the storm itself is completely and utterly devastating. something we couldn't have imagined happening in our country. i am sick with sadness when i see interviews with survivors (one man who lost his wife as she told him to take care of the children and grandchildren) and folks going back into the areas where their homes used to stand. eagle-eye views of neighborhoods (very much like where i'm sitting right now) show only the rooftops of homes.

but what is making me even more sickened is the reports of looting taking place just blocks from where bodies are floating in the flooded streets. not just water or food (which is slightly understandable in these conditions...), but televisions, DVD players, stereo equipment and shoes are filling up stolen grocery carts. human beings are at their lowest when their need to fill a selfish void isn't even accompanied by a guilty conscience. they're being filmed on national television and they're not ashamed!

natural disasters can bring out the most giving side of many, many humans. but the worst and ugly side of humanity is what makes news. the shame of it.

Today Rowan discovered elbows. He loves to go around and touch our elbows. But he calls the "elmos." Will we ever escape the influence of the furry red Sesame Street monster?

I know Rowan isn't the first toddler to do this, but it's just so stinkin' cute!

Little kids are supposed to be scared of thunderstorms, right? Rowan was the bravest I've ever seen him when two rather large thunderstorms rolled in the other night. He was in bed, wide awake, holding his puppy over his face, but never called out for us. Daddy went and cuddled with him any way. :)
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Was most disturbed by the latest remarks made by Pat Robertson regarding Chavez. Was even more disturbed by his initial dismissal of his assassination statements: "I didn't say 'assassination.' I said our special forces should 'take him out. 'Take him out' could be a number of things including kidnapping." Was glad to see that he did issue an apology afterall just moments ago.
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Was sad to see four teenagers in our park the other night (two girls and two guys) tackling each other, dropping the "F-bomb" every other word and disrespecting the other families with small children in the park. Was so sad and disturbed that I finally walked over to them and asked that they refrain from using their language whilst in a FAMILY park. I was surprised that they didn't ignore me, but was scared that our house would be egged later that evening. It wasn't.

I'm becoming "that kind" of parent I said I'd never be when I was 14 years old.
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"The Office" is a brilliant, brilliant new sitcom. Get to the nearest tv this Fall and watch it, please.
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Ask Kenny about his golf marathon next week.

Rowan loves his new light-up Elmo A-B-C shoes (he loves to point to them and say, "A, B, C!" ). Here he proudly wears them with this Elmo outfit from Great Grammy and Great Grampy in Philly...

(as always, click on picture to enlarge)
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It's no secret anymore that Kenny and I want to live "out in the country." We dream of the day we can wake up on any given weekend to the sound of our very own rooster, eating eggs from our own chickens, and instead of the sounds of a city street corner, we'd be lulled to sleep by summer cheepers. A few posts ago, I wrote of my dream to open a Bed and Breakfast (I promise to get back to that soon, as we still talk about it daily). We have other dreams for future businesses as well, and all of these dreams take place in the country. At least on 5+ acres. But the perfect house isn't ready for us yet. Because we haven't found it. So we're content to stay in our lovely 3 bedroom brick house on a 1/4 acre with brand new patio, updated kitchen and bathroom, hardwood floors and central air.

I've been reading way too many house classifieds.

We spent the entire day yesterday at the Butler County Farm Show. Only city-folk can spend 8 hours in a place so "country" and not get sick of it. We certainly looked a bit out-of-place with our digital camera, snapping pictures of what all these people see every day: cows, chickens, pigs, hand-sewn quilts, and fiddling contests.

We walked through the poultry tent three times. That's not an exaggeration. And it wasn't Rowan who was dragging us to see the chickens "just one more time?!?!" It was me. I can't get enough of the little guys. I love the way they move, eat, and "talk." I love the idea of having our own. Everytime we tell people we want a bigger yard/lot for chickens and sheep, the answer I always get is, "Don't chickens stink?" I'm sure they stink, but we're not planning on keeping them in the house, people! My brother Andrew, and his wife Laura own a few chickens. They live in Asheville, NC on a few acres. Andrew will tell me how much they stink.

We saw every farm animal that Rowan knows about (and Sawyer is beginning to learn...he can now make the horse sound!), had some "fair" food, and rode the little county fair rides. At least the ones that Rowan could ride. I drooled over the most amazing hand-sewn quilts. Rowan fed the goats (with crazy city-lady-mama following him around with hand-sanitizer), and Sawyer rode around on Daddy's back posing proudly for every picture he was in.

At around 7:00 p.m. we finally arrived at the event we'd been waiting for all day - the fiddling contest. I sat down next to an older man who claimed he "never missed a square dance for 20 years when the kids were growing up." Another man a few rows in front of us danced with his great-granddaughter as he proudly wore his 80s-style Barbara Mandrell trucker hat. Kenny wants to expose our kids to all kinds of live-music as much as possible. We love taking them to outdoor concerts and we stop at every street player we pass (there are only a few on the Pittsburgh streets, unfortunately). So a fiddling show was a perfect end to a perfect day of good ol' country living.

As we walked to the car, many locals (you know how you can just tell they're locals?) were just getting to the fair for the "BIG EVENT" - the tractor pull. We were thankful to be leaving.

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is it ironic or prophetic that my 2-year-old son tore off and shredded the jacket from the book on discipline that i'm borrowing?

Ahhh…vacation. That time of year you long for in the dead of winter. The warm air…the books you’ll read…the naps…the steaming cups of coffee in the morning, and glasses of wine in the evening that you’ll sip watching the sun rise or set. Snap out of it! It’s only an illusion. A mirage, perhaps, in the bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived vision of a young (or oldish, but new) mom and dad.

We just returned from a mini-vacation at Presque Isle, Lake Erie. There was no reading of books on the beach (the only reading was of maps, in the car ride, over a short spat about turning right or left…north or south). Coffee was sipped sporadically, spilled a lot, and never finished. And the wine we packed? Never opened. Rowan decided that a hotel room is far too exciting to go to sleep in. You must play for hours past your normal bedtime in order to make it worth your money. Why sleep, when you can turn the television on and off one hundred times, flush the toilet 800 times, and laugh at yourself in the mirror on the wall? The moment he finally fell asleep, we zonked out knowing there would be no sleeping in on this vacation. And we were right. He popped his little head up from his bed at 6:27 a.m., and woke up his groggy baby brother.

Still, we return from vacation tired and worn. A little sunkissed, and perhaps a few pounds heavier from the “vacation diet” which consists of Dippin’ Dots and big fat hamburgers for dinner, and we still can’t wait for the next family vacation. It’s kind of like labor pains that way: you forget about the pain and you actually find yourself wanting to go through it again someday.


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I'm three chapters into the 6th Harry Potter book.

I'm two and a half chapters into The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency.

I'm slightly nervous to admit these next two books. But I'm going to admit it any way. I'm skimming through the chapters of Dr. James Dobson's The Strong-Willed Child and Dare to Discipline.

The first two books are obviously for entertainment purposes. The last two mentioned are because some days I feel as though I'm at my wit's end with what to do with a 2-year-old who just doesn't listen. Rowan has decided to not stay in the same place for his time-outs and I'm just not sure how to teach him what is wrong (mostly hitting, scratching, pushing over, smothering, and pinching Sawyer). So I've looked for books on these subjects, and since these were free from the church library, I thought I'd give them a shot. I haven't read anything totally earth-shattering yet. But I haven't gotten to the chapters on spanking yet.

And since these are library books, they're also a bit out-of-date. I've noticed on amazon.com that there are "new" versions of these books. Does that mean that Dr. Dobson has changed his views on these things? I'm not sure I have the patience to read through both versions. I might try a completely different approach to discipline (my mom is very much against he word "punishment"...she's a social worker) in a while.

But for now, I'm off to bed to read another 2 pages of The No.1 Ladies...before I conk off.

Rowan's perfect milky-white cheeks have been damaged. It was a pure accident...and he really only cried for about 2 minutes. My thumb nail caught his perfect 2-year-old cheek as I guided him up the stairs this weekend. I accidentally tore a few layers of skin off. It felt horrible, and I could have sworn it would hurt him for hours....but either 2-year-olds don't feel pain like adults (this might have stung me for hours...or at least until a scab formed), or it just looked worse than it felt for him. Within moments, he was his cheery little self. Back very quickly to pointing out shoes "Mama's shoes! Ro-Ro's shoes!" and colors, "Geen! Ello!" several times in a row. And now he loves to point out his boo-boo. A lot. He even remembers a 2-month-old boo-boo on his foot and points to that one as well.
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Because taking steps is Sawyer's latest love, I've decided to put him in the same shoes that Rowan started walking in. He's been wearing Robeez for a few months now, and while I do like these shoes, I just wanted to try him in hard-soled shoes. He looks really, really cute in these little baseball shoes. Rowan always got compliments on them from strangers everywhere we went. But Sawyer's not too crazy about them. He thought they were fun when I put them on. But he'd much rather be completely barefoot. No socks, no Robeez. He's our little hippy boy.
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