I can’t honestly say what our days have been filled up with lately—but somehow we find ourselves just like retirees who say they don’t know how they ever had time to work. Our days are full. Full of nonsense and play, but full nonetheless.

“Hey you two, look over here.” This is what I get for saying those words.

We met some Bum friends today for ice cream. We were waiting inside when we looked out the window and spotted our just-passing-through-Oregon friends waiting outside. We watched for a few seconds as they got the lowdown on Planned Parenthood of Oregon from one very enthusiastic volunteer. We knocked on the window and the two of them about tore the door off the hinges to get inside. We had a good time with them, and were stoked when they suggested we all head over to a nearby park that they just happened to know of because of these newfangled gadgets called smart-phones. They have maps on them now and everything.

These two are involved in some serious business here. Do Not Disturb.

My mom buys all sorts of old toys and knick-knacks to spread around her house—as women of a certain age do. Much of it is broken, or is broken within seconds of coming into contact with her grandchildren. This particular music box didn’t work from the start, but Ouest and I decided we could take care of that. We took it apart, hit it with some WD-40 and a toothbrush and held our breath as the music started playing. What would it be? What beautiful classic would ring forth?

Jingle Bells. Are you kidding me? What about this box says Christmas? It’s a box in the shape of an accordion, and contains a cigarette holster on the underside of the lid. Jingle Bells.

You can take the girl out of Mexico, but you can’t take the Mexican out of the girl.

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I don’t think I talk much about Lowe’s talking, probably because there isn’t any, but the last week or two he has suddenly decided it is time to start working on that. Up to now he was pretty much two words: mama, papa, and maybe some noise for Ouest. This week he started in with me. “Me, me, me, me, me.” As in, “Me too.” Tired of not getting his share I suppose. “Garbage,” because, well, the world is full of it. “Stop,” which I love because of the way he draws it out like in a song. “Stoooooooooooop.” That’s the extent of his vocabulary that anyone outside of the family would recognize. Of course there are plenty of words/noises for other things—but really, only Ali can decipher those.