what a day for a birthday!

Well, the lad is now four. When we asked what he wanted for his special birthday dinner, he said, "Banana muffins!" Well, fair enough, they have chocolate chips. But we'll have them for birthday breakfast. What about dinner? "Um . . . waffles with strawberries and cream!" That's traditional; I approve. How about we eat it Saturday morning -- but what about tonight? After some cajoling, he opted for "noodles with bacon." That's my boy.

We got together for a special lunch, played around when I got home, and enjoyed opening some presents (and reading the resulting books) before bed. A good time had by all, I think.

pity for the pregnant lady

Yesterday, Jennifer discovered a news article listing the urban areas which have been the hottest, the most unrelentingly miserable, this summer. Guess where we landed? Number four, the highest of any city in Texas and above such hellholes as Tucson (no offense, but as my name is an anagram for "Tucson, devil's doormat," I feel permitted to libel the city whenever I get the chance). Only Las Vegas and two other barren outposts had higher heat indexes over the past three months. I think she's held up remarkably well; bravely, at least. But she's got to stop doing this to herself.

so sophisticated

On overhearing her mother's conversation with one of her brothers: "'Approximately' -- that's one of those smart grown-up words I like to use!"

rain day

Mama: Something really neat happened last night.
Casper: What?
Mama: It rained!
Casper: . . . candy?

precipi--what?

We're in the middle of a drought down here in Texas. Even our governor, who threatened to secede from the Union because congress tried to give us a few million dollars for elementary school (I'm pretty sure that was the issue) has proclaimed the lack of rain a state of emergency. But today we did actually get a brief rainstorm (literally the second or third of the summer), which the children celebrated by going out and jumping in their raincoats. Huzzahs!

thumbs up to you

Idaho, Texas

What is it that they always say? "You can take the kid out of the Idaho, but you can't take the Idaho out of the kid?" Whether or not that makes any sense, check out this picture -- twice the hipster-approved daily allowance of wolves!

final day (of grime)

Dad had made everyone who attended the high adventure journals in which they could keep notes about their discoveries, specimens they'd found, and so forth. These were largely bound from pieces of leather found around the Samuelson homestead which had some historical significance (for example, one book was bound in deerskin which had been tanned, as I understand it, from the hide of a deer which Sam had shot on a hunting trip he took with Dad; another few, including my journal, were bound from an old leather jacket which several of us wore at various points in late adolescence).

I kept a log of the events of the weekend, but also sketched some of the important details (most having to do with the better ways of roasting pig in a pit). When Will and the boys captured a garter snake, and when Steve and I narrowly missed catching a blue-tailed skink, I had to add it to the record (although my recollection of the appearance of the elusive skink may not be as accurate as I would have liked).

(The skink's neon-blue tail is partially visible in the lower center of the frame.)

groundhog day

One of my personal highlights of the camping weekend came on Sunday, when I cooked our dinner in a pit. My initial ambition was to cook a full pig (an ambition which remains, and which will be achieved one of these days), but we settled for digging a two-foot hole for a seven pound pork shoulder. At the grand unveiling, Will aptly dubbed it our "groundhog." The rest of the family came up to the mountains for the unveiling and for dinner (oh, and to celebrate Jill's birthday). After eight hours over the white coals we'd made in our pit, the pork was fork-tender and delicious. Of course, with a whole pig, we could have invited everyone we know to dinner. . . .

mountain men

Because work sent me to a conference in Colorado, I was able to fly to Boise for a few days to visit family. Dad had planned a men's weekend, a sort of counterpart to the sisters' party Jen's been attending the past couple of years, so several of my brothers and their older sons ended up in the mountains above Idaho City. (Sadly, I wasn't able to fit either Linus or Casper in my luggage, so they'll have to wait until the next biannual Man Retreat.) We had a great time building fires and shooting the bottles and the head of a shovel with Dad's pellet gun and a large number of slingshots.

the perils of aging

Casper: Daddy, we're getting older. And when we get older you have to buy us computers!

pretty reasonable acronym

Gwendolyn: "I think 'PBS' stands for 'Parents' Best Solution.'"

Casper gab

Mama: Go feed the cats.
Casper: I'm going to ask Daddy what my jobs are.
Daddy: Casper, what did Mama ask you to do? Why don't you go do that?
Casper: You're also a teller-jobber! You tell me what to do!

Casper: I have a stuffy nose. And I don't feel well. Will you take my temperature?
Jen: (After the thermometer beeps): It says you're just fine.
Casper: (Examining it): It says "feverish."

In outrage after hearing his siblings' conversation: "Dumbledore dies! [Long pause] Who's Dumbledore?"