Just keep swimming...

Or is that 'keep climbing?'
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I mix up my Disney sometimes.

Nekkedd baby alert.

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For a little while that afternoon my husband put the inner tube on a leash so as not to lose track of Laura's lakeside meanderings. Did someone say redneck? Not on this blog they dint.

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In other news this week:

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Madeleine and Sarah return from camp (yes, again!) tomorrow.

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This past week they've been learning archery, riding other peoples' horses and swimming every day and in general (a-hem) not writing home. I think this is supposed to somehow prepare me for the ultimate separation anxiety of their (don't say it out loud) eventually growing up and leaving home.

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It happens in increments so small, more minute than the slow tick of the second hand, that I am lulled into complacency: My babies are little. Well, at least last time I measured.

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But I blinked and the oldest two are really not babies at all. Their opinions alone are enough proof of that. Their abilities and likes and dislikes -- all evidence mounting steadily in the case for growing up independent and smart and funny and confident and all the things we theoretically want for our children but then we get whiplash when we recognize that the development of those same qualities in our children means they're less dependent. That they don't (temporarily, I hope) think mom is all that funny any more. At least not as funny as the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

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They're excited to know things I don't know. Like archery, for instance. And how to program the remote.

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But back to the news (or what we like to call newsworthy):

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I'm on a diet. Six pounds of sheer misery and no carbs in sight. I'll keep you posted unless I fail miserably. Also, it's a little competition with my carb-cheating buddy Kate. So go cheer her on if you want. Just not more than you cheer for me.

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In the first day of the protein festival I accidentally ate chocolate. In my defense I was cleaning the kitchen while taking a VERY STRESSFUL phone call (gotta love the real estate market when it causes me to be compulsive about my countertops) and then I found a chocolate under the crockpot. You don't keep chocolate under your crockpot, you say? It's an excellent hiding spot since no one in your family is likely to touch that appliance. Just sayin'.

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Anywhat I was wiping down the counters, cradling the phone to my red hot ear and listening intently to the demise of yet another deal when I spied the Dove delightfulness and UNCONSCIOUSLY unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth. (Or would that be subconsciously? Whatever. I wasn't really paying attention.)

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I realized what I was doing almost immediately so... people... dear readers... I SPIT IT IN THE TRASH.

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This was the moment at which I knew Atkins can cause insanity.

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Also this was the moment a nice loan officer thought I was hawking up a disgusting unknown item or maybe wretching at the aforementioned demise of the deal. Little does he know that no mere commission loss could be as tragic as the waste of good chocolate.

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Six pounds, people. And only forty more to go.

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And BACK TO THE NEWS (the digressions get worse with Atkins insanity, don't they?):

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Laura had her 18-month checkup this afternoon. She's perfectly healthy, no ill effects of the last visit. I did remember to bring a latte for the nurse. So besides being healthy and happy, she's a COMPLETE PILL. She kicked the doctor. She yelled "noNOnoNOnoNO" at the top of her lungs to all of his questions. Except she counted to five for him (baby genius, I know) and she hasn't even done that for DADDY yet.

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Contrary.

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Other nurses came in to admonish her that she's six months early for the terrible twos.

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After the doctor visit we (Grace (the model big sister all afternoon) Laura and I) went to visit Grandma and Grandpa in their back yard. Laura wickedly approached the gorgeous potted flowers with a glint in her eye. At the last minute she stopped pulling on the blossom and took a big sniff instead. She knows how to push Grandma's buttons. And just so he didn't feel left out, she laughed uproariously at Grandpa's jokes and tickling but refused to do any tricks for him either. No counting. No saying new words. No show here, folks. She even refused to distract them from their incredulous response to my news that I'm going back to school. (Who said Dad doesn't read this blog?)

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Contrary. Next thing you know she'll be growing up and off to camp just to prove me wrong. Or right. I can't keep it straight because I need some CARBOHYDRATES.