Dotting the ‘i’

My husband and I are complete band nerds.  In the best way possible.  We loved our time in our respective marching bands, and will demand hope that our children will share in this incredible experience themselves some day.

A certain level of greatness is evident even in rehearsal. The uniformity of our spacing? The hunger in the eye?  Eh, not really. We were all just looking for something to do.

I used a marching band metaphor a couple of weeks ago:

(It’s) like having a football game packed around the main attraction: the half-time show.

And Thadius’ adoption is a whole half-time show. It’s script Ohio. Sure, he’s dotting the “i”, but without every member of the band, he’s just a baby dude alone on a field.

Don’t get grumpy, Wolverines ;)

We need a strong band to bring this whole production home.

And those few words and a little picture brought on a cascade of blessings, financial and spiritual, allowing me to make a wonderful contact with Joyce and Sarah.

And I had a little idea. We would like to welcome our Thadius home with a meaningful representation of the people who helped get him there.  Script Ohio-style.

Andy and I are in the works to paint a 4 ft. x 7 ft. mural of a football field on the wall in the kids’ playroom.  Our goal is to sponsor 225 “members” of the band for $10 each, which will look something like this, except drawn by, you know, someone with talent (who has been contacted, no worries):

Pick the face and instrument of your choice!

As our band gets filled, I’ll print and laminate our members, and put them on the mural to spell out the name of our sweet new boy: Thadius. Well, except his real name. Which also has an “i” in it. Woohoo!

And when we have a whole mural, and our little boy has come home, we will make sure that he is the one who gets to dot the “i” to make our journey complete, and to kick off the next part of our lives together.

Here’s how it works:

1) Donate twenty dollars for each band member you would like to sponsor to our Chip-in (not tax-deductible, but immediately available, no further action needed) or to our FSP (tax-deductible, and send me a copy of the receipt at biglittledays at g mail .com).
2) I will send you an email with directions for getting an image for your band member(s).
3) I will email you back with your completed image, your file to keep, and I will make it a (soon-to-be modified into) very cool marching band dude/dudette for our wall.
4) The band fundraiser will continue until all of the marching band members have been sponsored, with our goal being before our second trip to court in (hopefully) late fall.

And for those of you who still have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, I present The Best Damn Band in the Land, doing what it does best:

Hoss, Your Name is Mudd.

I am watching my dear friend’s children today while she holds a garage sale, then (wonderful woman) goes to get her paperwork to become a notary public for us.  Yes, that’s 6 kids here, but don’t worry, they’re all eating frozen Go-Gurts for the next 4 minutes.

I thought you all might appreciate the joys of raising little boys.

What is it about a bucket of mud and the dog’s water bowl that makes a 14-month-old go crazy?

I walked around the corner of the house and saw this.

I can see the remorse.

Let me rephrase that: What is it about a bucket of mud and the dog’s water bowl that makes a 14-month-old’s mother go crazy?

The Evolution of Snacktime

Our ‘special needs adoption’ fundraising giveaway continues! Click here to donate to Thadius and be entered to win up to $500 as an Amazon gift card or for the Reece’s Rainbow child of your choice!

When you put 3,000 miles on the car in 7 days with four small children in tow, there comes a point when a parent must scream: “Enough! We are officially Missourians because I cannot drive for another mile!”

For us, 3 weeks ago, it was Branson.

Yes, the butt of all “giving up on exciting vacations, going to Branson” jokes.  But that afternoon, it was an oasis.

We found a great deal online, and booked 3 nights of staying in one place, because we honestly had no choice.  We were all out of gas.  We bought tickets to 2 days in Silver Dollar City for less than the cost of one day in Disney World for one adult, and found a little banjo-picking amusement park with shade and wholesome family fun galore.

After spending an hour in an air-compressor-fueled, nerf-ball laced, 4 storey shooting gallery, we took our first break of the day.  Fortunately we were permitted to bring a small cooler in, so we did.     And there we witnessed the evolution of snacktime.  Rarely captured on film.

It is a gem I share with you now.  Think of it as a comic strip come to life.

I’m holding the bag, that means it’s mine.

Whatever.

If I can just lean back like this…

You see what she’s doing, right?

Do I look like a child?

You can’t see me.

Oh man…

Mom wouldn’t have let me hold the bag if she wanted you to have any.

Or maybe you’re just not sharing.

Your faulty logic leaves me reeling.

Allow me to clarify. Missouri civil code 163.7 clearly states that pursuant to…

I am living with baboons.

So Juvenille

There are very few things that make people giggle whether they are six or sixty.

In movies, Philadelphia Story will always make me laugh until I’m sore.

CK Dexter Haven! CK Dexter Haven! Oh, CK Dexter Haaaa-ven!

And there’s always the brilliant razzing most movies endure in my family’s hands, a la Mystery Science Theatre 3000:

Are you going to be a Mountie or a fishing guide when you grow up?

Yet when it comes to print media, the Peanuts comics lost their appeal at the age of eight. Then last Wednesday, the magazine pile in the doctor’s office produced this little gem…

Oh My, SJP. Oh my.

and I realized a blacked out tooth and Bic-crossed eyes, though juvenille, will always be good fun.

Even at the expense of Sarah Jessica Parker.