Infestation, Germination & Celebration

Here's a shot of the Callobius spider I trapped a couple of weeks ago. How's that for spooktacular? We have no fewer than four different kinds of giant house spiders vying for real estate in the nooks and crannies of our basement. All appear to be harmless, or so my arachnid net sleuthing tells me, but still. I'm getting tired of sleeping with one eye open.

And this is a shot of the plant cell model Holy Son (and I) constructed last week for his Science class. It's made from floam and has a green tortilla membrane and all the other plant cell parts made from gummy worms, bubble gum tape, green jello, fruit by the foot, radiatori pasta, yogos, pecans, jello, giant jawbreaker and a foam golf ball. I've already forgotten all the plant cell components, except the golgi apparatus. I always liked saying that - golgi apparatus. Anytime I would see a Bulgolgi restaurant, I would always thing of golgi apparatus.

And finally, the big day came and went - Holy Daughter's Crazy 8 birthday party. It was fun but tiring. It was a cross between a backwards party and a Mad Hatter Tea Party and a games theme party. I couldn't decide. We were originally going to host it on a Wednesday and do a Wacky Wednesday party but ended up doing it on her actual birthday. All the kids showed up dressed silly - although I think I had them all beat. I was so strange looking, my daughter gave me a look of horror and said, "Mom, you're not going to wear that hat, are you?!" I asked her why and she replied, "because it's embarrassing!" And I said, "Perfect!" Nothing makes this mom's day better than em bare assing her kids. In fact, my ultimate parenting dream would be to embarrass my kids on national TV with an elaborate prank on Hi-Jinks. That would be sweet.

Anyways, we began the party with gift opening (which she loved) and then moved on to eating cake, then lunch, then freeze dancing so the kids could get their wigglies out. Then we assigned them into three teams of 3 and sent them from station to station to play croquet outside, bowling down our hallway and Twister. We then took them outside to whack the pinata hanging from the basketball net and finally, sent them marching up the street on a Crazy 8 Brigade Parade with assorted pots, pans, chopsticks, plastic bowls and utensils, whistles and New Year's noisemakers. And then we ended it with giving her eight birthday bumps, a pinch to grow an inch and a slap to grow fat - another fine Canadian tradition we've exported.

I was originally going to bake a triple layer checkerboard cake and had it all set to decorate with a checkerboard pattern of chocolate squares, together with dark and white hershey kisses for the game pieces. But ever the procrastinator, I ran out of time. So I pushed two round cakes together, had her brother decorate it with Smarties to resemble the circles of the 8 (Canadian m&m style chocolates, not the US pill candies), and that was that. Just as well, given the sum total of 12 seconds that the kids ever seem to even pay attention to the cake, except to devour it.
And finally, here's a shot of our crazy 8 year old dressed for Halloween. She's going as a flower in a pot, but couldn't resist posing in the pot for an Anne Geddes moment. Holy Hub cut the bottom out of this plastic pot, so we just need to drill holes in the sides, affix some rope to go over her shoulders like straps, so that the flower pot will hang right over her hips. Holy Son is dressing as the Candyman. Pictures tomorrow at 11. I duct taped about 600 pieces of candy to an old denim dress coat of mine. It weighs a good six or seven lbs. So together with a bright shirt and a tall striped velvet hat, his ensemble will be complete. He's looking forward to being the ultimate chick magnet tomorrow at school. Rumour has it from a reliable source (the mother of his closest friend at school) that he already has 17 girls - ranging from grades 6 to 12 - chasing him. He's 10 years old. Oy veh. We're in trouble - ack!. Speaking of ack, I'm off to go buy liquid food color to make gak. Don't ask.