Labor Day Weekend

All in all I think we had a pretty good visit with Ninny and Papa. I got this dress. At first I didn't want to wear a dress at all but within an hour I was loving it. I even posed for pictures.

Just a quick note about our weekend.

We took off straight after work and made it to Ninny and Papa's house pretty quickly. We only stayed up a little late but Saturday was going to be a big day. We drove over the mountain and picked up some vegetables. Then we stopped at an estate sale in an old hardware store. I got a new book.

When we got back I decided that I needed to climb the tree in the front yard. Lucky for me, my mommy encourages tree climbing, especially when the climbable part is no more than 3 feet off the ground. As it turns out this is the perfect height for me as well.

I am not a fan of spider webs and there were a couple of them in this tree. Also lucky for me, my mommy doesn't mind sweeping them away for me.

I found a shovel my cousin left in the tree and started pretending that I was in the movie "The Sword in the Stone".

Mommy says I just may be too cute for my own good. I saw Papa come home from work and I screamed, "I'm over here, Papa. I am in the tree with a shovel and a ladder."

Papa let me partake in the time honored tradition of removing the boots after work. Mommy swears she used to do this too. Papa has big feet.

Then I started in to playing with him. I didn't let up all night.

Papa had the most awesome idea. He said we'd be roasting marshmellows. I know what they are but I am not sure why he started this fire.

Then Papa squished two huge mallows on a stick and put them over the fire. I am a quick learner.

So I grabbed the other stick and a huge mallow and put them together. I swiped my mallow through the fire once.

I like my mallows extremely rare. Mommy put one in the fire until it was a toasty brown color and really squishy in the middle but I didn't even want to try it. She says one day she will teach me how to toast the perfect mallow, but I felt like mine was perfect just the way it was.

Mommy told Papa that if he was going to give me mallows that he had to stay up with me until I crashed. He asked Ninny to put on another pot of coffee. I ran it off though. When it got too dark to do laps around the yard . . .

I went inside and colored my heart out. I was able to spell my own name. We have been working on it in school.

Monday when we woke up, it was cool enough that I needed a jacket. I grabbed that and my "wui-tar" because we had a long trip ahead of us.

Of course the only fair I've ever been too was small and they didn't have a whole lot there so it was quite a big deal to go to the fair in Blackfoot.

Ninny rode the carousel with me. I love my Ninny and I made sure to tell my mommy that on the way home.

I got to ride the color worm roller coaster with mommy. If you think seeing her in this tiny car is funny, you should have seen her try to get out of the plane ride.

This was officially my favorite ride though. I want to go on it again and again.

At the petting zoo I got to feed the goats and sheep. The puppies were all too sleepy so I didn't get to hold one. Mommy said she wants to know why it is twice as much to buy a chihuahua as it is to buy a llama. She says you can at least eat the llama.

I got to pet this guy too. He has big, big feet.

Before when I was going to pet a goat there was a stranger holding it so I didn't want to. This time, I was ok with petting the animals. A few of them bowled me over. We had a pretty good visit.

POST 100

Stuck on post 99 for five months. How sad. It's not that I haven't had things to talk about . . . just not ready to talk about them just yet. So post 1oo, with it's writers block, shall pass unceremoniously. Thank you.

Oh, no you didn't.

For those of you out there who are vaguely unaware.  I am a slightly more conservative member of the free-range parenting movement.  I let my kid experience life.  I let her explore ways to help out.

For instance, just yesterday she decided she was big enough to help take the trash to the bin on the curb.  I feel, as a parent, that I should be there if she needs help (like hefting the bag into the bin that is obviously taller than she is) but I should let her choose whether she drags the bag of refuse down the right or left side of the car to get it there.  I mean, really, there isn't a right an wrong way to take out the trash.  There isn't a right and wrong way to load the dishwasher.  There isn't a right and wrong way to put your clothes in the hamper.  These are all things my daughter is excited to be able to help with and I am not about to do anything to hamper that willing attitude.  Since I left the nest, I have never lived with another person who didn't have to be nagged to help with chores at least once.  That is three sets of grown women as roommates and an ex boyfriend who would rather . . . well.  I will tell you that story someday, if you ask.

This is a time in my little girl's life when I have to encourage independence.  There are a number of things I would like her to go to college knowing how to do herself: cooking, saving, growing stuff.  Take the above picture for instance.  On the side of the sink you'll notice a missing (what was a half roll) of toilet paper.  You'll notice her hand nearest the camera is wet and what you can't see is that she is holding part of the paper roll the tp comes on.  In the potty is the other piece of that tube and on the floor over there is a slight smear of poop.  

Under that tube piece that is in the potty, though, is a larger piece of poo.  This is a huge milestone for us today.  She went into the bathroom on her own, pulled down her own pants (et al) climbed up on the potty seat and dumped a big ol' . . . in the pot.  She hollered at me to help her get cleaned up . . . obviously after she decided it was a bigger job than she could handle, but still.  It won't be long before I don't have to worry about random presents on the carpet.  If you've been following (hi, to the new person I am not sure if I know or not) this is the most glorious day of potty training yet.  I know I am a long way from this being consistent but she is trained at night and mostly consistent during the day.  I think I am going to cry as I type . . . she's getting so big.  But, she is still an only child.  Who only has a dog to play with.  She is also about to, in the not so distant future, spend two days in a car.  

Now, I know that in Oklahoma 50 degrees is analagous to 0 degrees, but where we are going - it actually is 0 degrees . . . in March.  I get that people in my neighborhood are aware that I am a single mom but folks, that does not mean that I am stupid.  Why do people think that?  It's not like there are politicians who are actively perpetuating the idea that single moms are poor, trailer trash that don't know how to keep from having children and are a drain on society or . . . wait.  I guess I should expect people to feel that way.  Unless they asked, they would have no way of knowing that I am an educated single mother with a full time job that provides ample insurance who has never taken a dime of help from anyone, not even her child's father and is currently pursuing her master's.  But that means someone would have to come and talk to me and they don't. 

That brings me to today and this last picture up there.  Xyla was squealing while she was playing with the dog outside today.  Running around the yard having a grand old time.  She was trying to keep him from eating her crackers.  As you can see she was wearing long sleeves, long pants and her shoes.  While it wasn't freezing, it was a bit chilly.  To be honest, she is not a child who will tolerate being cold.  When I felt her skin she was not cold (even her fingers).  She was running in and out of the house.  This is a common occurance where I am from.  Once it's warm enough (over 10 degrees) kids play outside.  When it hits a 50 degree heatwave, they can go without a coat.

The door bell rings.  I closed the back door just a bit so the dog didn't get out.  I honestly thought it was my neighbor bringing her kids over to play for a while so she had time to clean her house.  She was totally cool with her kids being outside too and she had just been out there in nothing but her house coat.  I open the door and it is actually the male neighbor from two doors down.  His wife had sent him over to ask me if I knew that my daughter was outside without a jacket.  

(Cricket)

(Cricket, cricket)

There are days when it is so hard to be polite.  I told him, thanks for his concern and that indeed I did know that she was out there.  I started to close the door but he continued - "you know my wife sent me over because she is kind of concerned that she is outside and it's a little cold and your little girl doesn't have a coat on.  Like he was going to stand there until I put a snow suit on her.  I said, the door is open unless she closes it so she has free range (hint, hint) to go out there if she wants and come inside if she gets cold.  I trust her judgement.  I know she doesn't have her jacket on but right here next to the house, where I am actually sitting just inside the door watching her play, the sun makes it quite a bit warmer than the air lets on.  Again, thank you for your (condescending) concern but she is just fine.  They must think I abuse my child, you know the way we play in the snow or enjoy it (read: stand in it) when the snow is falling.  It makes me want to go home even more.

So I write this post today hoping that I will not be getting a visit from child welfare on Monday.  I am not sure what my neighbors would do if they found out I was a Yankee.  I know, it's a term usually reserved for people from the northeast but honestly they don't have a word for northwesterners, it's like they think we only exist in fairy tales.   

Nearly Listed . . . Countdown begins now.

*Disclaimer: I am a public affairs specialist with the Natural Resources Conservation Service. I wrote this article to appear in the Oklahoma New Trail e-newsletter. I reposted it here so my friends and family can see what I do.

As you drive through the Oklahoma historic prairie chicken habitat range in the northwest part of the state, you pass the tractor tucks loading under grain elevators that tower over the tiny high plains towns with Native American names. Here, if producers are not raising cattle they are growing something that feeds cattle or some combination of the two. There is barely a trickle of water in the North Canadian River and that emphasizes the looming drought. The leafless deciduous trees interspersed with eastern redcedar stretch over broken down fences that remind residents of the kind of history that was the topic of epic Hollywood movies. In some cases, the precariously leaning housing structures may have once seeped a decade of dust into the lungs of people who still work the land. In other cases, the broken windmills could mark the original homestead site the landowner’s family built in the late 1800’s.

According to 82 year-old landowner and cattle rancher Albert Williams, for many of the land owners who didn’t leave the area during the great depression the oil and gas industries made it possible for ranches, like the one his father passed to him, to continue production even through droughts. He is worried about the drought the state is anticipating this year. Williams says in addition to environmental conditions the economy is taking its toll as well. He says that while the work of getting a calf ready to sell has remained the same, the cost of doing business has increased to the point where having a sustainable operation is getting harder and harder.

As you drive into Woodward from Highway 183 you can see the towers harvesting wind energy on nearly every ridge surrounding the town. The wind in Oklahoma is not likely to stop blowing so this seemingly perpetual renewable resource is the next in-demand industry that is helping producers supplement their operations.

Nearly all of the land in Woodward County is privately owned. More than 100 private landowners convened February 23, 2010, at the High Plains Technical Institute in Woodward, Okla., to attend the fifth in a series of ranch conversations discussing the status of the other resident of the county that could change everything about everything: the lesser prairie chicken.

The lesser prairie chicken is a species of upland bird that in 2008, with low population numbers, earned the highest rating this bird species can rate as a candidate for listing under the Threatened and Endangered Species Act. The historical range for the bird covers five states; Oklahoma, Kansas, Texas, Colorado and New Mexico. These states and federal agencies have been working together to improve the habitat these prairie chickens live in.

The meeting was organized by High Plains RC&D, Buffalo, a Natural Resources Conservation Service sponsored organization, several local rural development partners and private sponsors. The producers and the partnership of state, local and federal agencies have been conversing about the potential listing of the bird for a decade, but Wednesday night the Biologist Ken Collins of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service announced that the agency has received partial funding to begin the process that will determine whether the bird is listed as threatened, endangered or the consideration for listing is withdrawn all together. The proposed rule is estimated to take 18 months to complete, the whole process . . . over two years.

The impact of listing could extend to the land owners through their leases with oil and gas companies and wind energy contracts. There is no grandfather clause that protects people who have already established these leases. The placement of these structures could have to be changed to meet standards that will be set to provide optimal habitat restoration for the bird. Any new development would have to go through processes that can delay the construction of nearly anything by months if not years.

After the presentations by agencies there was a period for questions from the landowners. The conversation was intense but civil. Many wondered what, about this bird, is worth more than the weight of the past, the struggles of the present, and the prosperity perceived for the future? Donald Wolfe, senior biologist with The Sutton Avian Research Center explained that the lesser prairie chicken is considered an indicator species. That means the birds are greatly affected by any changes in their habitat and their presence indicates that the environment is doing well enough to support a sensitive species. He also said that they are considered an umbrella species. That means the things that are done to benefit this species will also benefit other plant and animal species, wild and domestic.

One producer noted the ways other endangered species have been restored and enquired whether those other methods would be effective for this species as well. For other upland and endangered species, scientists were able to repopulate abandoned but suitable habitat using methods that increase reproduction. The problem for this species is not an attack on the reproduction process, necessarily, it is the disappearance of suitable habitat that has caused their numbers to dwindle. Therefore, the only way to restore the population is to restore the habitat where they can live.

Through the presentations the Natural Resources Conservation Service, Farm Service Agency, and the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation presented the variety of voluntary practices that make up the current overall plan to restore the habitat through brush management and removing unnecessary and unused structures like broken fences and old broken windmills and in some cases some of the dilapidated homestead structures, then restoring the ideal nesting, feeding and living habitat that consists mostly of native grasses.

NRCS offers technical and financial assistance to producers to accomplish these goals. In financial assistance alone, the agency has $2.8 million available to landowners and producers in counties that fall in the lesser prairie chicken habitat range that can be applied to restoring habitat. The Lesser Prairie Chicken Habitat Initiative is scheduled to continue for at least two more years with similar funding levels. Roger Wells represented The National Wild Turkey Federation and said the organization was willing to support area producers and landowners as they need to acquire the equipment to accomplish the goals of the programs of the federal and state agencies.

Brush management can help landowners control eastern redcedar, mostly through the use of mechanical removal and prescribed fire. Control of these species are not only beneficial for the bird, it can also increase the usefulness of land the landowners have already lost because of encroachment. Prescribed fire is also effective in encouraging growth of native grasses which include the legumes the birds eat. The practice also reduces the threat of wildfire to private lands by reducing fuel loads. Ron Voth, Oklahoma Wildlife and Prairie Heritage Association offered information for producers who might be interested in joining the current effort to form a state-wide burn association to help secure liability insurance to cover prescribed burning and limit losses from planned burns that get out of control, which is one of the major concerns for people who are unsure about the use of fire as a management tool.

Another threat to the species habitat are the broken fences that no longer hold anything in, the windmills that can’t draw water from a well but provide a perch for predators and other structures that impede the travel of the lesser prairie chicken to their mating grounds. More than one program is offered to help producers remove these unnecessary and unusable structures. Programs exist to help mark the first and third wire on any useful fence line to help reduce bird deaths from impact with the fence.

While time is short, it isn’t too late for conservation efforts to be lead locally. Because the county is nearly entirely privately owned land, the only people who can do anything to prevent the listing are the land owners at this point. The only other species of prairie chicken currently listed on the Threatened and Endangered Species List is the Attwaters Prairie Chicken. It has been listed since 1967.

And that's why I like snow.

Our adventure today begins with Xyla, tired of watching movies, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the front door.  She says "open door."  I knew this moment was coming.  We didn't have anything else to do, or be responsible for.  She was dressed in the sweatshirt her Aunt Brandy embroidered for her and her tangerine capri pants.  I wondered if she would try to walk out there with no shoes on so I opened the door.  

She got right up next to the door jamb, then turned to me and wanted me to pick her up.  She insisted but I told her that if she was going to go outside that she was going to have to walk out there on her own.  (I wasn't wearing any shoes either and I knew this wasn't going to be a two minute deal.)  She looked out the door and thought about it for a minute.  She said, "I need shoes."

I said, "very good, now where are they?"  She pointed to her pink and white tennis shoes and I closed the door, picked up some socks and her shoes and started putting them on her.  I grabbed my own pair of shoes, knowing this was going to go further than the driveway.  

We walked out the door and around the front of the car parked in the driveway.  She is very nervous about ice and there was quite a bit of it on the other side of the car.  I modeled a penguin walk and she followed.  Now before you say anything about the penguin walk let me ask you, have you ever seen a penguin fall on the ice?  So it works.  Stop laughing.

Once she got to the other side of the ice patch she said, "there no more."  I told her no there wasn't anymore ice.  So we walked down the driveway.  At the bottom of the driveway there is a river of slush.  I didn't even check to see what the temperature was, I didn't have to.  If the snow was melting this quickly then it was over 40 which is good enough for me.  The sun was warm on our shoulders. 

We started to walk down the street.  We made it to the mail boxes.  I am glad someone had the kind heart to shovel out a path for the mailman, if they can't get to the box - they don't deliver the mail.  That is a bad policy when 20 houses in the subdivision get their mail from the same cluster of boxes.  

We wandered around the cement pad where the mail boxes sit.  I had to explain to Xyla that we didn't have our key so we couldn't check our mail unless we went back to the house to get said key.  She wasn't having any of that.  She found a key on the ground.  It was the key to one of the large parcel boxes at the end of the row.  Of course it was the box with the number that was hard to reach because the plow (that came through at 9:30 at night) managed to pile it all, right there.  I reached over there an put the key in the box.  That is how the mail man gets the keys back.  I really should have checked to see if there was anything in the box since now it was open, but then what would I do with whatever was inside.  (I hope they get their mail.)

We continued down the street and came to the place where the subdivision turns into a field.  We turned around and started down the other cul-de-sac street.  We got to the bottom of the turnabout and she discovered slush.  After a few minutes of stomping around in it she stopped.  Set her foot down.  Thought about.  Lifted her foot up.  Thought about it.  Then said, "it making water."  I told her, "yes, when ice melts it turns into water."  Ironically, the same snow turns to water theme that was on The Magic School Bus today.  

We made our way through the "squishy slushy" back to our yard.  It was a bit of a struggle because she was just sure I was going to make her go inside.  I got her convinced that once we got back to the house we could make a snowman.  Then there was a little less talk and a lot more walk.  

I didn't even go in the house when we first got back to the yard.  I made a snow ball and plopped it in the snow.  I started to roll it.  She was intrigued.  I told her we had to roll it in other snow to make a ball.  When the snow is that slushy, it doesn't roll as well.  I decided that the snowman would be no bigger than her.  Mainly because it doesn't take a whole lot of height to impress an almost three year old and I didn't want to have to heft the dreaded second ball on top of the first.  It only took two swipes of her hands in the snow for her to decide it was too cold to put her hands in.  She was torn because she really wanted to make a snowman but she really didn't like her hands to be cold.  I asked her if she might like to go inside to get some gloves.  She shook her head yes.  

We went inside, I left the front door open so she would know that I intended to take her right back outside as soon as she was properly adorned.  

She shot out of the house, very excited that we were going to make this snowman.  (Going inside was an excellent opportunity for me to grab the camera too. )  Let me back up.  Just before Christmas we got an e-Christmas card from a relative that was a little bit of a game.  Woodland and domestic animals making a snowman.  She played that nearly nonstop and mentioned it at least 15 times every time I even looked sideways at the computer.  Add to that the snowmen at the stores and on her shirt and and everywhere else she looked . . . well you get that she knew about the snowman, right?  And why she was so excited to make one.  You know since the first snow was mid January and it didn't stick.  this was the first real snow that was snowman worthy.

The rolling of the first ball wasn't going so well.  It wasn't so much a ball as a lopsided lump.  I set it and started filling out the ball by taking handfuls of snow and patting them on to shape the ball.  It didn't take her long to pick up what I was up to.

The top ball was hardest to shape properly.  I find with smaller snowman size, judgement on ball size is a bit skewed.  In this case, lumpy and slightly off kilter.  It was too late though we were on a roll.  I tried out two leaves for eyes but shortly learned that Oklahoma, being the windy place that it is, was not going to let this be a 'natural' snowman.

The sucker she had when we started this adventure was abandoned in the first slush stop.  She handed it to me and never thought about it again.  I ate the rest of it.  I make no excuses, sometimes you have to take one for the team.  Consequently, the stick made a decent mouth.

Xyla was very serious about making sure her snowman had all the parts a person is supposed to have.  (Don't worry, she isn't aware of the major anatomical difference between boys and girls yet.)

Sn-yo-gee Bear?

She was very careful about the details.  We added arms and ears and snow eyes (after the leaves blew away) and twig eyebrows.  Look at this girl crafting the snow.  She was so serious too.  There was one place in the yard where it was apparent that someone in the neighborhood thought the drift in front of the house (3 feet) was steep enough to serve as a sledding hill.  Of course you can also tell that in order to sled, you should actually have a sled.  Sledding on your butt won't get you far unless the snow is firmly packed and this snow was very much not.  What I am trying to say is there are random foot prints and then butt prints that scoot about 4 feet. There are only two tracks.

However, there was still one spot in the yard that was broad and white and clean and just hollering for snow angels.  I asked Xyla if she wanted to make a snow angel and she said no.  I decided that I would show her what a snow angel is.  Then she just had to make one too.  (This is where my camera battery died.)  

Then it was back to the snow man.   She knocked off his arms.  Popped off his eyes.  Ooops-ed his ears and he was back to the generic three ball shape.  She got this look on her face.  She put her arms up for me to pick her up so I did.  I asked her if she was done for today and she shook her head yes.  I trapsed through the snow packing my baby girl and headed in the house.  I set her down for just a minute and she started crying saying, "snowman . . . SNOman . . . SNOWMAN."  I told her that we would go out and play with the snowman again tomorrow.  

She was really upset.  I haven't seen her really emotionally hurt and crying very many times.  I asked her if she missed the snowman.  She nodded her teary head yes.  I told her we would go out and see the snowman first thing in the morning.  Then I held her for a long time.  I set her down on the couch with a pillow and her blanket and a cup of milk.  In less than three minutes, she was fast asleep.  I hope she dreams of dancing with her snowman.  Good night, snow angel.

Oh, what a day!

It's probably my fault really.  I didn't want to cook anything for lunch so we went to McDonalds for a 'cheeburger'.  I decided the we could stop and play in the playland today too.  In this town I realize it is risking pink eye and myriad other communicable diseases but it is also the divorced single dad mecca of the world on Sunday morning.  Supposed to be anyway.

We go inside and belly up to the counter.  I order a cheeseburger happy meal.  The guy looks at me and says, "what?" like he'd never heard of a happy meal which can't possibly be since he was a toy shy of one.  I asked again for a cheeseburger happy meal with a chocolate milk.  He is quiet and doesn't move for an uncomfortable amount of time.  I worried that I might be getting dive bombed by bees (in January).  The he looks at me (with my daughter right next to me dressed like this only wingless)

and he asks me if I want a girl or boy toy in the happy meal.  I almost . . . almost said, "really!?"  but I am still practicing using filters so I said, "a girl toy please."  Then I asked for a number one with a Dr. Pepper with no ice.  He said, "A Dr. Pepper with what?"  In my mind I am thinking NO ICE, NO ICE, NO ICE!  I said, "no ice."  Which doesn't matter anyway since I fill the cup myself.  He asks for my name.  Keep in mind I am the only customer at the counter at this point.  He writes my name (spells it Krystal) on my receipt.  

He assembles the happy meal, puts the chocolate milk on the tray.  He assembles the number one meal then looks at me straight in the face and yells across the lobby "Crystal?"  Again, I filtered out, "REALLY?!"  I took the meal and headed over to the drink station.  I peek through the window of the play land to see if there are any tables and there are not.  Tables full of cute little families with 2 or 3 kids each.  I tell Xyla that we will eat first then go in and play. 

She was doing so good up until this point.  She sat quietly, she didn't want to eat.  Which is impossible because she was definitely hungry.  A little boy sitting one table away is smiling at her trying to make her smile.  She starts getting grumpy.  I presume because some little boy she didn't know was staring at her.  Finally she eats about half of the burger and a few fries.  That is a win as far as I am concerned.  I look over into the play land to see if any of the tables had cleared out.  The little boy was digging through two happy meal boxes that one of the 'cute little families' left behind.  (They were not so cute anymore, that's just rude.)  

The girl who looks far too young to be the mother of this child, but could have been, is watching japanese animae on her laptop.  I am reading the words as they are going by and realize two boys are about to . . . well, lets just say I was looking for a way to get my stuff together quickly and get Xyla in the other room.  I try to get the girl's attention to let her know that her ward is digging through someone else's trash.  It takes four tries for me to finally get her attention.  That's when I looked at what was on her tray.  Breakfast wrappers.  It was nearly 1:00 p.m. by then.  They had been there since at least 11:30 (that's when they switch from breakfast to lunch here).  I tell her that he is scavanging and she gets up and goes in to get him. 

She sits him down on the chair beside her a proceeds to ignore him in favor of her animae show.  I finally get all of our stuff gathered up and we go into the play land.  By this time there is only one family left in there.  Three or four adults and about 4 kids altogether.  They start to gather their things and their kids to leave.  Xyla gets about three turns up in the play land tube and gets lost.  She starts crying because she can't find the slide.  She adores the slide.  Without even asking one of the adults heads up the tube after her.  While I am grateful, I really wish he would have let me go up after her.  The only thing that makes getting lost scarier is having a stranger grab ahold of you and tell you where to go.  She was genuinely scared when she finally made it down the slide.  

I held her until everyone else left.  Then the little boy appears out of nowhere and decides he wants to chat.  Apparently he is there with his sister because his parents were of dumpster diving somewhere.  What's more disturbing is not that they have to dumpster dive it's that they do it often enough their three year old knows what it means.  I kept an eye on the sister because she clearly did not realize that he had left her side again.  I kept a mental note of how long it took her to realize he was gone.  He was in there a good 15 minutes before she even looked up from her show.  Do you know what can happen to a kid in 15 minutes?  I am scared for this little boy.  He's congenial, he's adorable, he can slip away unnoticed.  

He is really lucky that a bad person didn't show up there today.  Finally she looks up from her show and panics for two seconds and looks out into the play land.  She looks back at her show, she didn't even locate him before she decided the computer was more important.  She didn't get up.  She didn't come looking for him.  She looked up again.  I signaled to her that he was in my eyesight and that he was ok.  It is not my responsibility to watch him but I wasn't going to leave until they did. Clearly, she was not going to make sure he was safe.  

More kids and another family show up.  The boys roughhousing made Xyla nervous but she was all about going down the slide at this point and she wasn't going to let some noisy boys get to her.  Finally the girl packed up her laptop and called to the boy so I gathered my things too.  It took me a bit of time to get Xyla out of the tube because I made the mistake of telling her it was time to go.  Mental note: never say that to a kid at the top of the tube.  I kept telling her to come down, she kept saying, "I can't come down."  I said, "yes you can."  One of the older boys volunteered to go up after her.  She finally came down.  I had to juggle her, the rest of her happy meal and my drink out the door.  She fussed and started to cry, I told her that doesn't work on mommy, she needed to remember that.  She stopped crying.  We got in the car and went to Old Navy to bum around and came home with the fairy wings.

We had kind of an interesting day.

It's a numbers game.

866 - Number of envelopes I stuffed with wildlife calendars today.

2 - Number of tires on the back of my car.

30 - Number of minutes it took Walmart to put said tires on my car.

0 - Number of other people in line for tires ahead of me at 12:30 p.m. on a Monday.

152 - Number of dollars it cost to buy tires.

5536 - likely number of snowflakes that fell last night.

7722 - likely number of snowflakes that fell later today.

1 - Number of small children that live in my home who insisted on playing in the above mentioned 13,258 snowflakes that fell.

20 - Number of degrees it was outside when my neighbor informed me that it was freezing outside.

2 - Number of comments I could have made about that but chose to filter instead.

15 - Number of minutes before she started to avoid pooping.

Infinite - Number of times she screamed that she didn't want to go inside.

1 - Number of cups of hot chocolate it took to make up for it.

1 - Number of cars in the school parking lot she claimed as hers.

0 - Number of cars in the school parking lot that actually were hers.

4 - Number of times I have cleaned my carpet this evening.

1 - Number of moms who live in my house who are ecstatic that their kid loves snow.  Even if there's only a skiff of it.

Happy Freezing Drizzle Day.