Somewhere they don’t want to be.
Kiki could be looking at Greyson because he's doing something weird.
Greyson could be doing something weird.
Tristan could be bowing his head in disbelief.
Greyson could be stretching.
Kiki could be looking at him because she wants to avoid the camera.
Tristan could be scratching his head because it itches.
A myriad, a MYRIAD of possibilities.
But, where are we?
I’ll give you a hint. Can you see fear in the eyes?
How about now?
This expression spells it out:
They'd already been in for their exam and cleanings, this was the down and dirty trip. The you're-going-to-feel-a-little-pressure, trip. And if a dentist tells you you're going to feel a little pressure? Buckle up. credit to Brian Regan
There was a lot of waiting involved.
A lot of time to anticipate your turn while you listened to the drilling and suctioning in the adjacent room.
Hey, look! A mustache? Is that coming through on your monitor?
But I guess James Dean would never have done this.
Are we bored to tears yet?
How about now?
Nope, James Dean would definitely never have let anyone see up his nose.
I take that back.
Don’t worry, Tristan, not too much longer until the dentist can
yank out your tooth by it's roots, I promise.
Audience, I jest not…
That sucker was dug in tighter than a cuttlefish in a mud bucket.
You can make anything sound like a colloquialism if you just throw in a southern accent.
The morning started dark and gloomy outside. and then–SHAPOW!–a sudden hail storm.
Hail on the trampoline.
Hail swimming in the patio umbrella.
Kerplunking off the patio furniture.
Finding refuge against the house.
Huddling in a corner.
But the picture he wanted captured most of all was:
“Mom! Look how shiny the basketball is! Take a picture, can you take a picture?”
Yes I can.
And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. In the words of Greyson:
“Today, was a weird weather day.”
This post was brought to you courtesy of Wordpress, where I composed and uploaded it, copied it and pasted it all over here. If Blogger has room for that, I don't get why they don't have room for just doing it the old way. Because they want to make Life as hard as possible?
We didn't have time to figure out what to do about running out of room on Blogger and not being able to upload anymore pictures. Todd thinks I should move to Wordpress (and that it's long overdue). So until we do figure out the fate of What's Going On Here, I went into the "drafts" folder and found this post that's almost exactly a year old. I didn't post it then because I thought it would be mean. But I think it's okay to post it now. I think. I hope. But I've made REALLY bad decisions before, like my Homecoming dress in 11th grade. So if it's not okay, please let me know.
Every once in awhile we find an overdone fruit hiding in the fruit bowl.
This is the first time we've found a guest....
Haj is coming to visit. With Georgie!
They hate spiders. Because this is what they do--
Spiders, spiders, everywhere Spiders hiding in a pear When you think you're safe in bed Rappelling spiders overhead Spiders don't respect your space Spiders skip across your face
I bet they can't wait to come now!
Don't worry Haj, we've got 8 spider hunters on full-time duty.
"Mom, who was the first person ever to think of chewing with your mouth closed?"
"I don't know, Tristan, that's a good question."
"I think I know. I think it was me."
Now pretend there is a darling picture of Tristan here, chewing with apple in his mouth, his lips pressed tightly together. Pretend I did not get this message instead: Unable to upload file (DSC_0213.JPG) because the site has exceeded its file upload quota.
And if anyone knows what that means, please inform. Is this the end of "What's Going On Here?"
No more pictures?
No more creative outlet?
No more purpose?
The rug has been ripped out from under me.
Remember that picture of the tulip I posted just the other day?
It had opened it's delicate petals in promise of the sun's warmth and care...
...and had gotten a face full of slush.
I feel like I'm in 7th grade all over again. It was a tough year.
The truth is, the truth is, His hand is behind, before, and upon me, and just like I survived being told in 7th grade that "if you stood sideways and stuck out your tongue, you'd look like a zipper", I will survive not being able to post pictures anymore. And God knows, maybe something will happen to fix it all.
And confusion. (Note the fudgesicle smear on the left cheek).
The same reading of cards.
And waiting your turn.
Oh, and look!
This has nothing to do with Horseopoly.
He just proposed trading-back with Tristan. Trade-backs are illegal in our house, thus the unsure stance.
What does he want to trade back?...
This. Which used to be his, but he traded it with Tristan for something, or maybe it started out as Tristan's and Tristan traded it to Sawyer and then Sawyer wanted it back--this is why it's illegal in our house. It's exhausting to keep track of.
Anyway, it's his now.
You'd think wearing fudgesicle all over your face would dampen your spirits a bit, but not when you're holding the object of your heart's desire: a gadget! Nevermind that you'll never pry it open, you've got a gadget!!!
Please, be our guest and leave a comment (unless you're a big-fat-meany ).
Quote of the Moment
I dare say, angels' pens, angels' tongues; nay, as many worlds of angels as there are drops of water in all the seas, and fountains, and rivers of the earth, cannot paint him out to you." - Samuel Rutherford