The Pilver

I have some great family.  Some of my great family members are cousins.  Two of those cousins have birthdays within a few weeks of my own.  Our family is one who celebrates all birthdays with cake and song.   Somehow, myself and the two cousins who share December birthdays with me ended up celebrating with birthday cake plastered with our faces. It is not nearly December, but they live 1700 miles away since I moved.  The cake parties now take place whenever we can get ourselves in the same state.  This year it was August. I may have written on this before, but I am not going to double check.

I think this was 1993.  My cousin is cute and I have awkward braces and bangs.

2004.  The tradition begins.

2005.  The blondie on the right joins our tradition, creating a kink in the infinity-ness of the photo.  Those are school pictures of us all.

2006.  The true infinity kick-off point.

2007.  I have another awkward hair year thanks to manic panic and swimming just before the photo.

2008.  Blondie on the right is wearing the same scarf this year.

2009.  Almost color coordinated!

2010.  We decide to be matchy-matchy!

2011.  The matching continues and thankfully we find shirts which fit my preggo belly.

If this hoopla continues, I want to be on The Today Show when we are 90.  Or better yet.  Is there a way we can be included on a Macy’s Thanksgiving float?   Is it too early to ask?

Can they hook you up to a machine a the hospital to make you sleep?  I’m serious.

ri·dic·u·lous/riˈdikyələs/

Adjective: Deserving or inviting derision or mockery; absurd.

Example:

I am ridiculous, or so I’ve been told.

I am also insanely tired, and for the first time in my adult life battling insomnia.  However, I have a teeny baby girl wiggling inside me.  Awesome.

Whoever decided this was a good study to have reach the public is a retard.  And I don’t feel guilty for using the word retard in this case.

re-tard
verb (used with object)
1.
to make slow; delay the development or progress of (an action, process, etc.); hinder or impede.

Read this article 

Somehow I, and all my friends in elementary school, made it through life safely while eating bagged lunches.  I went to a small school where we had no cafeteria food options and everyone brought lunch.  And these days I make Mr. Pilver’s and The Max’s lunch every day and I am certain the meat and cheese sandwiches enter the danger zone, yet food poisoning has mysteriously evaded them both.    This article is, by definition, retarded.

Last weekend I found a service berry bush not far from my home.  I was taking a leisurely drive and unprepared for berry picking, but that did not stop me from loading up every cup, can, and bag I had in my car with the deep blue berries.

I headed to town and bought some jars to can the jam I made with the service berries.  Yikes!  I know they are reusable, but jars, they ain’t cheap.  I am determined to find some free or inexpensive jars being as I have a garden full of vegetation that will spoil this fall if I don’t have a place to put it all.

Ding!  Craigslist.  I put an ad on there right away seeking canning jars.  When one places an ad on Craigslist, they are required to look at squiggly letters, or captcha, and enter it in the bank so you can prove you’re human.  It’s annoying but we all have to do it.  I was presented with this image and asked to enter the two separate words with a space in the middle.

Double-you, Tee, Eff?

Okay, the second word is easy, but the first???   Can anyone tell me what that is?

I’m pretty sure this was the fastest year of my life.  It hit me last week that this blog is turning four already.  I’ve ignored writing plenty this year and I’ve had plenty to keep me occupied.  In the last year I married, am now pregnant, and somehow turned domestic to a degree I swore I would never be.  I’ve always admired those who cook, clean, raise kids, garden, etc.  I never thought I would enjoy the opportunity and be one of them.  I still feel like I am the new kid in class.

So hip HIP HOORAY!   The Pilver is four!   Next year, when it’s five maybe I’ll throw a party and invite the chickens.  Oh yeah, the cake!

I had no reason to go to town today, so I baked one.  Please allow me to brag, the decorating may be amateur but  it rocks.  I just ate a piece as I started writing this and I will probably go dish one up for Lucy (my unborn daughter) as soon as I hit “publish.”  Here’s links for the recipes I used:

Yellow Cake

Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

It is so wrong for me to assume this guy is happy, let alone the happiest guy in Wenatchee.  Take a look for yourself and see why I feel that he MUST overjoyed with life or he could not do what he does all day.

I was reading Gawker today and came across this story that as a longtime restaurant employee I found interesting.  Essentially, a restaurant located at a driving range no longer allows kids under six years old to enjoy time at their establishment.  Of course, this angers some people.  I think it’s fantastic and I hope other restaurants join them in their idea.  Most kids under six require much more work for restaurants that do not cater to families than they are worth.  A driving range eatery does not cater to little kids.

The owner of the restaurant released this statement:

“Beginning July 16, 2011 McDain’s Restaurant will no longer admit children under 6 years of age,” it said. “We feel that McDain’s is not a place for young children. Their volume can’t be controlled and many, many times they have disturbed other customers.”

The Max when he was seven at a restaurant in New Orleans.

I think that says it clearly.  Sure, there are a lot of parents who actually do control their kids in public.  However, those that do not have a good reign on their children’s behavior don’t always realize it. I am sure these are the patrons they are trying to avoid.

Everyone parent and most non-parents have a great amount of wisdom to pronounce when they are discussing child rearing and discipline.  We should believe that the individuals with the strictest ideals have the glowing pristine children who always say please and thank you, never crush crackers on the carpet and dump cups of root beer on the table, and of course, they never scream.  Not true.  I feel as though I have a strict parenting style, but when my son was young he did not obey my rules.  He screamed.  He wanted to run around and sitting for the hour it takes to order, eat, and pay for a meal was never gonna happen unless he was a little baby and sleeping the entire time.

So, if this offends you because it is not your child, go somewhere else.  Most places do allow children.  And when you visit a place that no longer allows your kids, be grateful that you don’t have to put up with the other kids who have parents not nearly as glorious as you.

Let me end with this:  Whenever I hear a parent brag endlessly about their well behaved child it usually means the kid is a bit wild.  Calm, quiet kids speak for themselves with no need for parental explanation.  And if your kid is wild (as mine was and still is sometimes) don’t give up.  One day you’ll turn around and they are nine years old and good most of the time, which means they’ll sit still when you hug them. 🙂

I started The Green Pilver in January, thinking I could manage two separate blogs.  I could, but I’m illogically overwhelmed by the faux pressure it involves and from now on I am only going to post here.  At some point I hope to transfer all those green blogs to this one, but copying and pasting is physically exhausting so don’t hold your breath.

Garden!  It’s been over a month since I took the last pictures, and plants, they are a sprouting!  I have been off of work for four weeks now.  This leaves me plenty of time to watch the garden grow and wait for Mr. Pilver to come home from a long hard day at work only to work another 2-6 hours in the garden.  I actually do work some in the garden, but pushing the rototiller now induces Braxton Hix contractions and I cannot participate as fully as I would like.

Just gonna run some pictures past you so you can see the changes, I’ll try not to run my mouth too much so you won’t lose interest.

I lost my camera.  This is what it looks like when you MS Paint together two photos to make a panoramic view. As the crocodile hunter would say, “Let’s get a closah luke!” At this angle it looks gosh darn bare.

From the left:  Herbs, Onions, Garlic, Carrots, and Beans.  Fifty feet of each.

Our potatoes.  Tons.  Actually, when harvested they should produce seven hundred pounds of the tubers, which is less than a ton.  I need you to help me eat them.

The little green stripes of leaves here are peanuts.  If they produce well we should be able to make all our peanut butter for a whole year.  The Max can pack away the PB & Js, so this is a very good thing.

Here’s the peppers.  We suck at peppers.  My mom hates it when I say, “suck.”  If anyone can give me pepper advice I’ll give you a dollar.

We don’t suck at tomatoes.

Here’s the vines.  Some are good size some are mere seedlings.  Squash, melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins will soon sit here.

Here we have corn and lettuce.  The right side is more corn, but they are still tiny so you cannot see too well.

In addition to the garden plot we are the proud owners of roughly one hundred sunflowers, re-seeded from the fallen seeds of last years plants.  I have a few strawberry plants.  I eat the berries right after picking and jam will probably never be made of them because of my lack of patience.  Finally, there are a few wild fruits nearby that I am looking forward to making pies and jams and maybe even some wine with.  We also just bought twenty more chicks, for meat, bringing out bird count up to about thirty.  I feel like a pioneer homesteader with all this land and whatnot.  So, I better go churn some butter and tease Nellie Oleson.

baby!  Don’t worry, I’ll get to it.

We got up this morning and headed to the clinic to view the innards of my stomach which are almost entirely being occupied by a very wiggly and flexible baby.  All the organs look healthy and though it was curled up in the most uncomfortable looking position, the bones and spine are fantastic.  The head shot was difficult to get as it was constantly gnawing on its hands.  I figure I should eat more because of this.  (I’ll take any excuse for more ice cream.)

I had, of course been thinking of whether it was going to be pink or blue.  I really didn’t care.  I’ve had a boy, and he’s so great another would be fine by me.  I hadn’t had a girl so that would be fun and balance would be restored to the Pilver household.

Meet Lucy Christine, my pretty little girl.  I love her so much already.  I have always wanted to name a girl Lucy so that was easy.  Christine is Mr. Pilver’s mother’s name.  She passed about 6 years ago.  Mr. Pilver and his whole family talk about her with the greatest love and respect and I wish so badly I could have known her better.

So there it is.  I already have a big boy, and now a baby girl. I’m feeling very, very lucky.