Maybe we're building a house.

We just might be building a house, which is crazy, right?*  Building a house was actually never on my life list, but I've been looking at plans, and now I can't decided if I'm more nervous or excited.  Or more both.  :)

But if we are building a house, then maybe it'll look like this:

Or maybe like this (which is nearly identical to a house I loved in my old South Bend neighborhood):

Or maybe like this: (but without those arched windows.  I dislike the formality of arched windows.)

Because I like both colonials and Cape Cods.  (Actually, and Craftsmans, too.  And I was really hoping we could pick up a great 70's style ranch with a daylight basement, but I don't think I want to build one of those.)  Except I think I want my house to have grey siding, white trim, and a yellow door, like this:

So, if you have helpful advice or pleasant encouragement, please share.  If you have information that is only likely to increase my anxiety and decrease my excitement, please don't share.  My stomach is jumpy enough already over this.

*Meaning, we've put in an offer on a lot and it has been accepted.  I think it's almost inevitable.

Some of our favorite things

Maddie's favorite activity is to shove as many little pebbles down the drain as possible.  When they have to bring a super-industrial vacuum to the hospital parking lot to get those babies out, I'm pretty sure they are going to present me with a bill.

 This tree is the favorite play spot for my big girls.  Zoom in, and you'll see several interesting things.  First:  the treehouse in the bottom.  My fun-loving mother-in-law cleared that space out and hung some small swings as a we thought it would be make-shift, but it turned out to be awesome little house.

 Second, two girls near the top of the tree.  And yes, that is the power line across the photo, just to give you a sense of how high they are.  (They're at least 25 feet from the power line in horizontal distance, but they are definitely higher.)

 And about halfway down, you'll find the third interesting thing:  Bella--doing what her sisters are doing.  Only I've had to put my foot down about how high she's allowed to climb.

And to think, I thought pine trees were only good at Christmas time.

Nine! Nine Years!

I recently figured that it has been more time since I left college than it will be until Olivia goes to college.  Seriously.  She's nine--halfway done with her life at home.  Give me just a minute . . . . 

If I think about that too much, I can't handle it.  Since this was an odd birthday, she was granted a "friend" party, and given Olivia's proclivities, we invited eight of her closest friends to a Creative Party.  (With a capital C and P, of course.) 

Each of the girls made their own apron, beaded their own bracelet, decorated their own little cake. . . 

. . . some with more frosting and candy than others . . . 

 . . . and generally, were the best and most fun group of girls I've associated with.  (I didn't post the pictures of the other participants, since I didn't know how their parents would feel about it.)
Mimi had saved a special book to give to Olivia for her birthday.  Her other friends treated her to all the things she loves:  art supplies, chocolate, games, and more art supplies.She couldn't have been happier.   

 And just for a look back to last week nine years ago:

 And eight years ago:

 And six years ago:

 And four years ago:

Luckily for us, she just keeps getting better--more fun, more helpful, smarter, and happier.  I love you, Liv!

One of my newest favorite movies

I especially love the eyeroll at the principal.  I rewound and rewatched that section 20 times, gearing myself up for the teenage years.  :)

Bug Collecting

Our life consists of swimming lessons every morning and swimming for fun nearly every afternoon, so--needless to say--great hair is not really a priority. That's just the disclaimer.

Olivia took her old butterfly house out this afternoon and caught two bugs.   

 A baby grasshopper (not terribly photogenic)

 and a baby praying mantis.

She told me, "I named them Hopper and Christian.  Hopper because he's a grasshopper and Christian because of all the praying.  I think I'll keep them until Christian eats Hopper."

Awesome.

When one bath just isn't enough. . .

Saturday nights can be a bit hectic.  I never really have a great plan for Saturday dinner, and I'm always trying to simultaneously toss four kids in the bathtub and throw something together in the kitchen.  Olivia and Naomi are both working on their certification* for washing the two younger girls, and last Saturday they had washed Maddie, Bella, and themselves, and gotten out.  I dried and dressed Maddie in her pajamas and went back to the kitchen.  

Then I heard a splash.

 It seems when Mads realized her idolized Bella was not yet out of the tub and into her jammies she decided that she was in the wrong place.  Back into the tub she slipped until they both got out together.

I really should know better by now. 

*Have I discussed John's policy on certification here on the blog?  John determined years ago that in order to qualify to do a task (such as pouring milk, brushing their own teeth, watering the plants), a child must successfully perform the task four times under supervision.  If the child then subsequently makes two mistakes performing the task, they lose their certification and must repeat the process to recertify.  It's genius.  The two older girls, especially, know what they are certified and not certified to do, and they follow the lines pretty obediently.  Bella. . . . . well. . . . Bella knows what she is and isn't supposed to do but does what she wants regardless of whether or not she is certified.

Grapes of Wrath

Most of our furniture has been with us since we got married.  I call the look "med-school chic", and for the most part I am very happy to repaint, refurbish, restyle, and just live with it.  However, when my lovely sister-in-law Lauren informed me that her very stylish sister was selling all her furniture and moving to China (wouldn't that be exciting?), I immediately grabbed the opportunity to update my old living room look with some of her used furniture.  ("It's new to us" is my mantra.)

However, when I purchased the items, we were in John's little Sentra and two hours from Roosevelt.  Considering we are the only people in the Uintah Basin who do not own an enormous truck, I was afraid we'd have to rent a U-Haul to get my newfound furniture finds to my house.  And then I remembered my dad and his trusty pickup, Old Whitey.

 This truck has nearly 300,000 miles on it.  The make and model are listed, officially, in the Consumer Reports Auto Buying Guide as a "Do Not Buy."  However, my dad and Old Whitey are determined to prove Consumer Reports wrong.

 Can you imagine the looks my dad was getting, as he drove through Provo Canyon and over the passes of Wasatch and Duchesne county with an eight-foot sofa, a large club chair, a big Expedit bookcase, and eight baskets (plus two boxes of fabric from my mom) in the bed of this little truck?  I don't think you can tell, but he had to buckle the spare tire into the front passenger seat so everything could fit.

He, my sister, and Kathryn loaded everything by themselves*, and when I called to see how it had gone, he asked me, "Have you ever seen The Grapes of Wrath?  That's what it looks like."

I agree.  It's awesome.

*The original plan involved my dad and I loading the furniture--I didn't plan to shirk my furniture-lifting duty--but then the schedule changed and it worked out this way.  Awesome and easy, but a little guilt-ridden, for me.