In case you haven't heard, I've really gone and done it this time!

It all started out when a nearby town had a consignment auction with a fridge I wanted for our church basement and a few other things I thought I'd just watch and see. Steven turned up sick that morning with a strong pain in his stomach, no energy and a big headache. Actually, that was fairly fine with me because he's a little reserved at auctions and always wants to go home earlier than me. I'm not griping about him, just stating the facts. So, I take the two dear children and we truck over there, in the pickup "just in case" we get anything. The fridge started at twice my maximum so there went that. But the auction entertains and entices me and we stay. I buy an ugly green glass lamp that has hope for only a buck. I buy a boxful of knick knacks and get a strange look from the lady I was bidding against. Caleb throws in a bid and gets a boxful of new, great wonderful things to help catch fish. He's thrilled. Sarah starts jumping off a sandpile into a mud puddle. She's thrilled. I try bidding on something but lose it. Later the auctioneer comes and makes an offer on it to me. I call home to ask Steven's opinion. He's groggy, sick, doesn't care and tells me to do whatever I want. So I eventually go home with a motorcycle!

Never mind the fact that neither of us even knows how to start it, drive it, stop it (we found out that's pretty critical) or maintian it. It's one of the things on our list of 50 Things to Do Before We Die. So we both tested for our Learner's Permits and have given it a few spins. I even made it up to 10 mph one day! Cruisin' I tell ya! I would have puked if you make me actually turn that throttle and go faster! It just so happens we already had a helmet in the garage. Although it fits Steven great (He looks very cool in it, I say), something is still desired for me. I did wear it but it kept falling down over my eyes. That's fairly critical, even when only going 10mph. Just a pointer from an experienced motorcycle rider.

By the way, I think every single person we've told has tried to encourage us with a death tale involving a motorcycle. "Yeah, my Uncle Mickey had one and used to ride up to Alaska twice a year 'til he ran into one of them there bears and flipped seven times before landing on his back, which has never been too straight since then. The doctors say he'll probably talk in a year or two, after the 3000 stitches are taken out." Thanks, everyone.
South Dakota Department of Motor Vehicles isn't any better. We had to read the Motorcycle Manual before testing. That's a horror book, if I ever saw one. "Ninety percent of motorcycle accidents occur within the first six months of riding by inexperienced drivers leaving their driveways in the middle of town on a new bike on a street called Elm Street in the NW section of the city." Or something like that.

We pause for a commercial break:

For Sale 1985 Kawasaki 454 LTD motorcycle to the first dim-witted bidder at an auction

Spring arrived in Herreid the other day. Sarah joined the neighborhood posse and played in the sand, sun, mud, and grass all afternoon after school. She came in looking dark and swirly. One point of interest: her index finger had been completely colored in with a black marker on the top half. Not the top half from the knuckle up but the top half with the palm side still being flesh-colored. Being ignorant parents, we asked her why. She simply stated that they had been playing Indians and her new name was Half Finger. Obviously.

We instructed her to bathe and bathe until she looked caucasion again. She complained that she really wasn't THAT dirty. So, I struck up a deal with her. If she could show me one spot the size of my palm that wasn't dirty, she could forgo the shower. She picked up her formerly white t-shirt and rubbed a spot on her belly. Well, it had been clean, until she touched it. So I won. An hour later, our little white-skinned girl emerged from the bathroom, without a dust cloud following. Yes, she did sleep good that night. It's wonderful to be eight years old.

Caleb has been discovering the joys and pains of track. He throws shotput and discus and runs the 100 yard or meter, I can never remember how they measure it anymore. He misses a lot of school but gets a lot of sun. There's good and bad in both of those. Mostly, he just loves working out each day. I don't get that at all. Guys must just like sweating cuz Steven's the same way. Eww from me.

Right now, Caleb is pounding away up in the attic. He is installing carpet and transforming a junk room into a fully functional entertainment center. I'm eagerly anticipating the results!

Well, I oughta help since I'm the mom and all. Gotta earn brownie points before Mother's Day.

Blessings,

Marcia for the Swann's