It's the end of the summer

First day of school, part one: Johanna
Johanna's elementary school was combined with a neighboring school this summer, which means that there is a lot of chaos going on.  So.  They decided that the odd grades (1, 3, 5) would go today and the even grades (K, 2, 4) would go tomorrow, and then everyone would go on Thursday.  This is fine and all, but having a kid who has been counting down the days for school to start since roughly the Fourth of July, getting to go one day and then having a day off is a bummer.

(P.S. This is part one, by the way, because Abby had today off, but goes tomorrow.  Today was sixth grade only at the middle school.  Being a big seventh grader, she used the extra day to... text her friends, probably.)

Johanna was up at 7 a.m. this morning (surprising--I'd guessed she'd be up at 6), and was jumping around and chattering away about this FINALLY being a school day.  She ate breakfast (one of Eric's deer sausage meat-stick things.  Well, why not?), brushed her teeth, and then consented to let me brush her hair, but only because she wanted pigtails.  The mere fact she let me touch her hair with a brush is a miracle of epic proportions.  Let's just say that girl usually rocks the rat's nest in back of her head because I'm too exhausted to argue about the benefits of the hairbrush on most mornings.

I took a few pictures of her before we left, using Abby's iPod because my camera is experiencing technical difficulties (namely, iPhoto won't recognize the pictures.  I just need to go in there and figure it out, but I haven't had time or the general inclination).  We were a little later out the door than I would have liked, but it was fine--there were still plenty of kids being dropped off when we arrived.  We waited in line for a while (behind this poor kid from the school that closed, who was just having a heck of a time, and I could tell her parents were anguished that she was so upset.  I tried to introduce her to Johanna, but she seemed unmoved.  Well, she's six.  What's one nice word against all that scariness?), and then it was Johanna's turn to get checked in.  She went to her desk, slid her backpack underneath, and began to work on a coloring page.  I dared to take a picture of her at this particular moment, and she actually rolled her eyes at the other kids around her and shook her head, as if to say, "Parents.  Whatcha gonna do?"  Excellent.  It's good to know I am not only an embarrassment to the preteen segment of our household.

One other thing I want to note: Our elementary school is awesome.  Everywhere that Johanna went, teachers were calling out, "Johanna!", and asking about her summer, and giving her hugs, and generally making her feel special and welcome.

I grabbed a pizza on the way home to celebrate the first day of school for Johanna / back-to-school eve for Abby.  Johanna met me at the door (Abby was too absorbed in a new book to give me more than a nod) and gave me a hug.  I asked her about her day, and this is what I've been able to glean:

1. Johanna has two new best friends.
2. She only remembers the name of one.
3. The friend whose name she remembers "has big teeth like me!  But not as big as that kid in Harry Potter."
4. They are best friends now because they all asked each other if they would be friends, and they all said yes.
5. School was "fun-ness!"
6. After school care was "great!"
7. She "drew the best picture of my life today!"
8. She went over to a friend from last year "just randomly to say hi, and then I walked away."
9. Three kids in her class last year walked up randomly just to say hi.
10. Apparently walking up to people randomly is the in thing to do in first grade.

Johanna was in bed by 8 p.m. (she's so tired), but of course, true to form, she's had to come out a couple of times to remark on the thoughts in her head, or to see what everyone else is up to.  It probably doesn't help that Eric is packaging up his hops tonight and has the FoodSaver running.  

I think it's pretty obvious that tonight's song has to be Theory of a Deadman, "End of the Summer."  (Sometimes it's almost too easy.)  Those days are gone, it's over now, we're moving on.  Goodbye, summer.

Hanging on a wall of stars

Yesterday, Eric and I celebrated our 16th anniversary.

The end.

(Just kidding.  You're not getting off THAT easily.)

So anyway, our anniversary is September 2nd because:

1. It's an alliteration, which was important to me.
2. It's before deer season, which was important to Eric.
3. It's Labor Day weekend, and we thought that would cut down on attendance. 

Is it bad to admit #3 after all these years?  Look, here's the thing: We are shy.  The thought of all those people looking at us was scary.  And it didn't even work, because the church was packed.  Ah, well.

The weather yesterday was just like the weather the day we got married--full sun, warm and gorgeous.  Pretty much everything else was different, though.  For one thing, I was not wearing a big fancy dress, and Eric was not in a tux.  Oh, and the girls were running around like crazy heads.  And while there were crazy children at our wedding (I still haven't forgiven that one kid for chucking a handful of birdseed at my face, the little bastard), they weren't OURS.  So see?  Different.

In our town, we have this thing called First Friday, which, oddly enough, happens on the first Friday of the month.  Our favorite restaurant is downtown, smack in the middle of the First Friday chaos, but no worries, right?  That's why God gave us reservations.  Only they don't take reservations on First Friday.  What the heck, favorite restaurant?  Why are you trying to sabotage our anniversary dinner?  Rude.

I was late getting home because work was crazy, and I would talk about all that happened, but honestly,  it's TOO interesting, and it would detract from my little story here.  Not that I mind tangents.  But still.

Okay, fine.  It wasn't that interesting.  Happy now?

Eric and I dropped the girls off at my parents (hi Mom!) a little after 6pm and then headed downtown.  We were feeling a bit giddy, going into the thick of things and being potentially social, sans children and whatnot.  Or maybe we were just hungry.

We parked slightly illegally at a church and headed towards the restaurant.  There were people outside, and people walking past, and people all over the place.  We crossed our fingers and went inside.

And except for the bar area, the place was empty.  We could have had our pick of tables.  But what fun would that have been?

So we asked to be seated outside, and, happy day, our waitress came through with a nice little place sort of on the outskirts, which suited us just fine.  The patio was packed, but because of where we were seated, it was just us and the twinkle lights and our bread basket.

Mmm, bread!

After we'd chatted a bit, I pulled out Eric's card from my very awesome tote.  Eric and I don't exchange gifts on these sorts of occasions... or really any occasion, now that I think about it, because we're adults and our love is not measured by monetary offerings.  (Take that, The Man!)  But we do exchange cards. (What?  I like words.)  And I was feeling a little pleased with myself because I couldn't see any card on Eric's person, which would mean that I win because I brought mine to dinner.

Eric gets this smug look on his face--I had expected chagrin--and says, oh, are we exchanging our cards now?  And pulls his out of the pocket of his cargo shorts.  And I was all, damn!  Here I thought I was all awesome.  And now it's a tie.

So anyway.  Eric's card was funny and thoughtful and lovely, and it made me tear up a little bit. I'd share it, but it's MINE.

Eric ordered a chicken sandwich on this lovely looking roll, with cheese and bacon and some sort of mustard sauce.  I had my usual fish and chips.  And they were delicious.  I saved a piece of fish and most of the fries, though, because creme brule was in my future.

I feel that this is a testament to how much I love Eric: I shared the creme brule.  We are creme brule snobs, so we were all like, this topping does not shatter when we spoon into it, but the custard part is rich and creamy and delicious.  And even if the topping does not shatter, the flavor is reminiscent of caramel.  (We thought this was particularly hilarious and clever.  We need to get out more.)  Then we started listing our best creme brule experiences, which meant we had to talk about the worst, too.  Our conclusion: Creme brule is awesome.

Having been well fed, we decided we were up to go against the swarm downtown.  We went to the bookstore first--Abby has a book on order, and we were checking its status.  (Tuesday.)  Then we went into another little store... and quickly walked out... and then went into this "vintage" clothing store (nice spin on the second-hand aspect, no?)... and listened to a couple of guys playing guitars while we looked through the racks... and then left empty handed.  (I found a few things, just not in my size.)

And then we were all like, well, that was fun.  Let's go get the girls!  So we did.

P.S. My leftover fish and chips became the girls' bedtime snack.  They didn't even bother to warm it up. They just got out a couple of plates, divvied up the food, and kept telling me how great my fish and chips tasted.  I had to laugh.  My girls ARE pretty fantastic when they're not ripping each other's throats out.

...And that's the end.

Guster, "Satellite."  Because Eric is always the first star that I find.  (I know!  Cheesy!  I can't help it.)

It would kill you just to try and be a nicer... cat?

(Madie wants the Precious.)

Seriously, is it any wonder we keep encouraging Madie to go towards the light?  She's seen 16 years on this earth, and she hasn't enjoyed a second of the last three at least.  (Although two of those years might have something to do with Skilly joining the family.)

(Skilly tries to be tough, too, but he's too cute.  And he just ends up yawning.)

So how did Abby take the above photo of Madie freaking out, you ask?  Easy.  She just plopped Skilly up on the couch and caught Madie's reaction.  (Is it bad that we're all laughing ourselves silly over that picture?  Nicely done, Abby.  Nicely done.)

Aimee Mann, "That's Just What You Are."  Poor Madie.  She's maintaining that there's no point changing.  Which is unfortunate for the rest of us.