Big piece, Little piece, Side piece, Middle piece, Playing on a fiddle piece, and other forms of eating cake.

This week my first niece, Sophie, turns that glorious age when you are no longer allowed to ride an airplane for free!  To celebrate the occasion, my entire family gathered to Nana and Papa's house to spend Labor Day weekend eating hotdogs, hamburgers, potato salad and enough ice cream cake to make frosting stream from our ears, and then fly us back home before Sophie's birthday (and 200 more dollars of airfare) actually happens.

It's been amazing.

When I first came off the plane, I was excited to see my mom's reaction to my hair.  It's no longer blonde, and is now dark red instead.  I did that on Tuesday, and exerted great effort to not tell her I'd changed it so that when I came off the plane, she could be extremely shocked.

The plane landed.  I sent a text letting my mom know that after LOTS of delays, I was finally there.  After sending the text I giggled to myself that she had no idea what color my hair was, and maybe, if I didn't make eye contact right away, she wouldn't even see me until I was up close!

My mom opened her phone.  She read the text, then turned to Kamaron.  "So, do you think her hair will be red or black?"

Apparently my unpredictability is horribly predictable. 

Anyway, Sophie's actual birthday was great!  Barry and Jessie came over bearing a tray of the most blob-like cookies I have ever beheld.  They looked like plastic, toy cookies that had liquified, with a smooth center and rippled edges.  I laughed at Barry's mad cookie making skills... and then I took a bite.  I have to say, for massive, squished together cookies with hills and ripples through them, those were sure purty dang good.

Sophie loved her presents, and is now the proud owner of an entire library of chewable books (ie, books her 4 1/2 month old sister can chew on without destroying), as well as a weaponized doll stroller, that has already left bruises on my legs, as well as Papa's.  This is to go with her weaponized wooden snail that, when swung in a circle, gathers roughly the force of Thor's hammer before impact against her target's shins.

Today is my last day here, and we're spending it working.  It's the kind of work I've missed desperately while sitting in my cubicle, staring out the window, answering phones and trying to convince customers that noni is an acquired taste and therefore doesn't taste like rotten fish bile after you get used to it.

We're out in the orchard, pruning trees.  It's so much fun to have almost every member of my family out there (Barry and Jessie are unfortunately absent), talking, laughing and ripping the life out of small branches that, after sitting in the sun to dry, will be burned to a crisp in a giant bonfire.

The best part is working with my family.  The best part after that is the set of memories.  I'm remembering all the times we got together to clean up after a storm, or to weed the garden, buck hay bales, or haul a year's supply of chicken feed.  I'm out there, in the cool breeze of a Missouri September, clipping twigs, hauling branches, and clotheslining myself on a low-hanging peach limb.

And when all is said and done, it's been an awesome vacation, and Sophie is still the cutest two year old who throws a fit, smacks my face and tells me "NO!  STOP!" if I try to sing in her presence.