Behold:

I'm expecting a matching range and microhood on Tuesday. It's all a part of my new budget plan: For every dollar that Matt spends on some shiny new thing for himself (have I mentioned his new six-wheeler?), I will also spend a dollar on some shiny new thing for myself. Stay tuned for my next post: Bankruptcy and You.

The last vacation Matt and I took was when we met up with my bestest friend and her then boyfriend/now husband in Mexico back in 2006. It was the "one last vacation" we promised ourselves we'd take before we started a family. We spent a week lounging on the beach and drinking beer all day. Lillia was born in December of 2007 and we've never been more than 100 miles from home with her.

But with grandparents, great-grandparents, and various other relatives in other states, it was evident we were going to have to take her on a real trip at some point. And so we did.

First: The plane ride. It was worse than I thought it would be, but only because I imagined Lillia zoning out on her Strawberry Shortcake movies - like she does at home -the whole way down. She did no such thing. On airplane rides, apparently, reading stories, coloring on window shades, and LOTS and LOTS of snacking is required. Also, she has entered a heightened level of two-ness, and anytime I asked her to stop doing something, she thrashed around and let loose with a blood-curdling scream.

But I only had to ask her to stop a few times, and she did settle in for a nap - about 10 minutes before we landed in Seattle.

So then there was the added fun of carrying her almost 30-pound self from one end of the airport to the other so we could catch our connection to Spokane. Of course, she woke up as soon as we boarded the plane, much to the entertainment of everyone else on board.

When we got off the plane in Spokane and stepped outside, it was probably 85 degrees. Lillia was all smiles. I was all smiles. We were ALL all smiles. In case you haven't picked up on it, summer at home has been rather lame. Let me put it this way: We broke a record this year for days in a row of measurable precipitation. 31. 31 days. 

We spent the first evening in Idaho on Grandpa Denny's (Matt's dad) back deck oohing and aahing about the weather.

The next day, we took a drive to Lake Coeur d'Alene where Lillia dipped her toes in, ran away from, and finally (accidentally) dove headfirst into the water. It was delicious.

We visited with Lillia's Great-grandpa and Great-grandma on their ranch a few nights. Lillia played in the thick grass, smelled all of grandma's pretty flowers over and over again, and was absolutely enchanted by the horses. She even spent some one-on-one time with Grandpa Denny a couple of mornings helping to feed the animals while Matt and I stayed back at the house. She got to ride Zip one time, and I think it was the highlight of the trip for her.

Lillia's 5-year-old cousin Avery was staying with Denny and his wife Becky while we were there, and thank God.

The two girls kept each other occupied enough that us grown ups were able to enjoy some delicious libations an evening or two. (I have a new favorite drink, BTW: Vodka, limeade, and a touch of cherry concentrate. It's grand.)

Another day, we met a boat load of Matt's family for a sort of mini-reunion at the park by the lake. Becky had been planning it for months. There was a huge turnout. And I thought I was the one with the big family... We brought some fresh Alaska red salmon down with us and Matt grilled it up, to everyone's delight.

On our last full day, we went with Denny, Becky, Becky's kids, and Avery to Silverwood theme park. The big kids (i.e., Becky) enjoyed the roller coasters while Matt, Denny, and I took the kids on some less puke-worthy attractions. Lillia was scared at first on the Ferris wheel, but once it started spinning she loved it.

By the time I joined them on the log water ride, she was giggling on the way down the hill and I was the one screaming.

We ended the day at the water park, where Matt pushed Lillia and I around the lazy river on inner tubes. She wouldn't get out of the water until she found out that Tom Cruise was walking around there somewhere. Or maybe that was me... Anyway, she passed out in the car less than two minutes after we left.

It was a different kind of vacation than our last one. I'm glad we had that Mexico vacation, and I'm glad we had this one. Good times. Good life.

People near me may have noticed a bit of irritability lately. People not near me, if they could hear what was going on inside my car, might have wondered why I drove to work yesterday yelling "I hate you people!" to every vehicle that got anywhere near mine on the way. (In my defense, they WERE driving like dumb asses.) There are a few factors that may have contributed to this bit of a funk. The rain. The failure of not one but two medical facilities to be competent. But mostly, I think I was on the brink of a complete breakdown at the thought that everything on this here blog might possibly have vanished. Permanently.

First, an error message appeared on my admin page. Before I could contact my web host, my login information stopped working, which meant I couldn't post here anymore. A day or two after I started corresponding with my web host, the page, its design, and its contents disappeared completely.

Because the support folks are apparently on the other side of the world, and I've had a hectic schedule with work and family engagements, I averaged about one email a day with them. And the lack of fluency in the English language may have slowed things down a bit too, since some of my emails were used up asking "WTF did you just say?"

At one point, my web host told me they could get the website back up and running, but they'd have to recreate my account and therefore scrap everything I've put into it for the past year and a half. They told me I could ask my site design folks what they could do. I did and, although they were a little slow in getting back to me and I have no idea what they said to me in any of the messages they sent, my shit is back!

So, about that little family vacation... Coming up. Thank God.

It's happening. Almost six months, thousands of dollars, and two noisy roosters later, the hens are laying eggs.

Well, one of them is, anyway. Snowflake presented us with a single little pink egg yesterday. Matt heard the chicken cackling up a storm, went out to check the coop, and found it buried in the sawdust. He came rushing in to show me and promptly dropped it. It cracked, so he cooked it up right away as a pre-dinner snack.

About 3,000 more of these and we might be getting close to "worth it."

Lillia loves bubbles. Washing her hands tends to be a five-minute ordeal because she insists on playing with the bubbles that remain in the sink once we've turned the water off. EVERY TIME.

That love has become Shakespearean, apparently, as evidenced by a scene that played out in her bubble bath a few nights ago:

   Lillia: Mommy, where did all the bubbles go?

   Mommy: They are going away honey. They don't stay forever.

  Lillia, scooping up a handful of the few bubbles left in the tub and holding them in her outstretched hand: Goodbye, bubbles!

Then she kissed them gently and hugged them against her chest, eyes closed.

And...scene!

I'm pretty sure this kid is going to make me millions.

Lillia, after another round of nebulizer treatments: I love this daddy! My daddy is the best! Oh, there's Maccy dog! I love him!

Matt: Man, I want some nebulizer. That stuff's like baby ecstasy.

One morning a few weeks ago, I woke to Matt getting up early - really early. Apparently the beagle was whining to go outside before our alarms went off. I heard the sliding glass door open, and then I heard what sounded like a death cry. Over and over again.

In case you haven't heard, this particular beagle eats everything. Including fishhooks and screws. So when I heard that hellacious noise, I thought he was shitting something horrible. "Wow," I thought. "He's dying for sure this time."

I stared at the ceiling until Matt came back and climbed into bed. "What was wrong with him?" I asked.

"I guess he had to pee," Matt said.

"Well what the hell was that sound?"

"That was Pecker." One of the roosters. Apparently roosters go through a "voice change" as adolescents just like boys do. And a pubescent rooster crow is like something out of a slasher film. And loud. I'm surprised the neighbors weren't all screaming at us out their bedroom windows.

So the next day, Matt found Pecker a new home (one that may have featured some seasoning and a side of potatoes - one can never tell). And all was well.

Until 5 O'clock this morning. Our remaining rooster, a big white guy named Cockasian, has found his cock-a-doodle-doo. And, much like when 13-year-old female humans hit puberty, we will all suffer.

Any takers?

I have once again spotted the crazy bitch I mentioned here and here. As I was walking into my office building, I caught the maroon Impala out of the corner of my eye.

"No way," I thought to myself.

I turned to look and, sure enough: License plate number MS B.

And then? She parked. You guys, she works in the same building as me!

Luckily, I wasn't in the crosswalk as she arrived because I'm certain I wouldn't have been walking fast enough for her and she probably would have mowed me down. But I stood in the lobby waiting to see if I would recognize her when she walked in. I like to be aware of any psychos with whom I am in contact on a daily basis.

I couldn't make an entirely positive ID, but there was one strong possibility. Sans sunglasses this time! (Applause.) Not only does she work in my building, but she works for the same company that I do.

I guess I will be circling the parking lot before I leave work each day to make sure this chick is either long gone or far, far behind me. Or maybe she could just hurry up and get arrested for reckless driving so the rest of Anchorage could be safe on the roads.

Me: Time to wake up, baby.

Lillia, with her eyes still closed: MARSHMALLOWS.

On Monday evening, our neighbor down the street - the one who does us the favor of calling to tell us when our stupid beagle has been barking for the past hour, not because he's complaining! Just being a good neighbor! - called to let us know there was a cow and her newborn calf moose headed our way. We stood out on the front porch and watched them nibble on some birch trees, until they headed to the backyard. At that point, Matt went from enjoying nature to preparing for battle with an armful of rocks. You see, we went to the nursery this past weekend, and moose really like apple trees...

Luckily the pair was done eating for the night and we didn't have to find out how things turn out when a man boxes a moose.

Dudes, remember the crazy driver who caused me to relapse into Road Rage a couple of weeks ago? I saw her taking ownership of the highway again last week!

I did not interact with her on this occasion - luckily, because I'm pretty sure the more I come into contact with this chick, the more likely I am to be run off the road. Or to run her off the road. Either way.

This time I was a lane over and a few cars back at a stop light, and almost thought maybe someone else was driving the car (which I recognized by its license plate) because she actually STARTED GOING when the light turned green.

A few seconds later, however, I knew this was my girl because when the car in front of her turned on its blinker and then slowed to make a right-hand turn, she layed on the horn. When that car got out of her Highness's way, she proceeded to tailgate the next car in front of her. When that one tried moving into another lane - TO GET OUT OF HER WAY - it had to slow down as well to wait for room. HONK! HOOOOONNNKKK!

A warning for all who drive anywhere between Anchorage and Wasilla: Maroon Impala. 18- to 22-year-old female driver who wears sunglasses on rainy days. License plate MS B. Dangerous. Do not approach. Bitch probably bites.

After all the desperate preparation leading up to my sister-in-law's baby shower, it turned out to be a rather easy-going event. People came, ate, gave gifts, chatted, and left. When all but family had gone, Kaili and her baby daddy fired up the grill and we all gathered around the fire pit for a game of dangle balls.

Lillia really liked carrying a set of "jingle balls" around with her.

My father-in-law Stan, a horseshoes champion, found this game to be right up his alley and took it all very seriously.

Kaili's belly did not stop her from scoring a few points for the team.

And someone even managed to get a photo of me in there somehow. There is a mom in this family, after all.

It was the start of a short, four-day breather for me before I go all Type A again in preparation for a dear old friend's bridal shower/bachelorette party next weekend.

After that, I will be photographing her wedding, which is, like, insanely stressful and also super exciting. By the end of the year methinks I shall have a pretty substantial portfolio.

And when that's all over and done with, you can be sure I'll have another creative project on my plate. It's already in the works. Details (possibly) coming soon.

And no, family, I'm not pregnant.

Me: Do you want some milk?

Lillia: Yeah! Miruku!

Dude, that's Japanese for milk! Yay! She speaks Spanish, internet, AND Japanese!

The other night, as I was serving her dinner, Lillia whispered something. I asked her what she was saying, and she gave a shy smile and whispered again. Once more, I asked her to repeat herself, and this time she said it loud and clear:

PBS kids dot org slash read.

My two-year-old daughter recites web addresses in her spare time (and is possibly watching too much television). Insanity.

Let me preface my forthcoming rant by acknowledging that yes, I have suffered from the debilitating disease that is known as Road Rage. I came out about that here. However, even at the height of my sickness, not once did I ever display the serious symptoms and unjustified frustration of this madness as I witnessed Monday when I left my office.

Having lived through and often still struggling with the disorder myself, I recognized the symptoms right away; Two cars back, a maroon Impala tailgating someone right up to the RED light - as if getting to the red light faster would somehow get the driver to her destination more quickly. The headlights had an intense look about them, and it occurred to me that perhaps one's emotions can be transferred to one's vehicle. This driver was going to get where she needed to be and nothing was going to stop her. Not even rush hour traffic.

By the time the light turned green, I had stopped paying attention to the anxious car and its owner. But once I made my turn, the two cars between us moved to another lane and that left nothing but a few yards between me and crazy eyes. Then a few feet. Then a few inches.

In my past life, I would have brake-checked the shit out of this chick. But I abstained. I just continued on at an appropriate speed. When she had a chance to do so, the probably-not-older-than-18-years-old girl who was driving, at whom I glanced (and that is all, I SWEAR) when she passed me, got in the other lane, sped by me, and then pulled back in front of me. At which point she reached a red light. Again. Now I am behind her. And that is when she sticks her arm out her window and as high up as it will go and flips me the bird.

I didn't believe the gesture was directed at me at first. I actually looked around to see if there there was another, more obvious recipient. When I realized I must be the target, I gave her a WTF? look, which I doubt she saw through her sunglasses (NOT a sunny day, BTW) and tinted windows.

Starting to feel that familiar feeling of blood boiling and adrenaline pumping, I immediately began implementing my Road Rage Anonymous (RRA) calming techniques: Give her the benefit of the doubt. She WAS on her cell phone. Maybe there's an emergency. Perhaps she is on her way to the hospital or something. I have been in a hurry myself a time or two.

This theory, however, was quashed when, 10 seconds after the light turned green, the girl was still sitting there, refusing to move her car in the interest of pissing me off.

RELAPSE.

I honked my horn and still she did not move. Reminder: This was at 5 o'clock. Peak rush hour. Other cars wanted to get through that intersection. This time I layed on my horn. She started moving forward and so then did I. But then she slammed on her brakes - hard enough that the back end of her car bounced. This little shit was trying to get me to rear end her.

Finally she moved but, of course, took the same entrance ramp that I did a few hundred yards down the road. Before she turned, she made sure to slam on the brakes again. Luckily (or so I thought) she took the ramp to the highway while I diverted off on the frontage road. (It was actually a momentary victory for me, as traffic was moving pretty slowly on the highway and I blew kisses as I coasted past her on the empty frontage.)

Sadly, she exited on the same street that I was headed to and ended up right next to me. We both pulled into the roundabout at the same time and once again, she cut me off.

I was shaking mad. But I know better than to chase people down in their cars and ram them with my vehicle. (Lesson learned.) Those are the kinds of situations where the law gets involved. And then it hit me.

"911, what is the location of your emergency?"

I was able to give a full description of the driver and her vehicle, including the license plate: MS B. You know, 'B' as in BITCH!