Yosemite in the winter -- YIPPEEEE!

Okay, while I have a few minutes and have finally downloaded 3 months worth of pictures at one sitting, I'd like to pay tribute to our terribly missed friends, the Fennimores, and thank them for inviting us to cross-country ski with them in Yosemite 4 years ago. Since then, we have made it a tradition to go cross-country skiing in Yosemite each year sometime around President's Day weekend. It's really a stretch to call it cross-country skiing however, since this year, in particular, both Devon and I pulled polk sleds behind us, and Devon carried a child carrier/backpack while we skiied. Too bad we don't have any pictures of that -- the camera ran out of battery power about 30 minutes into our "ski trip". Alas.

When we got to the park, we stopped to play in the snow on the way to our cabin -- we played until dark and we were all completely soaked.

We tried out our new sleds, picked up at the Kmart right outside the park, and found it pretty tricky to avoid the trees.

Ella enjoyed her ride in the sled, but she showed her true colors when we stopped for lunch and she commandeered Devon's skis and poles and skiied up and down a pretty steep hill for over an hour. Sam and Luke were pretty mellow until we broke for lunch, but all their pent-up energy was quickly released as they plowed into each other, pummelled each other with "snow balls" and beat each other with our ski poles.

Sam stuffed cookie after cookie in his mouth whole--almost choked but just kept on doing it until we had to take them away.

Better Late than Never -- Child Family Reunion

Okay, since we're just getting up to speed with the whole blog idea, and since we are desperately lax in our correspondence with our most beloved friends and family, here are a few pictures from our most recent visit to Utah (yes, it was back at Thanksgiving. . . I know, I know) that are LONG overdue. We had a great time playing at the park while Laurel insisted on taking dozens of pictures -- our smiles were WAY past stale by the time we were really set free. . .


We spent time with our six cousins (four 2-year-old boys under one roof--need I say more) riding bikes, fighting over toys, playing in the freezing cold, biting through lips, fighting over toys, admiring the animals at the Bean Museum, destroying Foxy Nana and Foxy Papa's brand new addition, eating ourselves sick, and, well, fighting over toys.


It couldn't have been better, and we can't wait for the summer when we can visit again, cheerfully rearrange the furniture (not on purpose), raise the noise level a few decibels, traumatize poor Maddie, and generally bring happiness, joy and chaos to the nana and papa we love and miss so very much.

Pecked to death by a duck . . .

I honestly can't remember where I heard this the first time, but someone, whoever it was, in an attempt to diffuse a scary parenting situation (I was probably red faced and exasperated, trying to clean yogurt off the rug or peanut butter off the walls) told me that raising small children was like being pecked to death by a duck. I considered this for a moment and then realized how true that felt to me -- the byline of my life. I think of this often when I'm consoling screaming children for the 3rd time in 3 minutes or making dinner with two 32lb weights sitting on my feet, and I realize that being pecked to death by a duck isn't the worst way to go. Sometimes it's downright enjoyable.