The Tortoise and the Whippet

Today I let the dogs frolic out in the back yard for a good hour--the weather is amazing and they can always use a good romp. It is very fun to watch especially as Stanley has begun his own campaign of terror---a far cry from the past where he would resolutely stand on the deck despite all of Dinah's egging and urging to play. I guess he's gotten off his high horse (finally), and now he loves to chase her around the yard in big circles until he manages to tackle her.

Well, after I got out of the shower, I could hear Dinah outside, barking like an idiot. The noise continued throughout my getting dressed, so I finally shouted out the window at her to cut it out. She did...for about 5 seconds. So out I went to investigate.

I walked across the yard to find Dinah in her butt-up-in-the-air play stance, barking and barking, and doing little dances. Finally I got down to the woods only to see that the subject of her attention was a medium-sized turtle. I actually identified it as a male Terrapene Carolina (Carolina Box Turtle) only because we had encountered some this weekend at BugFest. Well, this turtle was resolutely ignoring Dinah and trying in his best turtle-y way to tiptoe the heck out of there. There was a smorgasbord of mushrooms that he had been feasting on and I guess Dinah had ruined his lunch and was apparently trying to bark him to death.

I finally shooed her away and let him get on with his business of ridding my yard of mushrooms (sweet!) and went back inside. Later I was out there again and looked around for him, but there was no sign other than partially nibbled mushrooms everywhere. The cool thing is that he is trapped in our yard--there aren't any gaps under the fence, and it made me wonder how long he's been living in here? It's obviously like white-collar-prison between the woods and the compost heap that I augment daily with Jack's unwanted veggies. A little piece of turtle heaven I think!

Things Get Hairy...ish.

Even though he is from pasty, Scottish-Irish-English stock, Jack is very...fuzzy. OK, he is alarmingly fuzzy. Now if we were Italian or Persian, it wouldn't be such a shock. But the kid is HAIRY! Even his shoulders! I am already (self?) pitying the woman who has to look at that pale, hairy back in bed each night...but I'm 25 years ahead of myself.

Anyway, his head-hair grows super-fast. And I love it, it's gorgeous, but he could (conservatively) get his hair cut every 4 weeks. Needless to say, with all that's been going on, we haven't been to the barber's since July and his hair is really shaggy. Sooo I decided to just give him a little trim b/c the shaggy look is quite cute on him (unlike Dan). Armed with the kitchen scissors, I snipped some sideburnage and mullet off and things looked much better. But, as you know, it is hard to STOP once you've started cutting someone's hair. It's a bit like just having a "taste" of cake frosting.

I managed to contain myself, but did give one questionable shear in the back that looks a little wonky. So I told Jack, "Don't ever let me do this to you again." He looked at me with somber eyes and nodded (his new thing).

Well, this morning I noticed that I had missed about 9 hairs over his left ear and they looked ridiculous. I got out the scissors and approached him..."MOMMY NOOoooo!!!" he screamed with glee, so eager to chastise me with my own permission!! I literally dropped the scissors. I didn't think that he'd remember--I had forgotten! This was alternately great and horrible news...I was in awe: he'd followed instructions in the future. I guess I have to stop muttering, "Kill me already," under my breath when I'm changing a doozie of a diaper. Maybe this is the long-awaited last mental step to potty training?!?!?

Holy Guacamole

This is mostly for the relatives who were requesting my recipe last week.

For two servings: Buy an avocado. (It should give a little at the pointy end near the stem when you press on it.) Take it home, let it sit overnight, unrefrigerated. Cut it in half and take out the stone (hack with a knife and twist--bang knife on trashcan to dislodge).

Use a spoon and remove avocado flesh in one piece. Put both pieces hole-side-up in a shallow dish. Into each hole pour lemon juice until the hole is full. Sprinkle a pinch of salt in each and then fill with finely chopped onion. Smash everything with fork. Sprinkle with pepper. Voila! If you want more color add chopped tomato or sour cream or red pepper. I like mine super-zesty (not like that DAD) so I always add extra lemon juice and salt. A lot of people use lime, but I think that lemon is better.

Enjoy!

Dairy Day

So one of Jack's very favorite foods is yogurt. Which he pronounces, "wer-git." It's really funny. He prefers it in the drinkable form, and I always keep a LOT of it in the fridge. (He's been known to plow through 3 bottles in a sitting, which might explain the juicy diapers...ew!) I can't help but acquiesce to his wergit requests, and I often (shamelessly) make him repeat himself just to hear him say it...it's so funny!

Usually he is very docile with the wergit-drinking. I give it to him, to shake up of course, and then I puncture the foil top with a straw and he goes and sits, quietly sipping away, on the couch. Well, today I administered the wergit and went about dumping (yes DUMPING) the dishwasher only to find, after a great deal of suspicious silence, that he had emptied his wergit into a box of tissues on the coffee table and then proceeded to pull out several and drape them over things...one of them being Dinah. (She was in ecstacy, she loves any form of dairy.) So I had to yell about the wergit (and it's very hard to remember to call it "yogurt" after all his wergit-ing) and wash two pillows and a blanket---and spot clean the couch and dog.

Needless to say I am at a loss---do I endlessly patrol his wergit-drinking or can I trust him again? Can you ever really trust a 2 1/2 year old? I suspect that the answer is "definitely NOT."

Reading Between the Lines

My apologies (to anyone who actually reads this) that I have been MIA this week. My Gran passed away on Friday and we have been inundated with MD relatives who were clamoring to get their last goodbyes in. Seeing as there are three of us installed down here now, we can literally house the entire family and only a few visiting friends had to stay in hotels (lucky them!). So now that they have left, leaving me amidst piles of dirty sheets and dishes, I am finding time to mourn my Gran the way that she would want...quietly, hehe. For a woman who had 7 children, she had a great appreciation for peace and tranquility, and I am sure that she is checking in on me from heaven in my solitary moment, telling me how very happy she is that she can silently observe the family without having to actually listen to them (for they are quite loud).


My Gran taught me many things, mostly by example, and had many qualities that I try to embody. She, in her calm and patient way, inobtrusively taught lessons that I will keep with me always. She had a true appreciation for nature, and it's inherent, vital significance to each of us. She tried to see the beauty in each day, and told me that she thought that the sunbeams that sometimes filter through the clouds in their yellow shafts must surely be a sign of God. She taught me to be quiet and listen, to stop moving and see; she gave me my first lessons on how to love animals, whether they be dog or snail. She taught me to press flowers and to love, love, love books. My house will forever be filled with plants and novels, and figurines and flowers, because of my beautiful Gran.

(At Jack's 2nd Birthday party, with daughters Susan and Claudia.)

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.

*** Text from a sermon written by Henry Scott Holland and delivered in St. Paul's (London) on 15 May 1910, at which time the body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster.

Dental Dominance

When I went to pick Jack up from school today, I had to sign a small slip of paper that absolves the school from any lawsuits resulting from an injury. I was wondering how long it would take for this to actually occur: Jack had, not surprisingly, instigated a small scuffle in which he shoved someone and that someone bit him. (The school wisely does not disclose the child's name, but as soon as we got out to the car Jack spilled the beans and totally ratted out the Chomper.)

This particular classmate has an older brother, and knowing first hand that second siblings will often result to biting (Leslie), I felt that the Chomper was probably just reacting to being manhandled by Jack in a tried-and-true manner that gets the fastest results (smart kid).

Luckily Jack must not have tasted so great because the Chomper only got in one small nibble. There is a small bruise of little purple teeth marks on Jack's right bicep. Let it be his scarlet letter (the letter "C," haha) to remind him: Thou shalt not shove thy friends.

Silence of the Bamas

Today's story: Jack has just emerged from the bathtub. He came home from school sweaty, happy, and with goo lodged in his ear and hair. I don't know what the goo is...perhaps some colorless, homemade play dough? I try not to dwell on what exactly it is; for mental health (and digestive) reasons, it's better to ignore the surreptitious and unidentifiable (in origin and name) substances that stick to little boys.

After his bath I was helping him put lotion on. We keep his apres-bath stuff in a wicker basket downstairs where he usually gets pajama-ed. I was lingering over the lotioning-up bit of the post-bath ritual, because I really like the smell (it is such a marked improvement over the pre-bath Jack smell) and it reminds me of babies. Jack was growing very annoyed with how long I was taking to rub the lotion onto his little back and arms so he grabbed the bottle from me and announced that we were finished here and told me to "put the lotion in the basket!" Well, my hands were all slippery so I couldn't even get the bottle shut, AND it was so funny to hear this coming from his mouth that I just started laughing. He tried to stand up, still naked, and kept yelling. "Put the lotion in the basket! Mom-MY! Put the lotion in the basket!" Needless to say, once I've started to laugh that hard, there is no stopping me. Eventually he grew exasperated and just left me there, laying on the rug and gasping.

Le Bon Temps

So I know that I am a grown-up now because I like to watch the news in the morning. After I drop Jack off at school, I make coffee and breakfast and watch the local channel. Now, "news" in North Carolina consists mostly of weather, agriculture, weather, drought conditions (even if there is no drought) and weather. Occasionally there will be a car accident or grisly murder, but for the most part my fellow Carolinians apparently only care about the possibility of no more blue skies. So with Hurricane Hanna supposedly approaching, there is a LOT of news about all of this weather, despite the cloudless skies and 90 degree gorgeousness we are currently experiencing.

I have tried to figure out the obsession--I know that there is a greater amount of agriculture down here than there was in DC, and many more domestic and wild animals (who depend on the weather for grazing obviously--although they have no inhibitions about barging into my house), and lots and lots of lakes, but I do suspect that this obsession with the weather is really based on a pleasant lack of horror and politics (also unlike DC). So with this in mind I can patiently weather (ha ha) the long news reports on rain, lack of rain, sun, lack of sun, etc. Although I remain (for now!) ambivalent about the weather--after all, we don't even get snow-- I won't poo poo my State's fixation. It's better to have fake drama than real drama (Dan's mantra).

Well, the News is encouraging us to stock up on food and water (although this is something else I cannot noodle--water--since we'll be getting torrential rains...?) for the upcoming "storm event." I suppose that everyone just needs some drama in their lives. The Harris Teeter is 1.2 miles from our house. I think that we can swim there if necessary. Actually a disconnect from the local market will actually be good for us--it will force me to cook up some of the unidentifiable frozen lumps in my freezer. I've also been encouraged by this petite urgence to locate my umbrella and raincoat and Jack's, which he calls his "fireman coat" since it is yellow with reflective stripes and up until now has been primarily used as a costume for dress up play.

So I will sit and wait for the rain, which will undoubtedly make my grass grow 2 feet overnight, and pretend that I am in the Amazon (which won't be a stretch given the number of bizarre and rather obnoxiously friendly creatures we have living in our yard). Perhaps the frog who layed her eggs on my back door had a premontion...Hanna is coming!

Labor Day Weekend

The weekend was fabulous. After our house-guests left, we took Jack and the old folks (read Mom and Dad) to Pullen Park to ride the train and boats. It was a time.

So because my Mom's pool is closing for the summer, we decided to have a last-minute Labor Day dinner party--only 3 people showed up, and I bet you can guess who they were! We wanted to have supper under the beautiful NC setting sun, so I fried up bacon and took two big, fat tomatoes to have BLTs. (What I won't mention is that I forgot both lettuce and bread. But I did remember chips, pickles and utensils!)

It was a fabulous evening, and Jack swam (and dove willy-nilly, GOD how much he trusts that I will be there--it's terrifying) all over the pool, ordering everyone around, and then took a 10 minute outdoor shower. I think that the shower is his favorite part. He can stand under the warm water and survey his domain. He happily bathed while we all ate our dinner (Dan ran to the store to get lettuce and bread, and shockingly, beer).

We went back to my Mom's house, soggy and full, and Jack proceeded to play at my Mom's makeup table. I suppose it's called a "vanity" but we don't live in the 1920s and it's basically a desk with a mirror. He loves to play with the brushes and pencils and pots, pretending to organize and make himself beautiful. I am not alarmed by this--I used to pretend to shave my "beard" with my father. Plus I think that it's healthy for Jack to have an early notion of all of the crap that women do to look nice. If he starts shaving his legs, then I will worry.

The day was a success, even Dan was grinningly satisfied. No Labor was done, especially considering my disorganized picnic dinner, and we were all content to be outside, together and demonstrably not working.