“Oh!  It broke!”  Said Miss Sunshine.

Pixie runs into the kitchen to see what happened.  “Did you break it?  Why did you do that?”

“Yea, why did you do that?” Her ever helpful Father teased.  He had seen the whole thing.

“You did it on purpose?”  asked Miss Sunshine.

“Why did you break it on purpose?”  asked Pixie

Yes, I threw it on the floor in order to see our last, only remaining egg smashed. (The Hens really need to be getting busy out there!  They been slacking.) My heart’s desire was that The Dog  get it so I devised this deviant scheme and carried it out.

In the process of explaining that no, I had not broken it on purpose; The Boy enters the scene and proclaims, “You broke it on purpose?!”

Yes, there it is folks, the process of how rumors get started.  I am now a purposeful Blue Egg Smasher.  Beware.

Umm, “ag” basket? Agricultural basket?  Is that like the Bread Basket of the United States? No!  Couldn’t be.

“What “ag” basket? What do you mean?”

“You know, the ag basket we put the eggs in.”

Here is the area where the silver balls ended up.

Over here, not too far to the right, is where the silver bells pile onto one branch.  Don’t want them to be alone.  (The second bell is hard to see.)

Then all the gold ornaments apparently needed to be grouped together, away from the silver items (you know how they are.)

Last, but not least, the red balls had there own place of honor on the tree.

Overall, the tree looks lovely.  It was decorated with love and excitement- so fun to see.

Merry Christmas!

Going down the trail.

Peeking to see if we’re coming.

Having a good time.

Yes, Miss Pixie is wearing sandals (jellies) with socks, her nightgown, heavy jacket and mittens.

It’s June.

I will say that our mornings can be rather chilly sometimes but I do think this is a little extreme.

Then she gives me that Otter smile….

Pixie and I were walking along, hand in hand when she said “Papa is thinking of getting me a horse.”

Oh really?

I later asked him about this and he can’t remember the conversation but leave it to Miss Literal to not miss anything.

“Yes, so I can ride in the parade.”

I see.

“I want to be a bear in the parade.”

My mind pictures a cute little brown bear costumed Pixie on top of a horse in a parade. Why does she need a horse for that? She could just walk. Her little voice interrupts my vision of her in a bear costume walking the parade route.

“I don’t mean a costume…”

Can she read minds?

“I want to have a flag and be a flag bear on a horse.”

No, I’m in a hurry.

She pulled up a chair to watch me anyway. You know, a little girl on a chair can sure impede the traffic flow but I held my tongue and tried to keep moving. She watched me take a bit of dough, put a bit of flour on the tortilla press, push down on the lever and peel off the tortilla before throwing it into a pan to cook. She asked if she could push down on it.

Oh, all right! I reluctantly said. But hurry!

She did that fine and we put the tortilla on the skillet. I rolled another ball and put it in the press then went off to tend something else. She pressed it.

Then peeled it off. I rolled the dough into the right sized balls for her and she took over. She put flour on the press, put in the ball of dough, pressed it and peeled it off.

I felt bad for being grumpy. Pixie ended up being a big help and was pleased that she was able to make the tortillas for dinner. They may not have been perfectly round, I wasn’t getting them that way either, but they tasted good.

We’ll have to make more sometime.

First you brush the hair.

Notice the Hairstylist already has her hair in an Extreme Style.

Then the clips are put in.

And even MORE clips! How far will she go? How many clips can one head hold?

The finished Extreme Style.

Side view, to get the full effect.

Then the Extreme Hairstylist can rejoice in her creation.

And that ends another sneak preview of the exciting new show Extreme Hairstyles! Tune in next time to see even more wild and crazy styles!

One needs to improvise.

“Us girls don’t like that!”

“Us girls want to go there.”

A united front of girls.