello; I can almost imagine her saying "Tootle-ooo!"  A detective with the sheriff's office waves as though he's firing a six-shooter -- with the thumb up and a quick jab of the index finger.  (I'm still waiting for him to blow away the smoke.)

People in the country will wave whether they're going 60 miles an hour or ten.  They wave on narrow curves, on the crests of hills or driving into a blinding sun.  Often they wave in town when they should be watching for pedestrians.  In short, they wave at all the times it's most inadvisable to wave.

If for some reason I forget to wave back -- say I'm fiddling with the radio dial -- I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt.  Did the people who just waved know me?  Were they neighbors?  Do they think I'm putting on airs?  I worry that I've violated one of the cardinal principles of the universe, ordained when the first good person waved hospitably to another from his cave.

To understand the geographical nature of this custom, try a simple test: wave from you car at strangers along a city street.  You may be stared at as if you are crazy.  But most likely you will be ignored.  I also suspect that if a city person spent a couple of weeks on country roads, he'd be waving just as much as any dairy man, cowboy, logger, beekeeper -- or darn-fool visitor like me.

The reason is that, in the country, the human figure stands out against the landscape; it demands recognition. A wave is simply the easiest way of confirming that recognition.  But I think waving is also a way of recognizing the setting around the human figure.

I wave at the farmer passing me in a pickup, and my wave extends to the grasses swaying along the roadside, the line of trees tossing in the wind, the billowing white clouds.  I wave, and my wave goes all the way to the horizon.

And so, as long as I'm in the country, I'm a dedicated waver.  Howdy, I wave to the far range of mountains.  Howdy, I wave to the horses trotting in the fields.  Howdy, I wave to the kids and dogs romping in the yard.

When I pull into the driveway, my wife waves from the porch.  Then she tries to teach our baby daughter to do the same.  Howdy, I wave to them.  Howdy, I wave.  Howdy!  Howdy!

It's the boys' turn to spend the weekend with their aunts.  Mom dropped them off with Nicole on her way back to Helena yesterday afternoon.

I brought stew to the home educators' potluck last night.  As usual, I just browned random amounts of meat, added random amounts of water, potatoes, carrots, peas, onion, bay leaves, salt, beef boullion, corn starch...  Usually I taste it before I put it on the table, but today was kind of busy, so I just... covered it and brought it along.  *nervous laugh*  It was a wee bit salty.  *cringe*

today:  Without any reminders from me, the girls remembered it's St. Patrick's Day, and dressed in varying shades of green.  Everyone's cheery 'cause we're all healthy, and the weather is beautiful.

We stopped to invite Rob and Robin (just moved here from Idaho Falls) to the parade, then played for a while at the park:

We found Grandma and Grandpa sitting across the street from the theater:

We invited Rob and Robin (and Lauren, Aimee and Gharrett) to join us for dinner.  They knew we were making corned beef and steamed cabbage -- and that they are experimental dishes for me -- but came up anyway.  We laughed about our mutual transplanted experiences; Robin used to drive the kids up to the border just to jump out of the car, smell the trees and sing, "Montana, Montana, glory of the west!  Of all the states from coast to coast, you're easily the best!  Montana, Montana, where skies are always blue -- M O N T A N A, Montana, I love you!"

Another sunrise:

Another bloom from the amaryllis:

Okay, so I finally got out the camera and took pictures of our rearrangements.  The bookshelf / table used to run through the room lengthwise, but I turned it to make more room for the toys:

We moved the toys to the basement.  With warmer weather on the way, kids won't be playing inside so much, so they don't need as much toy space.  Besides, it gives the little boys something to do nearby while the girls are busy with math, etc.

Mari is now in the khaki / red room with Wilson.  She's excited because when Grandma and Grandpa move back from Helena, she gets the red couch (the one that used to be in the loft).

Myra has the yellow / star room to herself:

The queen mattress is now being stored in Ben's old room, so there's lots of play space.  Still, she'd rather play in the hiding spot under the bed, enclosed by the cupboards / bookshelf:

Since the beginning of motherhood, I've made a point to set things up so the kids have separate sleeping / play areas.  No kicking through Legos when you go to tuck kids in at night, no waking babies with noisy toys during naptime, blah blah blah, etc.  However, I'm contemplating storing the Dress Ups in Myra's room.  She's the one who mostly uses them these days, and she's got the mirrored closet doors...  We'll see...

Bri has the loft.  Lucky duck:

She has both halves of the bunk bed from Aunt Julie -- plenty of room for company:

The space behind the curtains on the left is full (sleeping bags, suitcases, fans, etc.), but the space on the right is totally empty -- except for a few feet of her clothes hanging on the rod.  Good, cozy hiding nooks.

Mom is home this week for work.  She stopped by for dinner, and to invite Mari and Bri to help her clean out her garage...