summers: bake until golden, enjoy immediately

B (pitched very high): Hi, I'm Junior Asparagus!
A: It's okay to eat vegetables that don't talk, Mr. Veggie-Tales.

I know it's a lousy picture, but there's a house in Billings that has an ENORMOUS suit of armor strapped to its front. And it's just, well, too crazy not to share.

The ladies who lunch have babies. I got to meet a bunch of women (mother, aunt, sister, cousin) for lunch during a weekend in Billings. Blake snuggled up to me as I got proof Maddox and I have been in the same place at the same time. You know... other than when he entered the world.

Doesn't Superman wash YOUR windows intensely?

The height of irony. Me, the editor, whipped up this gem for my boss, who is aptly described on the shirt. Not surprisingly, Ryan hasn't yet worn it.

The pole dancer. We're so proud - he's going to put himself through college!

It's been the summer of double rainbows. This beauty appeared during the Myers family "camping" weekend at a cabin on the Stillwater.

One of a scant handful of photos of our weekend in Missoula. The Myers girls ditched husbands and sons and ran to Missoula for a free-spirited, hippy-dippy of a time where we burned incense and made tie-die dresses to wear at the farmer's market. Reality: Lane had shingles, Reese was stuffed up with prego nose, and I was as self-absorbed as usual. Mom did fine with us, proving her mettle. The thinking at the time was that we had no idea when we'd be able to do such a thing again, as Reese was due to pop within the month and by the time her kids were growed up enough to leave with Matt again...

Lane or I would be pregnant or have new babies of our own (both tests were negative, which is the currently desired outcome).

Smith (left) and Mason (right) both happy and jammied up as they clap eyes on their Momma again.

Soybean, who arrived a mere WEEK after our Missoula trip. Um, yeah, he was a little early, and we had impeccable timing for our fun in the 'Zoo!

Sweet Noahster, who took one look at me and wanted to be held. I will take it as proof of his good taste, though Hannah assures me it's hard to keep him out of friendly-but-strange arms at the supermarket. He goes cheerfully to anyone! I then dipped him in BBQ and gobbled him up.

Hamming it up before the talent show put on by the preschool he attends. The pretty blonde in front is his dear friend, Ellese.

the rock star scuba diver

From some time this summer at my folks' house. He still loves that song.

I was getting ready for... something... when I saw this happen in the mirror behind me. Blake graciously repeated the performance for the camera.

Finally, I thought it would be fun to play with the color of B's increasingly long mohawk. He agreed and chose blue...

and I learned that I'll need to use gloves next time (photo courtesy Blake).

that's what he said

A: I'm gonna miss you something fierce when you go to Grammie Gee's.
B: Well, don't worry, cuz I will come back.
A: Oh, thank you.

*****
B: Aww, Mom, you're cute.
A: YOU'RE cute!
B: That's not what you're supposed to say! You're supposed to say "Thank you."
A: Oh. Thank you.
B: You're welcome.
A: You're funny.
B: I AM funny cuz I'm Hammy!

*****
R: I've played that before and didn't like it.
A: Well, maybe with a beer and a different group of people, it'll be more fun.
R: I bet that applies to a lot of things.

disciplining douchebag

I am glad you wrote the IPR article and that you guys posted the nicely edited and silkily narrated video too. Why? Because it reminded me that I had a dream a few weeks ago about the IPR course we attended in June. It was not so remarkable. It basically mirrored our shared experience, except for one thing: you kept calling people "douchebag," especially Skurka, who, in my dream, referred to your discipler as your "discipliner." I seriously laugh every time I think about it (my revised version is quickly supplanting the actual version in my mind).

I got this in an email from one of our companions in the Introduction to Packrafting class. It keeps making me laugh too, mostly because it sounds like it could be true.

the trick is being behind the camera - it's less scary

Though I publish a blog regularly, in my mind, this is more "self-indulgent navel-gazing" than it is real live publishing. Self-publishing is kind of like that... indulgent.

Well, to my intense trepidation, I have written something for public offering that has been published by my magazine, Backpacking Light. Rob took care of the video part, and it went live yesterday.

my derring-do and feats of valor

BUY THIS HOUSE!

mold just always sounds gross to me

Snippets of my day:

I found the DVD I was missing. Disc 1 of Season 2 of 30 Rock went AWOL at some unknown point, and I couldn't find it for the life of me, which drives me nutty insane. I hate not knowing where things are, especially when they should be in very specific places. Then I remembered that Rob had to send in his Blu-Ray player for repair work, which required my old DVD player to make an appearance in the house. Rob was not very happy about this - sulky even - but we had to have SOMETHING to while away the time. Blake's not going to rot out his brain without help. Voila! Upon plugging in said DVD player and pressing a button, my disc magically appeared and found its way back into the nice and clean cardboard and plastic holder that it calls home. Poor thing was probably scared and lonely out there in the garage.

I worked out today and am giving myself a pedicure tonight.

I have organized the genre of all my iTunes songs. I didn't realize this was something you could be OCD about until Rob was horrified by my lack of genre codifying. He's admitted to be a TEENSY bit uptight about genre, and I was so excited to find one of HIS hang-ups that I got on board. He is less excited about my hang-ups, but I might have one or two more than him.

Hurray for homegrown tomatoes! And basil! In a homemade quiche! I'd like to claim that I made the cheese and laid the eggs myself too, but that might be pushing it.

Crustless Tomato-Basil Quiche
*** Note ***
If you do not have a DeMarle cake mold and perforated baking sheet, you'll need a crust or a very well oiled pie pan.

• 6 eggs
• 1/3 cup cornstarch
• 2/3 cup milk
• 2 cups shredded cheese (your choice - I used Colby Jack)
• 1 cup cottage cheese
• 1 cup quartered cherry tomatoes or halved grape tomatoes
• 1 cup halved cherry or grape tomatoes, reserved for garnish
  
• 3 stems fresh basil

Wisk eggs until well beaten. Stir in cornstarch, milk, cottage cheese, and shredded cheese; salt and pepper to taste. Add non-garnish tomatoes to mixture. Reserve 10 whole basil leaves and snip remaining basil into mixture.

Place cake mold (I have a round one) onto perforated baking sheet and pour mixture into mold. Bake at 350 F for 45-50 minutes or until edges turn golden brown. Unmold onto platter and garnish with remaining cup of tomatoes and whole basil leaves.

shredding

I have receipts that predate me meeting the man who is now my husband.

Scratch that: earlier today, I had receipts that predated me meeting the man who is now my husband. Now I have mulch.

pulling out the big guns

I nominated my friend's Italian market in the "Shine a Light" contest... if she wins, she gets $100,000 in marketing money to help make it through a crappy business year. If she wins, I get $3,000 for nominating her.
*****
Update: she got what she needed. Thanks anyone/everyone!

that's what they said

B: Know what? All of us are soldiers!
A: What are we soldiers in?
B: We're a soldier family.

*****
T: (on I-90 East this morning) Look, this is my favorite part about Missoula.
A: What?
T: Leaving it.

*****
T: I hate you. I mean, I've always hated you, but now I'm saying it out loud.

(My offense? Getting Cheap Trick's I Want You to Want Me stuck in her head without her realizing it.)

*****
B: I need a Dr. Dew... I mean, I Dr. Pepper so I can be Hammy the squirrel. You can be Stella the skunk.
A: Hey! Why do I have to be stinky?!
B: No, Stella's a girl! She's beautiful. She gets a haircut.

*****
A: Wait, am I a gril or a boy?
B: Mom, it's not "gril." It's "girl" or "gal." Those mean the same thing.
A: WHO TOLD YOU THAT?!
B: Grammie.
A: Well, I am calling my mother.
B: Why?
A: She's in trouble for correcting you. "Gril" was cute.
B: But I just want to say the right things!

*****
(And I have photos and stories about T's and my time in Spokane together, including one without an ending as yet about the girl we saw on the side of the highway last night, in the middle of nowhere, at 10:30 pm. But I have to shower and go to bed because I work tomorrow and then must drive B to the border to leave him there. With Grammie Gee, sure, but essentially, I have overextended myself and I am quite close to a mental break that involves crying just so I can start over. Stories and photos can wait.)