This is a shrimp:

Today we learned that little E can safely eat them. She invented a dance during the four hours we spent at the allergist's office. In the dance she prances around the room bowing head and outstretched arms in praise and worship of the new, strange tasting delicacy. We are all delighted. 

Games such as YuGiOh and Pokemon are really big among homeschooling boys; in fact it was a bunch of older homeschool boys who first gave J. their cast-off cards when he was 4, starting an obsession that I wasn't really keen on.

The cards and their complicated games don't win my favor for a number of reasons, the primary one being that I find it all rather silly and also that they are the epitome of the vicious child-consumerism trap to which my son seems to be magnetically attracted. So, we're clear on the fact that I'm not thrilled about this kind of thing, right?

But, then there is this issue of how the boy loves the stuff. All the crazy monsters with their bizarre powers really floats his boat. And many of his friends enjoy these games--he has formed quite a few friendships over the trading of cards (usually his really awesome card traded for something significantly less awesome . . . )

Over the years it's been kind of tough to balance my dislike of it all with a recognition and acceptance of the pleasure it gives him. It was doubly difficult because my son never actually seemed to want to master the games--simply collect the cards, play-act really awesome sounding (but completely fake) game scenarios, and have conversations with his friends that go like this: "Dude, I sooo need to get that new WonkyFart tin! It's got the most awesome  Limited Edition Fire Bomb Radiation Ghost-Turtle card, and my deck just can't compete without it. Once I have it I'll totally have the power I need to defeat the masters!"

Truth be told, he really had a hard time figuring these games out, but didn't want to admit it. I even tried to learn to play the games so I could help him, but my brain is too old and feminine for that.

As luck would have it, another homeschooling family offered a Pokemon class last week, and Julian attended and got some hints and help and had a wonderful time. This family was also enthusiastically promoting a tournament that happened today. They are enthusiastic because their boys happen to be ace Pokemon players who have won thousands in college scholarships by winning such tournaments.

And so J. went. He was all puffed up with plans to blow the world away by walking in there a complete unknown and leaving with the No.1 prize of scholarship plus airfare to Nationals. He was so certain:

And lucky for me his dad took him and helped him through the rough spots as he clawed his way to 51st place (out of 75, man, that's really not so bad for a first timer!) He shed a few tears, I hear. But he came home a happy camper--and just a bit more mature, I think. Humility isn't a bad thing, you know.

One day you have one loose tooth:

And the next day, POOF! The tooth fairy is out a good chunk of change:

How does one loose tooth turn into two-teeth-gone within 24 hours? Lots and lots of wiggling and jiggling, that's how. Because for some dumb reason the tooth fairy deals in $2 bills these days (whose bright idea was that? I think maybe it was Jill's ).

Funny things happen when a 7-year-old starts loosing teeth at such a fast pace. Spring suddenly sprung and the world was a beautiful place:

She started coming out of her shell a bit, SMILING ALOT, smiling really wide, big, gaping smiles. And the sudden influx of fairy cash made her keen to earn more (alas, no more teeth would budge). She forgot her normal shyness and actually ventured out of the house in search of more moolah. For the first time ever, she attempted a solo lemonade stand.  She ended up attracting the help of some other neighborhood girls in the end, but I have to admit that I was ever so proud of my littlest one when she set all this up herself:

This week we went out with the kids, after dark, to my alma mater , to indulge ourselves in the loud raucous energetic percussive antics of ScrapArtsMusic . And we took a picture. And I'm in it. And I figured out how to resize images. I know, we look wet and dirty. We were, because we are an uncouth family and have no understanding of clean clothing or umbrellas for rainy weather.

Then we did this bizarre thing. Out of the blue, and despite being completely broke as far as the bank account goes, we bought a car. Not just any car. A Second Car. WE are a 2-car family. And not just any 2 cars: 2 gas guzzling Kia Sedonas. And because this happened so quickly I still don't know what hit me. And I realized as I went to type this that I haven't even taken a good picture of the pretty new vehicle. So I ran out into the wet driveway in my socks and shot this image. Because I just learned how to resize photos in Picassa:

Sorry. I know that doesn't help much. I'll take a better picture later.

 My kids are really the family photographers these days, because they are the only ones with working cameras. Here are my daughter's artistic impressions of the new car, all taken from within while we traveled to celebrate Easter with the in-laws:

That last shot is my mommy, and I think she's cute.

We've been given the opportunity to get a free piano (not counting moving costs). And I said yes, whether or not the husband agrees. We don't have room for it, but that's okay because I had the gall to go and fall in love with a house. The house. It happened just today. And despite having just bought a second car 2 days back and agreeing to pay to move a piano, I've decided we must now also buy the house. Just make it so, right?

Finally, my etsy shop is suddenly exciting to me again. After a few quiet, stale weeks I've decided to make elf booties. Really it came about at the insistence of a customer. My prototype is in the works:

My next goal is to run a promotion called "Slipper the World" in which I will offer a 10% discount or free shipping (whichever is the better deal) to the first slipper orders destined for countries I haven't yet infiltrated. I am excited to have slippers residing in Britain, Greenland, Canada and Spain right now, and really want to have representation across the globe. My next order will live in Hungary after a stopover in Scotland and I'm anxious to get some slippers to a friend of my mom in Kuwait. Australia or New Zealand are top on my list of hopefuls right now, and I'll double the discount for Antarctica.

To draw the self-indulgence to a close, I made rice-krispie treats tonight. E has a friend over to spend the night, and to get them to stop eating all the marshmallows I promised to make them. Of course, I didn't get them made until after they went to bed, so I guess that's breakfast. If there are any left . . . 

It's been a long time since someone asked me to sing them to sleep. I'm not much of a singer, believe me, but when the request comes I immediately begin: 

"Close your eyes, and I'll sing you a song,
Lullaby, sleep til morning comes. "

I don't know the lyrics for very many songs, and I usually flub them up no matter what. I've forgotten even all the songs I created for my kids over the years, but this one is burned in my brain . . . 

"The cricket's serenade echoes softly through the night.
The stars are on the lake, and the moon is shining bright."

It's because of my husband. He was the first to identify this song as "the song,"  I cannot recall if it happened at the hospital while we were waiting to give birth, or if it was later at home after our first tiny bundle came home. But I do remember that there were tears in his eyes as he told me he wanted to play this song for his baby . . .

"Don't worry, I'll leave the light on in the hall;
Just go to sleep now, close your eyes."

The CD had been loaned to me by a friend from work, and she had to threaten me to get it back (you know, I don't do that kind of thing on purpose! I'm the forgetful sort.) It was filled with funny, cute songs. And this one gorgeous lullaby . . . 

"Close your eyes, listen to my song,
Lullaby, sleep until the dawn.
The birds are in their nest, and the cows are in the barn,
The covers on your bed will keep you safe and warm;
Don't worry, I'll be beside you should you call,
Just go to sleep now, close your eyes."

I guess it stuck with me at first because of my husband, but stayed with me because of my son. This next part always elicited a sleepy sigh and smile from my boy, never failed to send him happily off to dreamland, and must have something to do with his continuing fascination with the winged beasts:

"Dragons in the sky,
Flying with their golden treasure,
If you catch their eye,
Wishes granted, more than you can measure;"

And tonight I'd hoped it would do the same for my daughter, the one who placed the request 2 hours past her bedtime while she tried desperately to keep me off her back about going to sleep. What else can a mother do but turn to the old reliable? 

"I'll be beside you should you fall,
Just go to sleep now, close your eyes."

No luck, though. I ended up sending her already sleeping father in there to lull her to sleep with his snores. While it might have always worked on her older brother (at least after the second try), it wasn't doing anything for her. Still, I always do leave the light on in the hall. And I know my kids can feel it whenever I sing it; this song means something to us all.

"The cricket's serenade echoes softly through the night.
The stars are on the lake, and the moon is shining bright.
Don't worry, I'll leave the light on in the hall;
Just go to sleep now, close your eyes.
Just go to sleep now, close your eyes."

("Lullaby" from Trout Fishing in America's Big Trouble )