Wordful Wednesday: Hanging by a Hair

This is my Baby.

Adorable, right? She was born with a headful of hair and I never cut it it. How could I chop away those precious little curls? And she totally idolizes Rapunzel so she was cool with letting it grow…and grow…and grow…

She complains when she sits on her hair now. And it is really two lengths, with the longest portion being the thinnest. And those adorably sweet curls that I've twined around my fingers countless times? They are gone. Even though I said I wouldn't cut it until her hair was dragging on the ground, when she asked to have it cut, I made the appointment.

Baby wasn't all that thrilled with saying goodbye, either. We both had a teary moment (the stylist was convinced we were nuts) and then it was time.

With her hair fixed like this, I can't see the changes and might just be able to convince myself that it didn't happen.

Wordless Wednesday: See? I told you that you were the father of my baby!

Dying of the Light

In Memory of

Aunt Denise

b. July 27  d. February 24, 2013

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Aunt Denise raged for nearly three years before her battle with cancer ended. In the end, she was surrounded by family and very much loved. 

She loved American history, teaching, tennis, and being around kids. She didn't much care for rare steak, mushrooms, or wet dog noses on her toes.

We will miss her terribly.

How I Made My First Million…Almost

At the beginning of summer, just before school let out, I had a moment of genius. These moments are rare so I tend to brag about them. While having the kids home had some perks (like fetching me a drink or the tv remote), I wasn't looking forward to weeks of whining, complaining, and declarations of deadly boredom. Usually, I'd just ignore them until I ran out of chocolate patience. Then the yelling stern reprimands would suck all the fun out of vacation. For all of us.

There had to be a better way.

Then I got an idea. It was so simple that I was surprised someone hadn't already created these and had them mass produced in China.

Behold, the Busted Jar.

An old mason jar with a slot in the lid, an overuse of colored fonts on my computer, some tape, and voila! The kids were totally busted. And I was gonna get rich one nickel at a time.

The week the Busted Jar was implemented, I gave each child a dollar's worth of nickels as part of their allowance. I explained the purpose, went over the "banned phrases," and reiterated that fines would be due immediately. And should we not be at home, I kept a tab for them, due as soon as our car pulled into the garage.  But we had plans for summer, they insisted, and season passes to the water park. Surely they wouldn't owe me a cent, because they would be having too much fun!

Ah, the follies of youth.

Here's a few of the "banned" phrases:
I'm bored.
What can I do?
That's/It's not fair!
Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?
This is boring!
There's nothing to do.
Awwwwwwww (in a super whiny voice).
Aldo banned? Saying "no" or asking "why?" in response to a request.

Did you get a good look at the pictures? Did you notice that along with the nickels, there are dimes, quarters, and even a dollar? That was after two weeks. TWO. WEEKS. This was gonna be awesome.

Then something strange happened. They stopped whining! By the end of the first month, the two older kids were no longer getting busted. Baby still had issues but hey, she's three. I must say, we all had a much better summer vacation. With a lot less whining and yelling.

Now that school is back in session, I've kept the Busted Jar on the counter.

Just as a reminder.

Difference Between Boys and Girls: Science vs. Imagination

Alternate Titles: "What Kid Isn't Fascinated By Mechanical Engineering?" or "Einstein Got Run Over By A Unicorn"

It's not just the kids that are different. Every now and then, me and the Man see things with entirely different perspectives. Sure, we see eye to eye most of the time. But every now and then, I swear, it's like we're from different planets. His rotates on an axial tilt of 25.19 degrees with a circular orbit. And mine is warmed by the breath of dragons.

Sometimes, an ordinary family drive turns into a blazing example of those differences. The kids spotted an enormous fluffy column of white steam emitted by a building just off to the side of the road.

Kids: What's that?
The Man: Inside that building are evaporators that use natural gas to produce over a 500 megawatts of electricity per day.
Kids: …
Me: It's a cloud maker.
Kids: Cool!

Nice try, Mr. Brainiac. Unicorns and fairy dust trump scientific facts any day. Well, at least until they stop believing in Santa Claus.

My Baby Love

The two kids had their turn, now we get to Baby.

Baby had a birthday. When we asked her what she wanted for her birthday, her only answer was "cake." While I'm all for giving her mounds and mounds of cake, I thought she ought to have something that won't rot her teeth. Then she saw a commercial for those Lalaloopsy dolls…and became mildly obsessed. Any time she got to write a letter to Santa or meet with him, she was begging for those things. I think they're weird but hey, my baby gets what she wants. And now that she has one, she even more addicted. She asked me to make an outfit for her just like her doll's. I can't really sew that well so that's not going to happen. I'm hoping the additional outfits that Santa brought will satiate her need for more, more, MORE!

Maybe she's more like me than she seems.

Oh Boy, Oh Boy!

With only one boy child in the house, I am sometimes left confused as just what to do with him. He will join us for a tea party, but only of his Kung Zhu hamster can come, too. Usually, I throw some Legos at him while I fix the girls' hair. When I get the girls hair stuff or jewelry, I can't help but feel that I'm leaving him out, so I tend to give him the larger dessert or He didn't want to take a dance class but I still wanted him to be active, so I put in him soccer over the summer. Once soccer ended, I was stuck. Then, I found something else he would enjoy: Karate.

This is Boy, earning his white belt. After his first class, the instructor thought he was ready to move to a more advanced class, because he already seemed to know the stances and moves. She asked me where he took karate before. I just smiled like a proud momma and said this was his first lesson. There was no need explain that his skills most likely came from watching hours of Power Rangers.

Boo-tiful

My eldest, da Boo, is quite an interesting girl. When relatives ask what she likes, I say she has strange tastes but she's pretty easy to please. She wears sparkly shirts while hunting for bugs, invites Lego robot creations to her tea parties, and will read anything she gets her hands on (she even read my Twilight "graphic novel").

One thing she's asked Santa for this year is an amulet that will let her turn into an animal. In preparation for her new abilities, she's been practicing.

Here, she sports a tail. It's really the faux fur trim that unzips from her coat hood. But to her, it's an encounter with the wild and magical, as she anticipates roaming the hills as a wolf. Who else would have thought of that? Well, maybe me when I was her age. Sad to admit it but my dorkiness took root in my early years.

Even with all her quirks, she's still pretty wonderful. In fact, her quirks and wild imagination make me love her all the more! And really, how could I not?

When Saying Nothing Means "Yes"

Victory is mine. Mine! All MINE!

How, you ask?

Because of the newest member of our family.

This is Matilda. She was our rent-to-own dog. And now? She's mine.

I've had a dog for nearly my entire life, along with a hamster, an assortment of birds, and even a lizard. The Man has never had a pet of any kind. Not even a goldfish. So the thought of having a dog is not a pleasant one for him. But I wanted one. The kids wanted one. Then one of my friends had to find a new home for her dog and it seemed the perfect opportunity.

We'd keep the dog for two weeks, long enough for the novelty to wear off and the real responsibility to set in. The kids and I would share the task of taking her outside for walks (we don't have a fenced backyard) a few times a day, always cleaning up after her. Since she's an indoor dog, she'd need a bath once a week. Her food dish and water bowl would need to be filled daily. It was a lot of duties. There was also the condition that if the dog wasn't what we could handle,  she would be sent back, even we only had her a few days.

After the first week, when everything went well and the kids were completely enamored, I started pleading our case to the Man. Matilda is a mini Schnauzer and she doesn't shed. She's pretty good at letting us know if she needs to go outside. When we're not home, she stays in her kennel. At night, she goes to bed shortly after the kids and sleeps in the Boy's room (the Man rarely needs to interact with her). She doesn't chew on things. She doesn't drool or beg. All she asks is that we give her plenty of affection (and that whenever I sit down, she gets first dibs on my lap). Plus, all of her gear and supplies were free. She is a really good dog.

The Man said nothing. As Thanksgiving - and the end of the two weeks - approached, he started walking away whenever the topic of the dog came up. Since he wasn't saying no, I took that as a yes. Matilda now wears a new collar with a new tag, featuring my information as her owner. The kids are very good about taking care of her and she is constantly within a three-foot radius of me (except when the Man gets there first).

Sometimes, it's just better to ask forgiveness instead of permission.

Once There Was A Snowman...

So, I should probably blog...or something…

We've had a few changes around the G. household, in that we've added two new members. (And no, I AM NOT PREGNANT! Stopping asking! Geesh…rude.) Shall we meet the first one?

This is the Snowman…

…with his adorable girlfriend (who shall be known as Snowgirl). In all fairness, he was fighting off bronchitis when he fell asleep during a movie. And snored. Really loud. So we just had to take a picture. And post it on Facebook.

The Snowman is my nephew. He moved out here to Utah to live with us while working and saving before he goes on his mission (not LDS? Go here.) next summer. So why do I call him the Snowman, other than his utter lack of skin pigment? Because he works at a local ski resort and will freeze his skinny bum off. (And just between you and me? Another reason he's here is so I can fatten him up because that boy has no body fat. Poor thing lacks an insulating layer.)

Per his mother's instructions, Snowman has one night a week when he makes dinner. It's rather nice…I might have to let more people move in just so I can give them a night to cook, too. Among his other talents are his ability to be so quiet we forget he's here, communicating with the outside world purely by text, speed-reading all my books, and giving Baby someone to blame whenever anything goes wrong.

Any words of advice for the Snowman?

Wait…When Was Halloween?

Ummm…so…I kinda sorta didn't remember to not forget about posting Halloween pictures on this here blog thingy.

Sorry.

Just pretend that it's a month ago, okay?

Boo wanted to be a witch. She was sorely disappointed that most of the witch costumes had short skirts (yeah, that makes two of us!) because it gets cold here and most costumes are designed to fit a parka underneath. We finally found one she liked and that I was willing to pay for:

And just because I'm awesome (not because I was feeling guilty over not making her a costume from scratch…), I made her broom. I started with a dowel, painted it black, then used packages of black feathers glued together in little clusters to fill in the rest.

Then, because Boo was a witch, Baby decided/was told she would be a black cat. Hey, at least this one was homemade. For Boo when she was two. And Baby was way better about wearing the ears.

The Boy was still deciding between costumes two days before Halloween, when I actually started putting his together. I was so excited about making him a Lego that I didn't care about the effort involved. And boy howdy, did it take a lot of effort…

Here are the instructions if you're thinking of trying this next year. And read the comments after the instructions! There are some helpful hints in there.

As for me…well, I once again got a little obsessed with an idea. I saw it online and just HAD to make one. Of course, it's designed for a child so I had to adapt the materials.

And I thought being a jellyfish was a pretty original idea! There were two others at the kids' school. Also? Because I am a mega dork, whenever anyone wasn't sure what I was, I would sway slowly from side to side to let the tentacles move, to see if they could figure it out from that.

As for the Man, well…he was a stick in the mud. Or a nudist on strike. Whichever.

Thankful for Tuesdays

Sorry, no Teaser Tuesday this week…I'm not reading books right now as I frantically try to write one. Instead, I'm going to share the results of our annual tradition for the FHE the week of Thanksgiving: Alphabet Blessings.

As a family, we go through the alphabet, one person at a time, and say something that we are grateful for. We start with the oldest and end with the youngest. (And the youngest usually needs some help…) I love it because although some things are the same from year to year, there's always new blessings that show how the kids are growing. This year it was slightly different in that my nephew was here to participate.

Apple pie (mmmm…)
Boo and books
Chocolate (mmmm…again)
Dogs
Eggs (as in the ones that made the birds angry)
Flowers
G. family (they're all pretty awesome)
House
Intelligence
Jump roping
Karate (the Boy just started taking lessons and is mildly obsessed)
Lollipops (Baby didn't need any help picking this one)
Mom (awww, shucks…)
Nachos
Ostriches
Playing
Quentin
Ruby and Max (I hate that show…)
Son
Tilly (our rent-to-own dog; she'll be getting her own post soon enough)
Underwear
Villains (when I asked Boo why she picked this, she said it was because bad guys make the story more interesting)
Water to drink right after karate (see? obsessed!)
Xylophones (because they make music)
You
Zumba!

What are you thankful for today?

11-11-11

Have you met Erin? She's one of those gorgeous, multi-talented people that I would totally hate if she weren't so darn sweet. The only thing I've got on her is that my NaNoWriMo word count is higher than hers. And since copying is a form of flattery, I'm going to copy Erin's idea for today's unusual date.

11 Things I'm Grateful For:

1. Hot Chocolate on cold days. Warms the body and the soul.
2. Chubby-armed hugs and sloppy kisses. Nothing can turn my mood around faster.
3. Being able to be here to send the kids off to school and when they get home. A lot of my friends don't have this opportunity and I admit that some days, I take it for granted.
4. Friends that are equally as a dorky as I am. It's much more fun to let my freak flag fly when I'm in good company. (And when they get all my Doctor Who references…)
5. Zumba. I don't like exercise but this is more like getting in touch with my inner sexy Latina dancer. Sure, I look like a drunken monkey but I don't care! It's fun!
6. The Nephew. I'll have to write a post introducing him but he's only been here a short while and already has made himself indispensable.
7. Naptime. It's a nice break when the kids are sleeping (and I can eat my chocolate without having to share) but even better when I get to lay down, too. My pillow has it's own irresistible siren song.
8. Parents, including in-laws. They're such great examples and help me whenever I ask. Sometimes my big, huge problems can easily be brought down to perspective with just one phone conversation.
9. The Kiddos. There was a time when I was told I'd never be a mother. Each one of my three little ones is a miracle. And not just because they're here, but because they seem to actually like me and laugh at my jokes.
10. The Man. Not only is he basically my perfect match, but he supports me every November when I get the urge to abandon home and family in order to write a book, even when I refuse to let him read it.
11. Jesus Christ, my Savior. Too often I let it go unsaid, but I am so very grateful for His example and sacrifice.

What are you grateful for today?

Takin' Care of Business

My family enjoys a good camping trip. And although we'd much prefer to camp during an unexpected blizzard (it's called making memories, people!) occasionally, we actually have fun. In fact, camping is very much a part of our summer plans. However, now that it's getting chilly, I'm packing away the gear. While cleaning out a bag, I found this list. My scrawled and shaky notes (possibly written in the car or while on a pit toilet) were supposed to become a blog post but must have gotten lost in the unpacking and showering and de-ticking and trying to get the smell of bug spray out of our cooler.

So here it is for your viewing -- and probably gagging -- enjoyment!

Why Pit Toilets Are The Worst Life Experience Ever Inflicted Upon Civilized Cultures

1. You never want to use them unless you really gotta go. Inevitably, there will be someone in line ahead of you and that someone will take a very, very loooooooooong time.
2. Do I really need to mention the smell? You might pretend it doesn't bother you but really, that's just keeping a brave face in front of the kids, like you do when comforting them after they've puked all over the bathroom, pretending that their vomity breath isn't making you want to hurl.
3. You will inevitably have an audience, although it will be of the insect variety. Once, there was a frog in there with me. I couldn't pee and opted for remote bushes instead. (You're welcome.)
4. The height on these things? Ridiculous! Are the makers prejudiced against short-legged folk? Because picnic tables are the same way…it's pretty embarrassing when your feet don't touch. But because of the height, using a germaphobe's "hover" technique is out of the question. Only option is a full-cheek press.
5. Ain't nothing like that "cool breeze" on your nethers to really keep you focused on the task at hand.
6. Couldn't they at least add some sound proofing? I don't need a "reassuring" echo of my business.
7. You might want to consider bringing your own toilet paper. Sometimes, there are four rolls on the locked metal bar and sometimes, you don't even get a full sheet. Do you really want to take that gamble?
8. Don't. Look. Down. If you're not careful, you could lose your sunglasses or camera or small child. My dad once lost a flashlight. I wonder what that next person thought of that.
9. Maybe it's just me, but somehow, I just don't feel done without a flush. So unsatisfying.
10. No sinks. Seriously. NO SINKS. At least now they're putting in hand sanitizer stations.

Snippets from the Snippy

We went on a mini vacation this past weekend. The Man needed some time out of cell phone range. While it was a pretty fun trip, there were a few highlights that make being a parent who believes in blackmail worthwhile.

For instance, there was much discussion and questioning and chatter and interrogating and oh-my-goodness-can-you-please-be-quiet-for-two-freakin'-minutes with regards to the facilities at the places of lodging. Specifically about the aquatic activities offered. The kids seemed to forget that this was a trip to visit historically significant sites or beautiful displays of God's handiwork. Not one big swim meet. It was after an afternoon of whining and begging for the pool instead of listening to park rangers when I snapped.

Me: Alright, there will be no more whining, complaining, or in any way making a negative comment about this vacation until after dinner or so help me, you will stay in the hotel room and watch me through the window swimming and doing cannonball dives and belly flops to my heart's content. Do you understand?
Boo: ...
Boy: My leg hurts.
Me: (Head exploding)

I will say that after a morning and afternoon of hiking and heat and humidity and sweating and drinking lukewarm water from a source also shared with my toddler, who does not grasp the finer points of preventing backwash, slipping into the pool was actually pretty darn nice.

Stressed is Desserts Spelled Backwards

A few weeks ago, I did the unthinkable on a Sunday: I didn't stress out.

Most of my readers are in the same leaky boat as I am: LDS mother with more young children than hands, husband with important duties at church or at work (or both), and with the desire to attend church weekly, family intact. Like most of those moms, I pass through the chapels doors with children in tow in various states of irreverence. And I probably ran out of time so I'm not wearing lipstick, one eye is twitching from all the reminding/nagging I've had to do that morning, or one of my little blondes has a head full of tangles. But hey, we're all present and accounted for!

On that particular Sunday, I was on my own. The Man was in a different city on a business trip. No worries. I'm a professional parent. This is why they pay me the big bucks, right?

It started off with a decision. I'd hit snooze one (or three) too many times and was now running late. I could either leap of bed, start the yelling early as I tried to get my kids out of bed while plunging myself into my closet in search of clothes, or I could take a deep breath, taking it easy.

I chose Door #2.

Rousing the sleepyheads took three trips to their bedrooms (except for Baby, who became my saggy-diapered shadow immediately) but the kids were up. Sunday clothes selected the night before, they set to getting dressed while I showered and got myself ready. Breakfast was eaten at a normal pace, which stopped the crying fits over being rushed into a meal choice (really, it takes careful contemplation as to whether today is a cinnamon toast kind of day or if cold cereal is better suited, or the whole day would be ruined). My makeup (aka: my war paint) went on while they ate. As soon as bums were out of seats, I gave them their instructions. Plates/bowls and cups on the counter, then get your bag ready for church. Since this was a no-yelling morning, I only reminded the distracted kids about their duties before moving on with my tasks. 

While I managed to eat something, Boo got Baby dressed. The Boy made sure her church bag was stocked with a snack and her current favorite toy. Slippery soft hair was combed and contained (except for the Boy, who nearly ran away from the comb screaming...I decided not to fight that battle). My bag ready to go, I ushered the kids into the car and we head to church.

No tears. No whining. No resistance. Smiles. Holding hands. Ready to worship our Father in heaven and learn of His Son. 

It was a great Sunday.

Also? We were half an hour late.

Just When I Expected the Worst

Sundays are kinda my day off.

Sure, I wake up the kids, approve church clothes, fix three heads of slippery soft hair, supervise the stocking of sacrament backpacks, buckle car seats, fix lunches, detail after-church activities, determine nap times, schedule home teachers, organize family dinner, prepare a large meal, and manage to include a nice dessert. But, still, it's the Man's job to supervise the kids during church, while I run around and attempt to keep tabs on the other 130 children (and no, that number is not an exaggeration).

This past Sunday, the Man was sick. I was on my own.

I asked the two older kids to please, please, please, for the love of all things chocolate-covered, please help me with Baby. They looked warily at their younger sibling but agreed. The fruit snacks only last so long. Baby gets wiggly pretty easily.

"What are we supposed to do?" Boo doesn't even bother to whisper.

"Just play together," I said, trying to catch the speaker's words.

And they did.

Zoobles hosted a tea party with Darth Maul. Littlest Pet Shops were Batman's pet dogs. The Human Torch became a trusty flashlight to retrieve lost crayons from under the seats.

As the first notes of the closing hymn started, the kids dutifully cleaned up, resorting toys back into their designated gender bias. I breathed a sigh of relief as little smiling faces hurried off to their classes.

Maybe I have this mothering-thing down after all!

FHE: Summer Chores

Now that the kids are older, it's time they earned their keep. No more free rides for these kiddos! I'm putting them to work.

Chores charts aren't exactly my strong suit. I talk a big game, have all these plans and determination. But the end result? Nada. Never makes it past the dream phase. To make things different this time around, I enlisted Boo and Boy in drawing up the system.

Opening Prayer: Baby (so dang cute that it's hard to keep from giggling)

Opening Song: Popcorn Popping

* I've read a lot of articles and blog posts lately that talk about instituting a different chore program for kids during the summer, complete with a reward system. Using different ideas, I came up with my own program. I presented my plan to the kids and let them give input.

Instead of giving them an allowance, they'd earn points redeemable for their favorite things. We discussed daily chores that I would expect them to finish six days a week. This is easy stuff like making their bed, keeping their clothes off the floor, and completing their dinner time assignments (Boy gets drinks ready and Boo puts plates on the table). This would give them six points every week. Then I added one little caveat: if they missed their chores on one of those days, then they would not receive any of those points. Gone. Poof.

Along with daily chores, they had weekly options. Four tasks that they needed to complete at least once a week. Each one is worth a point and includes vacuuming, smudge patrol, and tending the garden.

Just when I had them worried that their summer would be spent as my personal slaves, I showed them the last section on the chart. I left a space for Bonuses. These are for special projects or instances where they help me with Baby. Since they're spontaneous, the point values will be random. More points!

With images of points dancing in their heads, I pulled out the reward list. They could easily earn 10 points per week without any special bonuses so I started with 10 point prizes, like having a friend over to play. More intense rewards got higher prices, like a movie date with a parent is 50. I even set the bar pretty high with a tantalizing carrot: a new Wii game for 100 points. Boo has already decided which one she wants. And knowing her, she'll earn it, too. There were a couple prizes they wanted to add to the list but for the most part, they agreed with my suggestions. And I avoided rewarding them with sugar or cheap toys, going more for the experiences and activities.

BUT -- and I think this is where I went wrong all those times before -- they would also lose points for misbehavior, specifically one for every three time outs. Jaws dropped when I brought in this piece of fine print. I wanted them to take responsibility for their actions? What? I am really looking forward to this one.

Closing Song: Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam

Closing Prayer: the Boy

Treats: Milkshakes. The Man makes really, really good milkshakes.

Are you implementing chore charts for the summer?

* Image from PaintedGold.com, where there's some pretty good information on instituting chore charts.

When Thank You just isn't enough

Alternate titles: My Mother-in-law is better than yours!, It's the end of the world as we know it


One of the first questions people ask about our cruise is whether or not we brought the kids. Nope. Kids stayed at home with the Man's parents driving in to keep them in time out watch them. So we could bake ourselves on the boat deck, secure in the knowledge that sandwiches would be properly cut and bedtime rituals followed.

While we were away, Grandma G did something truly amazing. Well, she also cleared out my ruin of a laundry room, packed up all the too-small clothes that I'm too emotionally attached to touch, and reorganized the the toy room. But that's not the best part. Boo came home from an activity where she'd used a roller sweeper to help clean up. Grandma simply handed her the vacuum cleaner and set her to work on the living room carpet.

Now, both of the older kids literally argue over who gets to vacuum. I am documenting this for posterity.

Spring Clinging

Maybe it's the warmer weather or the plans to visit my sister soon but I keep thinking back to my childhood. I practically grew up in our backyard with my siblings, spending the days chasing the dog, climbing up on top of the porch roof (but don't tell my mom), crawling all over the swing set, pretending we were D&D characters (what, you didn't already know I was a dork?), and just being a kid. With all those memories, it's no wonder that I look out on our back window and just sigh.

We don't really have a backyard. When we first moved in, we liked the idea of an "open community," with shared areas and not a lot of fences. The neighborhood would be like one big family. Besides, we were so close to the park that kids could just go there to play, right?

Well, they don't have a wood swing sets like I had. And it's not as much fun to have a dog when there isn't a specific space for it. I'm not the accomplished gardener and landscaping that my mother is so every year the vegetable garden sprouts a bumper crop of weeds.

But my kids see it a different way. Here, there are plenty of friends and games around that it's not too hard to find some fun. With a bucket of chalk, driveways become art galleries. The local dogs are smothered with affection by my kids (except for Baby, who is still nervous around any pets that are too big for a hamster wheel). Lemonade stands and rock sales become a corporation. Bike parades and cookouts. Popsicles and dance shows.

It's not my childhood but I'm loving that it is theirs.

What was/is your favorite thing about your backyard?