Tumbling came to an end yesterday evening. It was an intense six weeks in which Little H came in only knowing how to do a somersault, quickly learned that she was doing it wrong, lost confidence in her ability to do a somersault, became unable to do a somersault without someone coaching her through it, and eventually re-learned how to do a somersault on her own. And also she now knows how to do a donkey-kick really well. So when the summer olympics start looking for yet another useless sport to throw into the mix in order to stretch the media coverage just that much longer, I'm nominating the donkey-kick.

Now for my moral dilemma. After class, she came running over to Dan and I with a popsicle and a paper. The paper said something like, "Thanks for enrolling your kid in our tumbling class. Now you should put her/him in our cheerleading class that starts next month because if you don't then you probably don't really love her/him."
Thankfully Little H can't read. If she could, she would be begging us to be in the cheerleading class. Now I'm all for the exercise, but I don't want my daughter to be a cheerleader. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against all cheerleaders. I have a very nice sister-in-law and soon-to-be sister-in-law who used to be cheerleaders. I mostly just don't want to be a cheerleader's mom. It's too much drama, and it's too crazy, and I don't want to end up like that lady who tried to take out a hit on the girl who beat her kid in try-outs. Also I'm trying to force her to play soccer, and girls' soccer and football are in the same season so it just wouldn't work. What to do, what to do?

A couple weeks ago, Dan's brother and his family drove out here for the weekend for a family reunion. We liked having them here so much that we turned around and followed them back to California the next weekend. It was opportune because we also got to see this little cutie be blessed on the 4th of July.

Although we weren't there for long, we crammed as much family time in as we possibly could. We were able to see Papa and Grandma Meldrum, too, for the first time in a few months. John and Kelsi, always such gracious hosts, were nice enough to have us for dinner, take us to the beach, and then have us for dinner again (along with a lot of other people after the blessing). Little H really loves her cousins aunts and uncles and grandparents, and leaving is always so sad for all of us, but I'm glad we got to see them as much as we did over the last couple weeks. This was the first time Buster actually played with the cousins so that was fun to see. It's also great to see how he seems to be recognizing his grandparents now, even going a month or two without seeing them. And I swear, there were times he just couldn't care less if Dan or I were even there, as long as grandma or Uncle John were holding him.




Little H loves to tell people she's in gymnastics. She's learned all sorts of things, like the pizza stretch, somersaulting through a hula hoop, and hopping on one foot with her hands up in the air. She hasn't quite mastered the army crawl, though, yet. She started out alright, but once her teacher turned back to help the next kid in line she ran to the other side of the mat. I'm not sure if there's a national championship in our future, but at least she's having fun. Buster just likes going because he can climb up and down the bleachers.

And Dan just likes going because..., well I'm not sure. Maybe because the basketball hoops are the perfect size for dunking.


Little H is an advertiser's dream come true. She is perfectly happy to just watch the commercials and completely ignore whatever show is on. Dan likes to mute the commercials, but that's completely impossible when Little H is in the room. In fact, whenever she sees a Cymbalta commercial, she will run to me and tell me that I "should get that". (I wish I could see myself through her eyes, sometimes.)
That being said, kids shows advertise Skechers a lot. A lot, a lot. She always wants to get Skechers. I, however, have a hard time dropping $40 on a pair of shoes she's going to outgrow in two months. So, when we bought a pair of pink velcro shoes for her from Target a couple months ago, she thought they were Skechers, and I thought 'why not?' One day when I picked her up from preschool, she told me that some kids told her that her shoes aren't Skechers because they don't have an 'S' on them. Really? Three-year olds? How annoying that kids are so brainwashed at so early an age. Thankfully Little H's teacher told the kids that not all Skecher's shoes have an 'S' on them. Bless her.
This all brought back a memory from kindergarten that is somewhat similar. Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage when I was in kindergarten. I wanted one so bad, but all the stores were sold out before Christmas. (Think Zhu Zhu Pets 2009.) My grandma was able actually make a doll that looked exactly like a Cabbage Patch Doll and I was none the wiser. I had an evil little friend who told me that my doll wasn't a real Cabbage Patch Doll because she didn't have the stamp on her butt. I talked with my mom about that, and she let me know that my doll was magical because it wasn't made in a factory like all the other dolls. I knew she was speaking the truth because I slept with that doll every night, and no matter where she was when I went to bed, she had always moved to a different place on the bed by the time I woke up. She must have been up and walking around while I was sleeping. I loved that doll so much, and I can love and appreciate my mom and grandma even more now that I'm a mom myself. Right now I have to figure out which kids are messing with my daughter so I can figure out a way to set them straight.
Well, really we visited Dan's parents, but Little H has referred to them as Daddy's Poppa and Grandma since she was able to speak. Dan had to work up in the Northwest last week, so we decided to make a trip out of it. We crammed as much as we could into our time up there, and George and Judith completely wore us out. It was a great week, topped off with a trip to the beach. We could barely tear Little H away from the water. We had to promise her that we'd go to the ocean again when we visit her cousins in L.A. this summer.
The only thing that could have made it better is if I hadn't lost the camera. I lost the camera! I can't believe I lost the camera! I hadn't even downloaded the pictures from Buster's birthday, yet! (That might have been for the best just so Buster doesn't see how lame his birthday actually was—the recreation will be much grander.) I can't believe I lost the camera! I have no idea what is wrong with me. I told Dan that I don't understand just how he puts up with me. I really must be missing some necessary brain gears. I have lost/ruined/run over/spilled grease or acid on/misplaced pretty much everything of value we've ever owned. Except the kids. That's not true...I've probably ruined the kids but that remains to be seen. But the camera...with the memory card. Ugh. Don't talk or ask me about it, though because it still makes me so mad. The camera? Really, Megan?
Oh, also Buster got yet another ear infection which really stunk, and we had to find somewhere that would take out insurance. He gets tubes tomorrow, though, and I hear that they're magical.
Anyway, these pictures are courtesy of George and Judith. Thank you guys so much!!!!







...And he's not too happy about me taking his picture right here. (Doesn't matter much, though, because I outrank him.)
Welcome home from Spain, Drew! We can't wait 'til Ana joins you.



