DRAGONFLY, DRAGONFLY

I'm a big fan of trivia. I love having a wealth of useless information to share at get-togethers. Which is why I'm a big fan of Uncle John's Bathroom Readers. Have you ever heard of them? Right now, I'm reading Uncle John's Curiously Compelling Bathroom Reader. That's where I found out that Paul McCartney wrote "When I'm 64" when he was 15 years old. That's also where I found out that the average life span of a dragonfly is 24 hours. I find that amazing, considering how enormous they are. Which brings me to the point of this post.

Big Daddy was heading out to pick up Aunt Tracy and Uncle Matt for Sunday dinner with us. On his way to the truck, he found an enormous, dead dragonfly, completely intact. After sneaking up behind me and nearly giving me a coronary by placing said enormous dragonfly on my shoulder, he took it to the girls to show them.

Bean was immediately impressed. I tried not to act squeamish as she paraded around the house, holding it by the tail. She held it out to all the dogs, so they could get a good sniff, and then she passed the fascinating carcass on to Cakes. Who, to my horror, proceeded to gleefully dismember said enormous dragonfly in the middle of the living room.

KID PICS - THEMED PICS

Kid Pics Carnival time! Upload all those great pics your kids took using your camera phone, and your (or their) cameras. Let's see artistry from a kid's point of view! Find out how to be a part of the Kid Pics Carnival here.

My girls seemed to have a theme going this week with their photography. Cakes has taken too many floor shots to count. Here are some examples of her handiwork (including a great shot of Bean taken from the breakfast bar):

Bean has opted to focus on Grampy and Grammy's three dogs. Here they are, in all their glory (a special thanks to some very patient dogs):

BRAT AND BRAC

One of the most wonderful ailments of all has descended upon the household. Bean has diarrhea. So, she's back in diapers, because we're never sure when the monster is going to strike. Like yesterday. When it struck. On Grampy's t-shirt. Or again yesterday. When it struck. On the kitchen floor. Twice. I'll spare you the visual.

The pediatrician said we should start her on the BRAT and BRAC diets. All well and good, unless you have a 3-year-old like mine who pretty much lives on Goldfish, the occasional pasta noodle, and thin air. Is there a GRAC diet? Or maybe a G-PAC? That would work. Minus the applesauce, of course. Applesauce? The horror! Bananas are iffy, but tolerable.

The good news is, the cherub can't get enough cheese.

On another note, don't forget the Kid Pics Carnival tomorrow! I'll have Mr. Linky up later tonight. I look forward to seeing all the kids' creativity and artistry!

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY - DOGGY KISSES

For more Wordless Wednesday, click here.

BIG DADDY: DEER HUNTER EXTRAORDINAIRE

Big Daddy is a suburbanite. He married into a family that is half suburban, and half rural. The rural side is involved in farming, hunting, fishing, all that nature stuff. They live off the land, butchering their own meat, growing their own veggies, etc. And every time a grandkid turns 12, they have the option of getting their own rifle for Christmas so they can begin hunting (I opted for a nice set of PJ's for Christmas when I turned 12). Hunting is a tradition on that side of the family, and each hunting season provides meat for the families for at least a year. I remember one Thanksgiving when the menu included wild turkey, wild goose, venison, and bear. But, I digress ...

Big Daddy has always been somewhat enamored with the simple life of farming, hunting, and such. So, shortly after we were married, Big Daddy decided that he wanted to try his hand at hunting with Grampy.

Grampy accompanied Big Daddy to all the hunter safety courses, and helped Big Daddy apply for his license. Then, Big Daddy and Grampy headed out into the woods on Irwin the Great's property for the first day of Deer Season. They had their buck licenses which, of course, meant that all they saw that day were doe. They were a little disappointed to finish the day empty-handed, but they had a great time of male bonding (involving complete silence, freezing temperatures, a tree stand, and bucket that acted as a restroom - not my idea of a good time, but hey).

So, the next morning, Grampy and Big Daddy packed up the car, and began the four-hour ride home. They had gone about ten miles when they saw a deer run across the road and get hit in the head by an oncoming tractor trailer. Well, the first words out of Grampy's mouth were, "It got hit in the head! The meat's still good!"

They quickly turned the car around, drove up to the deer, tagged its antler with the hunting tag (have to keep it legal, you know), and tossed the fresh carcass into the back of Big Daddy's Bronco. They raced back to Irwin the Great's farm, where they ... um ... processed the deer (I'll spare you the gorey details). Irwin the Great butchered and packaged the venison, and Big Daddy brought home his first (road)kill. Which I didn't eat. Venison ... ew.

KID PICS

And it is time for our second Kid Pics Carnival! *fanfare playing* Go here to learn how to participate. And thanks to last week's contributors. Let's keep those kids' creative juices flowing. Here are the products of my toddlers' Fisher Price camera this week. We'll begin with Cakes, who took some lovely photos of the view through our storm door (that wheelbarrow is where we set off fireworks on July 4; we'll get around to putting that away ...), and also a pic of the toys that she and her sister picked up in the evening before bed.

Bean captured Cakes trying to climb onto the sofa from behind (that large, furry thing is the tail of a deer pelt, which was hunted and eaten by my warrior cousin, Timmy, and then donated to my husband, whose one and only hunting excursion resulted in bringing home some fresh deer roadkill - remind me to tell you that story), and also got a great action shot of Grampy, who is very excited to be spending time with his grandbabies.

BACK TO THE BEGINNING

When I first started blogging, I was trying to wean my youngest child. Here's the scenario:

Bean refused to nurse. Having never had a baby before, much less tried to breastfeed one, I had one very frustrating week full of breast pumps and lanolin. Finally, I gave up and gave her expressed breast milk until my supply was gone (about six months).

So, when Cakes came along, I was determined to nurse her exclusively for a year. And I did. And then it was 18 months. Now, she will be two in less than a month. And she still won't stop nursing.

And so, after discussing with my pediatrician, I've decided that we need to just go cold turkey. I mean, when your kid can walk up to you, request "booby," and then specify, "Okay, that booby now," it's time to freaking wean. Don't you agree?

Yes, it will be agonizing for my child. And agonizing for me. Has anyone seen Pioneer Woman's posts of their poor cows' engorged teats? Yeah, it's not going to be fun. Couple that with the fact that Cakes has that wonderful habit of screaming until she projectile vomits. Yeah. Yeah.

Here we go!