First Summer trip to Homer.

We spent last weekend down in Homer. On Sunday Grandpa brought his new boat down from Ninilchik for its maiden Alaskan voyage.
We motored around Kachemak Bay for an hour, then went to Halibut Cove and ate lunch while we looked at all the cool houses. The weather was great and Grandpa was really happy with his new boat.
After lunch we headed back to the Homer Harbor. While pulling up to the boat launch dock we noticed a slight problem with another boater.
After we tied up I talked to the harbor master who was there waiting for the owner to show up. As we where talking the owner showed up. She was quite upset and admitted that she must have left the plug out. She was shocked to learn that the harbor master wanted to get a diver to attach air bladders to re float the boat before she could untie it. She thought she could just untie it and drag it to the ramp and let the tide take care of the problem. As I walked away to help Grandpa pull his boat out of the water I heard her ask the harbor master if "this would be covered by her home owners insurance?", I don't think she heard me laugh out loud.

Grandpa and I got his boat on the trailer with a little to-do and off we went to drive back to Eagle River.

Happy Memorial Day to all the Veterans and current Armed Forces protecting us all over the world.

Gladiolas or Bust

This is the closest thing to a gladiola that I am getting for Mother's Day. It's all I wanted, a simple country flower for a simple girl. My husband on Valentine's Day promised that without a doubt I would have gladiolas on my Oh so Special Day.
And now, the day before my Oh so Special Day, he has informed me that no gladiolas will be delivered. He failed in his one husbandry task. I never asked him to promise my favorite flower on my Oh so Special Day. He said it willingly and of his own free will.

Stolen flag, Bowling Day, Fish Hatchery, tire changeover, 12 days of illness, 4 nights in a row of a poopy toddler, two campers in the driveway, leaves are raked, dog is fed, kids are clean.

Not One Gladiola

Don't Tread on Me.

Normally I would post a picture here.
But it was stolen.

The American flag that has flown strong, silent and proud from our home for the last five years was stolen last night. It was an American made flag, on a pole hand made by my husband. We put it up when Damian at 18, joined the U.S. Army and went to Iraq. He came back a year later, wounded, shaken and will never be the same again. Our flag still hung strong to our home.

Last month Dylan, now 19, enlisted in the United States Marine Corp. He will go to Camp Pendleton in September. It never crossed my mind that the flag that has held on to our house over the last five years, wouldn't be there for Dylan as he serves our country.

I am sure the person or persons that crossed our lawn, ripped our flag off it's mount, leaving the copper pole on the ground and nothing but a broken bracket dangling from our house, they didn't know it was a special flag. They must not be from our country. If they were, they would know that every American flag is special and every American flag has a purpose.
Ours was to show pride in our son, our military and our country.

John ordered a new flag and pole today.
Made in America, just like us.

Bowling with Pre-schoolers?

What was I thinking? I swore last year that I would never, ever take both my children to the pre-school bowl a thon. Did I listen to myself, no, not at all. In fact I even arrived early so we could get one of two lanes that is against a wall. Yeah, I am so smart. A containment wall, a wall so strong that my three year old wouldn't dare try and get away. HA, foiled by Mr. Blue Eyes again! A wall to a three year old is nothing more than an obstacle in which to conquer, and he did, multiple times.
The 90's plastic orange chairs were mere starting blocks. He seemed to quietly gather energy and with the agility of a gymnast and the speed of an Olympic sprinter he was GONE.
The worst part of the scenario, which played out several times, wasn't the towhead in the Hawaiian bowling shirt running past miniature bowlers and their doting parents. He was kind of cute. No, it was me, The Mom, lumbering after the towhead across the bowling alley. I tried to look calm and in control as I dodged the mini bowlers weighed down with over sized shiny orbs and skirted past their parent's "oh, it's her again" stares.
Four parents at different times, one of whom I had never met, actually came to me and said, "how do you do it"? Do what? Look so graceful when I fall on my ass down the lane while chasing my son?
Never, ever again.