Driving to Bryce National Park

As I mentioned before, we drove up to Bryce National Park earlier today. About a couple hours into the drive, the kids started noticing white stuff on the mountains off in the distance. By the time we stopped for gas, they had realized it was snow, and it was covering the ground around us.
My babies reacted the way any kids would. They immediately called for a snowball fight. Sally Ann and Bob III were the only ones smart enough to stay out of it. The other seven and a half all started going crazy, making slush balls and throwing them with varying levels of accuracy. By the time we'd filled up our tank with overpriced gas, there was no unused snow left in the gas station parking lot. Michelangelo and Ezekiel were sopping wet, and Elizabeth, Dud, and Joey were not much better off. I had to lay towels down on the seats of the Builder Mobile to prevent them from getting the seats wet. Bob Jr, Bob IV, and Dyda Jr. were all victorious, without a single flake of snow on them.
After we left the gas station, the view got better and better. We went through this place called Dixie National Forest, and with the snow it was absolutely beautiful. For the first time in a long time, the kids got to see trees taller than houses, and with a dusting of snow, it was amazing. The picture above is of Dixie National Forest with snow, so you can see how nice it was.
We were all disappointed when we found that there was no snow at Ruby's Inn, which is where we are staying.

Dud loves turkeys

For the life of me, I can't understand Dud's obsession with turkeys. It's just weird. I mean, come on. The things may have awesome colors and be absolutely absurd looking, but that's no reason for the kid to want a pet turkey for Christmas. Is it?
Bob is doing much to get Dud to give up that dream, either. He's hinting about Santa Claus needing to know what turkeys eat and other such things. Dud may only be five, but he's still tech savy enough to know how to do a Google search for what turkeys eat. This is what he found:

Wild Turkeys eat a great variety of foods, including: insects, spiders, snails, slugs, salamanders, small lizards, small frogs, millipedes, grasshoppers, very small snakes, worms, grasses, vines, flowers, acorns, buds, seeds, fruits, clovers, dogwood, blueberries, cherries, hickory nuts, beechnuts, and other vegetation.

I don't think I want a pet that likes eating frogs, snakes, snails, and my vegetable and flower gardens. How am I going to explain this to Dud?

The Glory of a Yard Sale

The garage has been cleaned out, so today we're having a yard sale at Mommy's house. It's great fun. The best part is that my mom can't be anywhere near the driveway when a sale is taking place- its just to painful for her to see precious possessions sold for 1/10 of what they are worth. Or worse, for free.
Dad, who'd been a salesman for 49 years, did most of the bargaining. He refuses to tell Mom what he sold the stuff for.
Mom, do not read the rest of this post.
My old bike and Dud's bike sold for a total of $35. The ugly divider (It has an orange sea scene on it) sold for $15. I gave away several of my old dolls and stuffed animals for free to some neighborhood kids. One little girl I gave some clothes to go along with the doll, including my first swim suit, which Mom still has for some unknown reason. Don't ask me why.
The fake guitar still hasn't gone, neither has my brother Tom's old golf set. No one's sure where he got the golf set from in the first place, though, so I guess it's okay. An unused tire from Dad's old red Jeep is still sitting in the middle of the driveway. The broken white lamp that my darling old Mother says is worth $100 is still sitting next to the perfectly fine black lamp which my ancient father is willing to give away for a buck.

Poor Doggys

My family's going on vacation for Thanksgiving weekend. Bob and I invited my parents along and are considering taking our dogs. If we don't take the dogs, we'll have to leave them at their vets' office, and they hate that. Buddy, our shepherd-rottweiler mix, and Sparky, our cocker spaniel, go absolutely crazy there.
When we returned from our last vacation, we picked the dogs up from the vet. Buddy was so excited, he peed allover Bob Jr.'s leg. Bob Jr. didn't mind too too much, but it still didn't exactly make his day.
So we're in the middle of deciding whether or not we want to bring the dogs along with us. If we do, then they'll be thrilled. However, Buddy is a bit of an attack dog. He doesn't like strangers much, and if he bites anyone else, we'll have to put him to sleep. Therefore, there is some risk in bringing him along.
Mom is completely against the idea, not that she has much say in the matter. After all, she'll be our guest. However, if we bring them and her and she doesn't agree, it'll be one grumpy car ride in the Builder family van. Unlike my dear old mother, the rest of the family, from little Dud to my aged father, all support the idea of bringing the dogs along. What's the worst that could happen?

The Dishes. Of Doom.

I did a total count. There were 18 people eating at my table for dinner. Well, 18.5, actually. I forgot to include Dud. Poor kid.
So naturally, there are numerous dishes that now need to be washed. For each person there is a plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon, a cup, a desert plate, and a napkin. Not that I was the paper napkins. That's really not my cup of tea.
If I finish these dishes before midnight, it'll be a miracle.

P.S. These aren't the actual dinner dishes. This is a picture I grabbed off of the internet. My cutting board is not nearly as worn.

The neighbors visit

Our neighbors, the Lockes, are visiting th Builder house for dinner tonight. No sooner did I get home from a hard day of escorting kids to their Saturday activities than the first of the Lockes appeared.
They're really nice people. There are two little girls and one little boy. Dud likes to play with the boy, and the two girls adore all my daughters.
Dinner was delicious, of course, because my parents are also visiting. The house is stuffed. We had our nine and a half kids, Bob and myself, my parents, and all five members of the Lockes family. The table was stuffed. No elbow room allowed. None. Luckily, I knew what I was doing and managed to set the table just right to give everyone enough room to eat without getting in each other's way.
Ugh. Now I have to go do all of the dishes. Joy.

Homework is evil

Or at least that is what my kids say. It's been so long since I was their age, I really can't remember. Poor Bob Jr. had six HOURS of homework in just one class yesterday, and even little Dud had a solid hour's work to do.
I think I'm glad I'm not in school anymore.
Bob has imposed a new rule in our house: No doing anything until homework is completely done. The kids absolutely despise the idea. Evidently, when there's that much homework, there would be no time to have any "fun".
But what's the point of fun? I've never gotten it. You enjoy yourself for a short amount of time, and then it's over. I'd prefer something more permanent myself. But that's just me. Maybe I'm weird. I dunno.

Bob Jr.'s New Job

Now that school's started up, Bob Jr.'s decided to get a job. Since he's still in high school, most jobs are out of his reach, but one option remained. The elusive and marvelous minimum wage job.
Now Bob works eight hour days each weekend and an hour or two after school each night, flipping burgers at our local burger joint. Bob Sr. and I are so proud of him. He makes a mean bacon burger with extra cheese and no tomato. A little to much ketchup maybe, but every one has their faults.
DUD was so jealous of the fact that Bob Jr.'s actually making money that he insisted on a raise in his allowance. Instead of ten cents a month, he is now proud to be earning eleven cents, for all the house work he does. You've gotta love four year olds and their concept of money. I don't think he realizes that the amount of money he owns is only enough to buy about two candy bars a year, and I'm not going to be the one to break it to him. That would be his father's job.

Just call me Mrs. Builder

It is my name after all. Unless your Bob, or DuD or one of my other 8 kids, you have no excuse. This means you, Mom. And you, Aunt Tia. And you, Uncle Chignik.
Oh wait. Chignik isn't my uncle. It's a town on the Alaska Peninsula, northeast of Perryville. My bad. Sorry Uncle Galena. Oh... wait. That's another Alaskan town. Shoot. I can't remember Aunt Tia's husband's name. Oh, well.
Oops. My bad again. I don't have an Aunt Tia.

Me and Bob

I LOVE Bob the Builder. I like to think he loves me to. We are very happy together, and our nine and a half kids are also. We try not to talk about Wendy. She's evil.
Our half a kid, Dud,was named after his father. Since he's only half a kid, he only has half a name, and when you cut Bob in half you either get Dnl or Dud, depending on whether you cut off the top half or the bottom half. Bob and I talked for awhile, and decided Dud made more sense than Dnl.