Let this serve as a warning

If ever you should order the spicy sausage penne at East Side Mario's, please note that the red object resembling a tomato is in fact one of the hottest chili peppers around.  It is advisable not to eat it as if it were something as innocuous as a tomato.  Great caution is required.

Two glasses of ice water and the remainders of a sangria later, I am alive to tell the tale.  My good friend and supper companion advised me to tell the waitress my experience; and so, I did.  She replied, "You know what?  You're the first customer that I have ever forgotten to tell about The Chili Pepper."  Her reply, and lack of apology, did nothing to calm the fiery insides of my mouth.  I did, however, manage to recover in time for dessert.  My sinuses have also been given a thorough end-of-summer cleaning.  Back with vacation photos soon.

Instalment 3: Our backyard

Have I ever shown you the treehouse?  No?  We didn't build this luxury; it was here when we arrived.  So was the incredible fence, for that matter.  The treehouse has been out-of-bounds for a number of years since Hannah tumbled through the trapdoor at the age of six.  We only reopened it this spring, and is available to the oldest four children.  The treehouse really is amazing - more of an awkwardly placed bunky, actually.  Not only is it made of quality materials, but it also has a loft.  Mind you, I've only been up there once.  Access to the treehouse is a swinging rope ladder; my one-time climb much resembled Sr. Evangelina's attempt to board ship on Call the Midwife.  Need I say more?

 Dave's pride and joy:  his potato plants.  (I guess his sons are too.)  Dave saw me taking photos and called out to make sure that I was adequately capturing the height of his plants.  These potatoes last us from October through April - quite the crop.

 The kids are picking potato bugs, a twice daily chore.  I have exempted myself from this activity on grounds that I have carried six children and endured labour and delivery five times.  I will gladly do it again, if only to avoid the squishing of the potato bug.

 A potato-patch kid.

 The vile creature completely unaware of his fate.

 In the hands of its executioner:  reprieve before the guillotine-like strength of my eldest's thumb and forefinger.  No, not iodine:  potato-bug juice.

 Joe, mistaken for a potato plant, falls prey to the evil bug.

 Sarah, the youngest of a long line of potato-bug hunters, arrives on the scene.  Watch out, bugs!  She's armed with the standard-issue broken plastic rake and stuffed frog on a clip.  And shoes stolen from her brother.

 Ben managed to avoid the morning's chore by hiding in the treehouse.  He safely descends once his siblings return from the fields.

Perhaps a bigger sandbox?