There's been a family emergency and am going to be caught up with things here at home for the next week or so. Orders will be filled on schedule - there will be no delays. However, my ability to answer emails is questionable. I'm going to be driving back and forth between Rochester and Syracuse many times over the next few days, and won't have constant internet access. Please be patient. If you have a problem with your order, I will address it as soon as I am online. Custom estimate requests will need to be temporarily put on hold. We won't be accepting any rush orders at this time.

We missed her. We missed her greatly - but not enough to adopt another feline. Then, as will happen in rural 150-year-old homes, the mice began to sneak through the cracks and leave little presents for us and we immediately changed our minds about adopting another pet.

I'll take cat puke over mouse nuggets ANY day of the week, thankyouverymuch.

A few days ago we gathered up the kidlets and drove to Lollypop Farms to pick out a new cat: a mousing cat, to be exact. Mehitabel was a phenomenal mouser. Sometimes we could hear her rattling around in dark corners in the wee hours, and in the morning we would find evidence of a terrific battle. Mehitabel always won.

At the animal shelter we waited in a small reception room while the volunteer at Lollypop Farm brought in the first of three cats with whom we had requested a meeting. Ginger was all white with grey spots. She ran to the bench and hid under it for the duration of our time with her, which we took as an indication that she probably will not favor peanut-butter coated children.

The second cat we wanted to meet was "any one of the three black three-month old kittens." The volunteer came in the small room with two of the three (the third jumped back into the cage as she tried to pull her from it.) Kitten number one ran under the bench and hid when she heard the squealing kidlets. Kitten number two ran to Adam and tackled him. Adam laughed. K#2 bounded around the room, swatted Elizabeth in the butt twice and lunged for the pipe cleaner she was holding. This playful interaction between our kidlets and K#2 continued for about five minutes, when we finally requested the opportunity to see the last cat on our list: A tiny torti.

She had an unbelievably sweet disposition. She allowed the kids to maul her for five minutes and purred the whole time. However, she was bony and had weepy eyes. I worried (understandably) about the health of such a delicate creature being thrust into a home with two excitable children and an excitable dog.

I told the volunteer what we already knew: We'd take the kitten who tackled Adam like he was a football. Any cat who hunts toddlers won't have a problem catching mice.

Win.

And that's her name. Winnie. The shelter named her, and I've stuck with it. Elizabeth has changed the name a dozen times already: Sparkles, Princess, Belle, Pinky, Bon-bon, Stinky Bones and even Mehitabel Two.

I'm sticking with Winnie.

She had a little accident in the carrier and I had to bathe the stench off her when we got home, but she took to water like a - well - she didn't really take to the water, but she tolerated it reasonably well, and I wrapped her in a fluffy white towel to present her to the kids.

They squealed. They giggled. They clapped their hands and hopped about, asking if they could hold her. I opened the towel and the cat did that little hoppity-hoppity arched-back dance thing that kittens do when they're about to attack and the kids screamed as though I had just unleashed a starving panther on their asses.

The kitten ran over to their toes and batted at them with whispered ferocity: like the tickle of an angel wing.

Elizabeth cried. Adam shrieked and hid in the corner.

This animal weighs less than one pound, barely makes a sound when it meows and my toddler spawn are deathly afraid of it. For a moment I wondered if I could use the kitten as a threat for misbehavior.

"Elizabeth, clean your room or I will release the kitten on you!"
"Adam, if you don't stop beating your sister with the croquet mallet, I will let the kitten bat your toes!"

But I ultimately decided that it would not be a great idea to raise kitten-fearing children. They might be labeled as wimps, and I didn't want to be blamed for raising the first (and only) skittish Pipers in the history of the world.

The kitten stalks the children, the dog, both Brian and I, and has cornered one screaming child, a whimpering dog and fourteen bugs. I have not seen evidence of a single mouse since she entered the home.

I am calling the adoption of Winnie a total success.

Enjoy the weekend!

He has a strict morning routine he follows and, as he does ever morning, he told me sleepily, rubbing his eyes, "I want to watch Scooby Doo."

I flicked on the tv and Christina somebody-or-other was singing and dancing with a herd of scantily clad women, rolling around on the hoods of cars.

Adam, after perking up and noticing the pretty women the music video whispered, in awe, "Mommy, I don't want to watch Scooby Doo. I want to watch girls......"

For my birthday present, I asked Brian if I could have one full day of silence so I could work out the details to my story. He graciously gave me the gift today (on the day I celebrated my 21st birthday for the 20th time) and thanks to him, my story is finally rounding the bend of completion.

As he ushered the kids to the car this morning, Elizabeth asked, "What are you doing today, Mommy?"

I answered simply, "Enjoying the silence," and I kissed her on the top of her tiny little head as she climbed into her car seat

"What is silence?" She asked.

to which I responded, "EXACTLY!"

Happy Summer Solstice, everyone!

So that's what I did.

And when I tried to pass through the x-ray arch at the airport, they saw the cake slices stuffed into my bra and hauled my ass to jail.

Then I woke up.

For my daily-daily post, I wanted to share with you a website that my cousin Jim showed me. It's a Photo-of-the-Day site brought to you by the New York Times and the images are especially captivating. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. (Thanks, Jim!)

Click here for the link.

Enjoy this almost-summer Wednesday folks! There will never be another one quite like it! Remember - only four more days until Father's Day, summer solstice and MY BIRTHDAY!

Brian and I packed up the kids and traveled to my old stomping ground in Pulaski, NY, near the Salmon River and Lake Ontario. We stayed at Selkirk Shores State Park in one of their rustic cabins. We did have the luxury of one toilet (requirement with potty-training toddlers), cold-running water/kitchen sink, a gas stove and a refrigerator (which was really nice, not having to continuously refill ice in the cooler).

The cabin had a great room with a big fireplace, large table with benches and a queen-sized bed. There was a very small bathroom for the toilet and a small bedroom with two twin beds. A wrap-around screened porch faced the lake and came complete with two Adirondack chairs. I spent a bit of time there reading and watching the sun set.

A few months back we posted a note, letting everyone know we'd be staying at Selkirk if they wanted to meet up with us. Uncle Paul and Aunt Sue told us that they had made reservations at Selkirk for the same week. When we arrived at the cabin, we found out they had the cabin directly next to us, so we spent a few evenings around their campfire, sharing stories. It was a nice surprise. While we were visiting, Uncle Paul took this great picture of the kids:

We celebrated our fifth (can you believe it?) wedding anniversary while we were camping, and Aunt Anita had a card delivered to us right at our cabin (how fun!) and Travis and Kathy brought a big anniversary cookie to help us kick off year number six!

We got to see lots of our favorite relatives. Aunt Anita, Uncle Jim, Aunt Colleen, Uncle John, Mom, Shannon & Gary and several cousins stopped by during the week. We also spent lots of time with cousin Jim and his wonderful family (thank you again, Jim!). My friends Melanie (Thank you, Lawrence Clan!) and Beth came out to spend some time with us, too and we're really looking forward to taking up the offers of travel to Utah and Ohio sometime in the near future.

The Vogl Family spent the night with us on Friday and helped us polish off the last of the food, and I think I've convinced them that camping together (since our kids are the same ages) works out very nicely. Karin brought nail polish and hosted the First Annual Piper-Vogl Pedicure Party.

We borrowed Brian's father's canoe and paddled from Sandy Pond over to Boater's Beach. It was pretty windy and Brian got his kite up. He was dragged through the water a bit, which he seemed to enjoy, despite the chilly temperatures. The kids had fun running through the sand and digging big holes. We also hit Sandy Island Beach, which is really nice, as compared to how it looked 10 years ago.

We spent a day on the Salmon River teaching the kids how to catch crayfish bare-handed. Elizabeth delighted in chasing minnows and asked me to help her catch one. Fortunately there was a small pool with a couple of land-locked minnows in it and I caught one for her. She held it for a few seconds, giggling wildly as it wriggled in her hand, then released it.

We also drove out past the old house on Cemetery Street in Altmar and hiked back through my cousin Heidi's old property. I can tell you exactly where every building, apple tree, pear tree and pine tree existed during the 1970s. I spent much of my childhood there, playing "Little House" with Heidi and my sisters, covering every inch of that acreage in my hand-me-down Keds.

While at the beach one day, Toddler No. Two clocked me with a wide-open palm, square on the right cheek. We sat down on a bench for a bit of Time Out. While attempting to entice an apology, here's how the conversation went down:

Adam, do you know why you're in time out?

I hit Mommy.

Are you supposed to hit people?

No.

What do you say?

You're welcome.

We had a great time wandering the shores of Lake Ontario, but I'm about to collapse after scrubbing a week's worth of muck from between my toes, so I'll see you next week. I'll be spending my free time responding to emails until I'm caught up, so if you have questions, please don't hesitate to drop me a line.

I was addicted to them quickly, and I'm not blaming anyone other than myself for it. I knew the dangers of smoking, but I didn't care. I was young and invincible and wanting desperately to be something other than a quiet, innocent-looking geek.

While I was a smoker, the most I ever weighed was 120 pounds. I didn't realize it at the time, but cigarettes were serving as an appetite suppressant, keeping my weight unnaturally low. I'm 5'8" tall, and any time I visited with my doctor, he would tell me I was seriously underweight.

"If you quit smoking you'll naturally put on a few pounds and you'll probably be a very healthy person - because right now, you are not healthy."

He was right. I was not healthy. My stomach was constantly churning and I felt stressed out all the time. I threw up a lot from acid reflux. I was tired all the time. I was anemic. I felt like hell. My diet consisted of cigarettes and coffee and convenience food. I was too hyper from the nicotine and caffeine to slow down and eat nutritious meals - that is, if I ate anything at all. I was simply not hungry - ever.

I was embarrassed to be a smoker and it was something I kept hidden from most people, but I knew in the end, it was a habit that was going to kill me if I didn't eliminate it from my life. Eventually I quit, but it was an extremely difficult process, and it took several attempts before it stuck. I did it cold turkey, with the help of several bags of Werther's candies.

When I quit, I started eating again. I went from 120 pounds to 150 pounds immediately, and my weight hovered at 150 until I became pregnant with Elizabeth. Before I gave birth to Elizabeth, I developed preeclampsia and weighed in at 200 pounds on the day she was born. For the first time in my life I had to diet to lose the weight. It took a year and a half, but eventually the weight came off, and when I found out I was pregnant with Adam, I weighed 140.

I immediately put on the baby pounds with my pregnancy for Adam and when he was born, I was just under 200 pounds again. This time I lost it quickly and my weight has consistently hovered between 140 and 150 pounds. I'm able to maintain this weight by doing nothing more than eating sensibly and getting off my ass a few times a week (either by walking 2.5 miles, or by doing hard work in the yard).

I understand that some people are going to read my weight confession and think, "Honey, I wouldn't brag about 150 pounds." Some of you are going to think, "Don't complain. I'd give anything to be 150 pounds." To be honest, it really doesn't matter what you think about my weight. What matters is me maintaining a healthy weight for my body, and doing it without obsessing over an unnatural desire to look 20 years younger than I really am. I truly believe that we could be much happier if we all simply stopped assuming that we all need to be carbon copies of Photoshopped supermodels. We're all different. Our personalities, hair color and religious beliefs are all different - why not our bodies, too?

At my weight, I'm not slender, by any stretch of the imagination. I look like an average 40-year-old mom with a few layers of padding where most 40-year-old moms wear it. I have a double chin (which I loathe more than anything). I have wrinkles around my eyes (which I don't really mind). I have cellulite on my ass. I have a post-pregnancy, c-section belly that's probably not going away unless I resort to a surgical remedy.

A few months ago I got it in my head that I needed to get back down to 120 pounds. Call it vanity, call it a desire to reclaim a youthful appearance, call it whatever you want, but I'm going to call it self-induced hell.

I started counting calories obsessively. I walked obsessively and jogged aggressively. I spent every waking moment working out menus and exercise plans and thinking/talking/reading about how I could lose the weight, so I could look like a slender 20-something skinny-young-thang. My days were filled with frustration, hunger pains and body aches from over-doing it with exercise. I was not having a good time and I was not losing weight. I followed this path of obsessive nuttery for about three months and then decided to call it quits.

If I'm eating healthy foods (for the most part), maintaining a regular exercise routine, and my body wants to weigh 140-150 pounds, then I should just let it. I will turn 41 in a few weeks and I've come to realize that nobody else cares whether I look 41 or 51 or 31.

Looking 41 at the age of 41 is, well, normal. Why fight it?

And that's when I realized that It's natural, normal and acceptable to get older. My body will continue to age. My face will continue to age. I will wrinkle more than I have already. I will have a post-pregnancy belly for the rest of my life. My hips will probably become more padded and my flat chest will likely continue to migrate south. As long as I am being kind to my body, my body will be as kind to me as its able.

It's exhausting work to endlessly combat the aging process and I just don't care enough about it to bother, because this (click here), this is just too much - even for someone like me, who regularly embraces 'over-the-top.'

(Thanks, Mike, for sharing this link)

I get pissed off with people like Oprah and Suzanne who are perpetuating this notion that aging is a process of which we (women) should be ashamed. I'm calling bullshit on this one, ladies. What you're promoting is an exclusive fountain of youth for the wealthy class. It's unnatural and it wreaks of cigarette smoke and mirrors. Women over the age of 40 should NOT feel as though it's their job to look as though they are half their age. There is nothing shameful about the aging process.

Can you imagine the amount of time it takes to ingest 60 pills a day, apply all those creams to your body, and, ahem, "use a syringe to inject estrogen directly into [your] v*gina?" (misspelled intentionally because I don't want to come up on Google for that particular market)

Would you really want to? I mean, half of your daily activity would be spent on trying to look young instead of enjoying what little time you have on earth. And what happens if tomorrow you are trampled by elephants?

I'm having far too much fun enjoying time with my children, building bog gardens, canoeing with Brian and the kiddos, eating more than one s'more, burying my face in juicy watermelon wedges, giggling at fart jokes (and holy bananas, toddlers LOVE fart jokes), eating more s'mores, and savoring every second that passes, clock ticking, aging forward.

It's okay, women. It's okay to do that. Get older, I mean. Don't listen to Oprah and Suzanne. Please.

The Big Secret that Oprah has been searching for?

I know it and it's attainable by any person, at any income level without the need to inject estrogen in your .....

Read Walden and pay attention to the lessons within those pages. Simplify your life. Do things that make you happy. Smile a lot. Eliminate stress. Eat healthy foods. Move once in a while. Stop being a slave to money and possessions. Let nature take its course and accept the aging process - nobody is immune to it anyway. Accept the fact that shit happens and mistakes will be made. Enjoy it all. Die happy, without regrets.