Pomegranate. Cinnamon. Buttered Popcorn. Dr. Pepper. Watermelon. Cappuccino. Peach. Coconut. Banana. Bubble gum. Blueberry. Food science has come a long way, baby. 
As you can see, we got a big bag of gourmet jelly beans. The kids are marveling over the spectrum of flavors- comparing colors, trying to make guesses, trading for their favorites. I am marveling that there is a combination of chemicals out there that can make a jelly bean taste exactly like popcorn.
Fly hates baths. So much so, that she very rarely goes upstairs, because that is where the bathtub is. I am no longer capable of dragging her upstairs for a bath by myself- it is necessary for Matt to scoop her up and carry her upstairs to the bathtub when she needs washing, with the poor dog crying the whole way. Now normally, she only really needs a bath every few weeks (a bathing schedule my young sons are quite envious of.) However, this morning before church when she was let outside to do her doggy business, she found a particularly delightful pile of poop (whose, I don't know) to roll in. Since this activity left her in such a state as to not be welcome in my house, it was necessary to rush her in to the bathtub. A wet, unhappy, but much better smelling dog came out. She dried out and fluffed up while we went to church. We got home and let her out to do her doggy business again, and a boy set to work removing all the icky piles of temptation from the back yard. But alas, the dog was quicker than the boy, and managed in that few minutes to roll in yet another pile of poop. Back in the bathtub she went for bath number two. The poor dog has been skittering around corners nervously all afternoon in fear of being dragged off to the chamber of soapy horrors yet again.
Oh yes, for breakfast! I always make something tasty for dessert for after our Tuesday prayer meeting; if the kids are lucky, there's some left over for them the next morning. Today is a lucky day!
Yikes. This is 30 weeks pregnant. I have exactly 9 weeks to go until my scheduled c-section. That is a whole lot more growing.
All of my babies have been very stubborn or difficult in one way or another. None of them have been voluntarily born before about 42 weeks, which is nearly two weeks over due. Since this little one is actually on the schedule for extraction on May 25th (a week early), I've developed a nagging suspicion that he or she will try to make an early break. Just to be difficult. Because my kids are like that.
So, it's time to get things ready for baby. I nearly had a panic attack the other night, thinking the baby would be born early and I wouldn't have any clothes washed for the wee bairn(pregnant women tend to panic about these things.) So I dug out the baby clothes to sort and wash. Since we have "surprise" babies, there's lots of yellow. And lots of things with little duckies on them. Apparently, ducks are the only gender-neutral motif that baby clothing designers can come up with.
My girls and I hit the thrift stores over the weekend to pick up a few more things to round out the new baby's wardrobe. I have a weakness for overalls- besides the few new pairs I snagged at the thrift, I uncrated at least a dozen more that I'd had in storage since the last baby outgrew them. The little girls 'helped' me fold the first few wash loads this morning. I actually have garments that have been worn by every single one of my babies!
Fly is a herding breed of dog. This type of dog absolutely must have a job to do. Since we have no sheep to keep under control, she has made it her life's work to manage our herd of children. As long as all the children are within the sphere of her control, life is good. As soon as a child steps outside of her boundaries, there is a crisis of Biblical proportions (at least for the dog.)
Fly goes nuts when one of the children goes outside the house without her. She cries and barks and runs from door to window, pacing anxiously. She can see that the kids are fine outside, but she knows that she can't get to them. If she is outside along with the children, but they are outside the reach of her leash, she goes into a similar panic-stricken mode. She absolutely cannot rest when one of her charges is outside of her control.
Actually, we're not having a garage sale, just cleaning it out. About every two days, I get pushed right over the edge by an accumulating mess of some type or other. I go ballistic- stomp, scream, threaten the kids, rant and rave. Today, it was the state of the garage. It was a jumbled mess of bikes, sleds, strollers, and all manner of miscellany piled on top of each other. After i got my little tirade out of my system, I made a bargain: you kids clean out the garage, and I'll take you to the playground this afternoon (it's nearing 65 degrees and sunny; snowpack finally receeding.) They are doing a bang-up job so far.
Just don't get me started on the back yard. ::shudder:: Maybe we should just pave over the whole thing...
The harvesting of the frozen-and-thawed dog turds. I'm sure this same ritual is being performed in back yards all across my neighborhood, if not all across the country. The dog seems to approve of this process. Her favorite dumping ground over the winter has been, it seems, my (former) herb garden. Keeping the kids from trampling my herbs had taken Herculean effort; trying to keep the dog out would take my last ounce of sanity. I think I'll roto-till it up and plant some grass...I can admit when I've been defeated. 
I've been noticing other signs of spring around as well. Most visibly- MUD. Most of our yard is ankle-deep under water, and the dog has trampled down all of the grass, so there is plenty of mud to be tracked in to the house by canine and children alike. The kids have been going through at least two changes of pants per day, as a result of not "seeing" the mud before they ran through it/jumped in it/fell in it. Riding one's bike through muddy puddles leaves a lovely trail up the back of one's jacket, as well. Because this is still transitional weather, each of the five children has no fewer than five jackets in active rotation right now. They also have (shockingly clean) mud boots, snow boots, and several pairs of wet and muddy shoes a piece in the front entryway. We have large piles of muddy towels by each door, as a vain attempt to try to de-mud the dog every time she comes in. That there is a whole lot of muddy items to have to deal with every day. 
Wow, is it a hum-dinger of a beautiful day! We have had an unprecedented amount of sunshine this week, along with mild (for New York) temps (mild= anything above freezing with no sideways-driven precipitation.) As thus, our daily death march/strolls have been much more pleasant. We are nearing a milestone: for the past two days, Renee has walked almost the whole way herself. It's a distance of just over one mile, but for someone with such short little legs, that's quite a distance. I've been pushing the empty stroller for back-up support; by the end of the week, I may not bother bringing it at all.
This was the scene today. Temps in the forties, actual sunshine. I opened the front door and shoved the kids out to ride bikes and play street hockey.
This was the scene four days ago, in icky, nasty February. Snow, lots of it. I see months (and a lot of other things) as colors, and February is a dark, dusky, cold purple. March on the other hand, is a nice, promising green. Even though you can't actually see any green, as it's still under all the snow.
Funny how on a 40 degree day in october, the children will huddle inside shivering. A forty degree day in March, and you'd think it was mid-summer. Within minutes of being sent outside, every one of the children came lunging breathlessly back inside the door proclaiming how hot they were, and did they really have to wear a coat? (yes, kid, you do.)
It's so much easier to be hopeful when the sun is shining and last week's snowmen are slowly melting. FYI, a two-foot snowfall on an average suburban yard yields quite a few very large snowmen.
