Our clean house, and if you don't think I'm also going to post this on the other blog to maximize the exposure of how that one time our house was realreal clean, then you don't know me very well. 
My cute sister Justine, who's single, fellas. 
My angel mother made me the Pumpkin Spice Cake, and it was superb. And observe the totally respectable amount of candles! 
Pinga and I are really getting into it. It's my turdy-turd birthday on Thursday! I have been waiting almost thirty-three years to say that. There will be cake. I'm weighing Italian Cream Cake against Best Birthday Cake, but I'll be honest, that Best Birthday Cake looks suspiciously dry, which I WILL NOT PERMIT. And maybe the Italian Cream Cake will be nasty, since I'm usually not a fan of nutty inclusions. Carrot cake? Pumpkin Spice Cake? Chocolate Blackout Cake? The decisions!
Anyway, please come to our modified rubbish tip and celebrate with us on Thursday night at about six, if you wish. We welcome visitors.
We had good times at the Herd Family Reunion, aside from me probably infecting everyone with strep throat. There was shooting and fishing and riding of motorized vehicles and eating and singing and dancing and Muddy Buddies (sorry we ate all your treats, Myerses) and playing in the dirt and general merriment. The kids all got along really well and formed their own little Lord of the Flies colony before we were done. So resourceful!
In other news, Pinga ate a banana.
And Superman came running up to John and said, "Dad! Dad! Look at my hooker!"
Context is everything.
Our Anniversary of Telling King George Where He Can Shove It was pretty low-key, because we were busy refinishing the office floor, so we can turn it into Pinga's bedroom. It's such a beautiful room with huge windows that it seems a pity to have it be the Shame Hiding Hole. No, far better to have the shame hole out where everyone can see it all the time! And then we can have the computer in a public place and keep better tabs on how well our children are doing at stealing identities and hacking into the CIA's database.
Friday night we hit the tail end of a cookout at John's parents' with the most amazing salmon ever that I made a disgusting pig of myself about. Then we watched the LAMEST fireworks show I've ever seen outside of my own driveway. Boo, Fireworks West! How is it that Neil Diamond isn't good enough to get his whole song played, but redneck after redneck after redneck got to wax on about how this country is just real nice? I'm still mad about it. No Tchaikovsky, no Copeland? WHO IS RUNNING THIS PLACE? Saturday morning we got together at Kelly's house and had a scrumptious breakfast with fruit, two pork products, and THREE kinds of fried batter. To make sure we were celebrating America we made enough food to send us all into a diabetic coma. Woo!
Here are the pictures from the Hyrum parade, at which John saw a 2-year-old baby get clocked by a thrown punch bottle from Ridley's Market. Sweet!
Superman: "Mom, did Grandma make those clothes for Pinga?"
Me: "Yes."
Superman: "Well, can you take them off her, 'cause she looks weird in them."
Pinga is the big two today. We celebrated yesterday because we felt like it, and she's a baby and can't stop us anyway. For a while it looked like I was going to have to wrap up something she already owned, but finally I found something not super hateful to give her (which . . . did you see what they're asking for that? not okay. I spent $15).
The cake was made with Sucanat and half white/half whole wheat flour. SUCKERS! 
The stroller came out of that giant bag. She loves it and takes her dolls offroading allatime. 
We didn't get pictures of any of the other presents because we're sucky like that. That's what she gets for being the last kid. Bupkus! Her brothers really like her presents.We all had a rollicking time on Saturday. The drapes were a huge help, and once John knocked the grill around a little bit it performed admirably. Assorted organ meats were consumed by all, as well as cartloads of fruit, scrumptious baked beans provided by Brittany (the secret ingredient is double the bacon!), and there were ice cream and doughnuts, recipes for which are over on Baba Capra. We played card games and frolicked in the water, and there was minimal crying. A success!
He's smiling because he's winning. Like always. 
Michael knows that Dad always wins, and is resigned to his fate. 
Captain America and Matthew preparing their arsenal, possibly testing it on Aebleskiver.
Pinga is eating an Orange Drop Doughnut.
Doughnuts are yummy. 
If there's anything classier than a woman frying doughnuts in her swimsuit, I don't want to see it. 
This is what was left of the doughnuts by the time John took a picture. They went fast.
The detritus from our revel. 
Kids eating ice cream. 
Sarah looking better than any pregnant woman has a right to.
How did a nice girl like her ever get mixed up with a crowd like this? 
Michael is enjoying the ice cream so much that he left his cards face up, making himself vulnerable to sabotage. 
Alec is thinking about how very much he hates the country. 
