Happy Campers

It is a white, frosty Saturday morning here, and my whole brood is snug inside and all is right in the Lemony Renee' world . . .

The puppy is dragging around his toy rubber chicken; a Christmas gift. He is systematically chewing the toes off and having so much fun doing it.  A little ghoulish, but he's happy. 

Lester is sitting here on my monitor, all puffed up and content.   I love this little bird; she brings me peaceful companionship and all she asks in return is that I let her sit on my head every now and then.

And my husband and my son are where I left them last night . . . on the floor of the family room, sleeping bags spread out in front of the fire . . . this is their version of winter camping.  They cook convenience foods over the open fire of the fireplace and do decidedly "guy things" all evening, night, and the next morning.  Last night, I believe there was a late-night sledding adventure, a nature walk, and home to another log on the fire and a first lesson in poker.  Ten hours later, the poker continues (I suspect they slept at some point, but I can't be sure)  and my son just came streaking through here proclaiming that he just got a straight . . . hair still all askew and wearing his "happy camper" t-shirt, he was quite a sight.

These are the best of days. 

I think I'll pour another cup of coffee and have a bit of that banana bread for breakfast.

I wish you a contented Saturday . . .

Let's Go to the Pumpkin Farm!

Can't talk today -- we're all off to the pumpkin farm.  It's an annual family outing -- perhaps my favorite of the year.  Last year, I took y'all along . . . so here's what we did and what we will be doing again!  (We're creatures of habit.)

(From 10/15/09)  Okay, go get yourself a cuppa . . . we're going on a field trip!

Every fall, our family piles in the van and sets off in search of our own great pumpkin.  We go miles.  It takes us all day.  It is an event. It just wouldn't suit our family to head to the nearest grocery store -- or even the nearest pumpkin farm -- to get our Halloween pumpkins and fall decorations.  No.  We must travel far and wide.

We always make it into an adventure -- bringing food and snacks and drinks.  The kids usually bring along a companion of the toy variety, usually a stuffed animal or doll of some sort.  And we try and go on weekday when the other schools are in session, but ours is not.  It makes it much more fun to think of the fun we're having while others are in school, you know.

So we set out early Monday morning for our fall adventure.  We stopped at a local market on our way out of town.  They have an old-fashioned candy section second to none.  There are the old bushel barrels full of individually wrapped candies -- everything from rootbeer barrels to the old-fashioned cough drops in the striped wrappers.  There are also the modern candies and the campy kid candy, etc.  The seasonal candy is the most fun.  Have you seen those seasonal boxes of Dots?  "Blood Orange" flavored Bats.  There are also Candy Corn striped Dots.  And light green Ghost Dots.  Who knew?    We just had to get the gummy chicken feet!  We each also picked our favorites and moved on . . .

(My son chose those little wax bottles with the sweet syrup inside.  Remember those?  I didn't realize, though, until later, that he thought one ate the whole thing.  He was a bit disappointed when we tutored him on biting the "top" off and drinking the liquid and discarding the rest.  Such a waste to him.  Remember that lesson?)

Anyway, we continued on and finally reached our first pumpkin farm and pie stand.  I took several pictures of the place, but somehow missed the camera wrist strap hanging right in front of the lens!

Well, you get the idea.  See the size of those pumpkins?

This is an Amish farm and pie stand.  This year, they had the most incredible pumpkins.  Huge!  And wonderful varieties.  Not one of these would be found in the typical grocery store.  Unfortunately, unlike the pumpkins, the pies have declined.  I suspect they are under new ownership -- more focus on farming, less on baking.  Oh well, that'll be better for my waistline.

We bought two huge pumpkins and one smaller white pumpkin here.  We had to use a wheelbarrow to get them to the van, one at a time.  I couldn't lift one for even a moment.  Hugest pumpkins we've ever bought -- and for the price we usually pay for the typical pumpkins.  Wow!

I had to laugh at this scene in the parking lot:

 Man's Work!  It was all fun and games picking out the behemoth pumpkins; the work came in getting them in the vans!

And we "grin and buy it."  Corn shocks, I mean.

We know, full well, that the farmers must laugh at the city kids that actually pay for these, but I can't help it, I don't have a corn field out my back door and they look pretty by the front door this time of year.

Then off we went to the next destination.  This is a wonderful place that really defies description.  Picture an elderly couple with the energy of kids.  They have a salvage, woodworking, petting farm kind of place.  It is charming, yet a tad curmudgeonly, all at the same time.  We were treated to this sign as we parked:

Charming!

But then you turn around, and you see this beautiful, wonderful, amazing barn, all painted by the same hands that made that sign:

I wish I could post a larger image of it. (Hey, I just realized you can click on it to see it larger!  If you do, notice the bike in front covered in dried grapevines and lights . . . 'tis one of the things we bought!  And wouldn't that rusty bed make a great garden feature . . . "flowerbed?!")  This barn is at least 30' high and all handpainted.  It is a mural of himself and his wife and their dog.  That is them at the top, childhood sweethearts, sitting under a tree next to a wagon.  There they are at the lower right in modern day, they must be in their 80s.  The window on the top left is real; the window on the top right is painted.  Something, eh?

You could wander around in this and another barn for hours, but then there are the grounds which hold any and everything.  He has salvaged vintage windows stacked up side by side, like books on a shelf, by the hundreds.  Clawfoot bathtubs leaning in a row, probably 15 or so.  I didn't think to get a picture of these things as they really become part of the landscape after you become accustomed to this place.

If you wander around long enough, you'll come upon this fella:

He's friendly enough as long as you don't come inside his gate.  He turns all around so you can see how fancy he is.  He really is beautiful.  He has a missus, but she's quite shy.  He says not a word until you turn your back to walk away.  

So we wandered and wandered and ended up buying a couple of things for which we already had no room in the van.  We'll have to make another trip back either this weekend or next.  I'm sure you can imagine, I'm not too sad about that!

Up the road a couple of miles, we finally come to our pumpkin farm.  It is a little family farm that has been in the current owner's family for generations.  She and her husband and children grow so many varieties of pumpkins and gourds, it boggles the mind. 

That's her on the right, in the apron:  the maiden of the gourd.

There were pumpkins, literally, everywhere!

We spent a lot of time choosing the pumpkins we bought.  Everyone got one plain-ish pumpkin to make a jack-o-lantern and then we branched out into the decorative and useful ones as well.

I sought the maiden's advice on which variety would be best for pumpkin butter.  I plan to try my hand at that this fall.  The kids love it in their oatmeal and it is oh-so nutritious.  Stay tuned for that wild ride.

As they day came to an end, we packed everything in and headed home.

 

Now, to get them arranged and, later, carved -- it's been raining since just about the moment we arrived back home!



P.S.  Anyone who has read this far deserves a treat.  Go here  to carve your own virtual pumpkin -- and you can make and print the stencil so you can bring it to life.  (Those of you in lands devoid of Halloween festivities . . . you know you've always wanted to make a jack-o-lantern.  G'won!)

Saturday 9

Happy Saturday!

Here's this week's Saturday 9. Check out Crazy Sam to read other entries or to participate yourself.


1. Is there anything that you tend to do to cheer up when you are having a bad day?  Not really.  I am not very good at pulling myself out of moods, I'm afraid ~ usually have to sleep it off.
 

2.What’s the last card game you played, and with whom did you play?  Taught my little guy how to play Double Solitaire . . . I used to play with my grandma until the wee hours of the morning; he hasn't taken to it the same way.  Drat.


3.What’s the last board game you played, and with whom did you play?  Masterpiece.  Remember that game??  Just found the original version from 1970.  Love it!

4.What’s the last computer game you played, and with whom did you play?  None, I blog -- that's game enough. 


5.Is there somewhere you’d like to visit but have not, and where is it?  Anywhere, really.  Right now, a sleepy little village with great food and friendly people appeals to me.


6.Think of your favorite movie (or a movie you really like, if you can’t think of a favorite). Some people say that the reasons you love your favorite movie are related to what you value in relationships. How is this true or untrue in your case?  Enchanted April.  Lottie's character inspires me to try not to mete out love and measure it to match exactly what I think I receive from the other person, but to love to my own heart's content and with abandon and generosity.  In relationships outside my own family, I need to remember that at times. 


7.What physical attributes do you find the most attractive?  I like a good smile, nice teeth, big hands, broad shoulders; mostly, kind, "listening" eyes.


8.How many people live in your house? Tell us about them.  4.  The usual:  my husband, my son, my daughter, and myself.  I think you know plenty about us.  



9. Ever punch someone in the face?  Only with my eyes!

Saturday 9

1. Do you feel that you need to keep repeating yourself when talking to a particular person?   Yes, my son.  He's 9.  I think he just tries to wear me down.

2. It's July. Do you have anything special planned?  Independence Day with the family and my son's 10th birthday (I can hardly believe it.)!

3. Who is your big celebrity crush?  Harry Connick, Jr.

4. Tell us about a local restaurant you are sure we'd love.  Wag's in Frederick, MD.  Great little "below the sidewalk" pub.

5. Tell us about the shyest person that you deal with regularly.  Our pastor.  Sometimes I think a pastor needs to be a bit more outgoing, but he means well.

6. What is your vision of heaven and hell?  The usual cliche's.

7. What is your neighborhood like?  Our neighborhood is nice and quiet, but sometimes too quiet -- it seems all the kids disappear during the summer and it makes me sad for my own kids. 

8. What's your favorite cook-out food?  It's hard to beat a good burger on the grill -- accompanied by an ear of corn, yum.

9. When was the last time that you saw fireworks?  Let's see, maybe the last time I kissed my hubbo . . . or, no, wait, the last time we had a big fight!  Oh, okay, last Fourth of July . . . if that's what you want to hear. 

My thanks to Sam at Saturday 9 . . . check her blog to join in or read more. 

My Husband the Father

We took our kids fishing Friday evening. 

Our kids are young and enthusiastic, but inexperienced and uncoordinated.  And I hadn't been fishing in a few years, myself. 

I watched my husband bait hooks, replace hooks, cast, reel, unhook fish, encourage, and reassure my kids tirelessly for three hours.  I was awed by his endless patience and ceaseless enthusiasm.   

He calmly unwound my daughter's fishing line from my son's head and then rather patiently reminded my daughter that she was to wait before trying to cast by herself.

He helped my son change bait at least 10 times each hour and good naturedly  indulged my son when he insisted that he use the biggest lure in the box.  He also removed it two minutes later when my son  realized his father had been right, and never said a word.

He constantly reminded my daughter to watch the bobber and didn't seem to mind that she was becoming more interested in picking up rocks and kicking dirt.

He ran the fifty yards between my two kids, attending to all their needs, never once refuting my son's intuition that the spot he found so far away was "lucky."  

And he just laughed when my son gave up fishing in favor of engaging the ducks.


He baited and casted and untangled and rebaited, all in good spirit.  

All on a sprained ankle.

All evening long.

And, all the while, his rod remained on shore, dry and unbaited .  Not once did he get a chance to drop a line of his own.

And yet he spoke from his heart when he insisted that he was having the most fun of all.

Here's to you, Honey, and to all fathers everywhere . . . for it was Friday night that I finally realized, there were many afternoons when my own father never got in his own line . . .

You make my children better people,

You make me a better woman.

I love you.

To My Man . . .

XXX

 OOO

Saturday 9

Well, I don't know about you, but I have a lot to do today. Eggs to boil, cool, dry, AND dye. Baskets to stuff. My little altar server to take to vigil rehearsal and the vigil tonight. Shrimp salad (my grandma's tradition) to make, strawberries to hull . . .

So how 'bout a quick Saturday 9?


1. Tell us about the last time you really got hurt.

The last time I got really hurt was when I was stepping off of a neighbor's front stoop and landed on an uneven seam in their slate walk . . . my ankle buckled, I broke it, and fell to the ground.  BUT the real hurt came when I realized I had dropped my 9 month old son on my way down to the ground.  (Thankfully, he was not hurt -- not even a bruise.)

2. What's your oldest possession?

I still have the very first thing I bought out of my own money.  I was probably only 5 years old.  It is a tiny, little porcelain bird.  I bought it on a day out shopping with my grandma with money I "won" during our late-night double-solitaire playing.  

3. Do you have any phobias?

Bugs.  However, having a 9 year old boy who loves nature has gotten me to see the beauty in a few of them.  I must admit, a praying mantis is an amazing little creature. 

4. What values did your parents instill in you?

To always work hard and not let myself believe anyone owes me anything.  

5. What are your plans for Easter?

Easter egg hunt, Easter baskets for the kids, church, Easter meal consisting of all the traditional favorites.

6. I like sun more than snow.

I'm actually allergic to the sun.  Too much of it, even on a cool day, and I begin to feel sick.  My husband has observed that I enjoy the same climate as an earthworm.  I'm not sure how to take that.

7. Tell us about 3 fads from your teenage years.

Big hair, big shoulder pads, bright colors.  The 80s, I loved 'em!

8. Tell us what is the most important attribute in a lover.

I don't talk this way with other people.  I will tell you that my husband is all I could ever want, and I knew that before he ever touched me.

9. What new piece of technology have you resisted buying and what would it take for you to change your mind?

I have become quite a technology curmudgeon.  Planned obsolescence just infuriates me, and I wish people would resist being led around like sheep, following the latest must-have gadget that will require them to rebuy all their music, books, movies, etc.  Television used to be free.  Now we must all pay for most of the channels we enjoy.  Radio used to be free.  Here comes satellite radio . . . baaaah.

 

As always, my thanks to Crazy Sam for her Saturday 9.  You can find a list of other participants -- or participate yourself -- by clicking here. 

Saturday 9

Happy weekend!

Saturday 9:
 
1. Are you the type of person who jumps into new ventures or do you prefer baby steps?  The older I get, the smaller the steps.  I have so much more to lose now.  Sophia Loren once said, "When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts.  A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child."   So true.  So, so true.

2. Who do you feel believes in you the most?  Without question, my husband.  Even more than myself.   

3. When was the last time you were on a stage?  1998, law school graduation.

4. Tell us about the worst boss you ever had.  The worst boss I ever had was an attorney who was having an affair with his partner in the firm AND he was cheating on that woman with another woman.  A three-time cheater.  You never wanted to walk in his office without knocking first, trust me. 

5. If the NCAA Men's or Women's Final Four basketball tournament was played in your hometown arena or within easy driving distance from where you live, would you try to attend one of the three games?  I try to not even watch them on television, so NO. 

6. Of all the clothes you own, what do you feel most comfortable wearing, and why?  My Grinch-green sweats with matching sweatshirt.  Sometimes I spruce it up with a contrasting colored t-shirt underneath for extra pizazz.  Grinch-green suits me -- instant mood alert.

7. On what television show—either past or present—would you like to make to make a guest appearance, and what role would you play?  I would like to be a guest patron at Hell's Kitchen.  I think I could bring out the soft side of Gordon Ramsay.  (swoon)

8. St. Patrick's Day is on Wednesday March 17th. Do you celebrate and wear green? Drink Green Beer? Ignore it?  I usually wear green and make my own Irish Soda Bread.  I have red hair . . . it is only right. 

9. If a leprechaun told you that you could have any amount of money from his pot of gold but it had to be a specified amount for a specified item, how much would you ask for and what would it be for?  This is too hard to answer.  The "correct" answer would be to ask for all the money in the world to fix everyone's problems.  The realistic/revealing answer would be a few million dollars to buy a wonderful piece of ocean front property and create a family retreat for all the generations of my family, past, present, and future. 

As always, thanks to Crazy Sam for her weekly Saturday 9.

Favorite Things For Free -- No, Not a Giveaway

Well, that Penny at The Hen House is just a well-spring of inspiration these days!  Today, I follow in her footsteps and list 10 of my favorite things that don't cost a thing . . .
 

1.  Good conversations with all the time in the world.

2.  A good cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate in it.

3.  Fresh, crisp sheets after a hot summer's day.

4.  Colors . . . all of them.

5.  The look of my kids on a winter's night . . . footy pajamas, rosy cheeks.

6.  A beautiful view where I can see for miles.

7.  The knees on a newborn lamb.

8.  The place on my husband's face, between his sideburn and his ear.

9.  Parades.

10.  My son's eyebrows.


Now that the ball is rolling . . . I could go on and on . . . feel free to add to my list!

Am I Talking Too Much?

Would It Hurt Him!

I have always suspected . . . and now I know for sure . . .

If it were up to my husband, my kids would never eat lunch.

Honestly . . .

Football, Yes, Football!

Yes, football!  (My husband will be so shocked to read about my appreciation of football!)

I am not a die-hard fan; my interest waxes and wanes depending on what else I have to do that Sunday, that year, that phase of life.  I was a big, involved fan back when my husband and I were "single," i.e., before having children.  But babies don't watch football and I got busy and lost interest during those years.  I am working my way back to football as the kids get older now.  I like the dimension it adds it my relationship with my husband.  And I know my husband likes to talk football with anyone who knows anything about it, and I like to be counted in that group.

I also love football for the hours of fun and excitement it brings my husband.  Men seem united in some way when they like football.  They are lucky.  Though they may have never met and may know nothing else of each other, if they are both into football, they can converse easily for quite a while.  I often wish women had as unifying an interest.

Football also lends itself to lazy Sunday afternoons, something I seem to savor more them most in my family.  All summer long, we are outside doing or planting or putting . . . all the while, I feel the call of a lounge chair on Sunday afternoons.  Fall football seems to finally send that call through all of us in the family.

So, today, I spotlight football as something I am grateful for.  (Surprise, Honey!)  I love the commaradarie it brings to my family and to all men who watch.  I love the repose it brings to fall Sundays. 

And dare I say, the season is too short?  Just about the time that the holiday hoopla is over and winter Sundays begin to get a bit dull, it's over . . . that never quite makes sense to me. 

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Ever been kissed like this??

Fess up!

Most exciting/unusual kiss . . .

Me and My Dad

Well, it's done.

My house is clean.

Well, just don't look in the closets.

And my dad is here visiting.

I only have a minute here.  We've been talking non-stop since he got here last night.

It's funny.  When my parents usually visit, they come together and my mom and I spend all the time talking while my dad sits by quietly and contently.  Now it's just me and my dad, and now we're still talking non-stop.  Hmmm, maybe it's me.  It wouldn't be the first time someone called me a chatterbox. 


How nice it's been catching up with my dad like this; it's a special time for us.  What a treat.

So please forgive my absence yesterday and short post today.  I'm too busy talking to talk.  :) 

I'll catch you all up soon. 

P.S.  We went to the pumpkin farm with the kids yesterday.  And we bought the biggest pumpkins ever!  Pictures to follow later.

My Grandmother the Artist

Today is my grandmother's birthday. 

She died several years ago, but I still remember her clearly.  And the older I get, the more extraordinary she becomes.  Do you have someone in your past like that? 

She raised three children practically alone despite being married.

She did without more times than I'm sure she would admit to.  

She wrote to my father every single day he was away at war; that was 735 letters.

When she was older, she took herself to Hawaii -- alone, because it had been her dream and she couldn't find anyone to go along with her, despite being married. 

And she was an artist.  An artist who persisted without much encouragement.  I think my father was the only one who valued her work, when I was a child, at least.  Here is an example of her work, I think she'd like it if I showed it to whomever might be interested:

Of course, it's much better in person, but you get the idea.

I took my grandmother for granted when I knew her.  I was a child and, while she was certainly pleasant to me, she was not really a "kid person." 

Being a grown woman now, I finally have a full appreciation for the woman she was - extraordinary.

It's Clean Up Time

If you've been reading this blog for more than . . . a day . . . you know the state of my house.  It's dirty.  It's messy.  It's disorganized.  It's all over the place. 

This is the result of our family taking on chicken-keeping this year and building a beautiful coop out back all spring and summer, my not feeling well much of this year, and the usual this-and-that that keeps us all busy.

Well, that's all about to end.

My house must be cleaned.  Pronto.

I have company coming.

Monday.

To spend the night.

My father.

The giant sucking sound you hear is the whirlwind of cleaning activity that I have going in my house today and probably through the weekend.

There's nothing like overnight company to kick those cleaning routines into high gear . . . except, maybe, parental overnight guesthood.

I just got word of this visit last weekend.  It seems my father is sowing some of his retirement-wild oats by taking himself on a tour of Civil War battlefields in my area -- better that my father take this trip alone as his penchant for standing and staring at signs and their related open spaces is unmatched.  No one can stand and ponder longer than my father.  I'm telling ya.  And this can occur anywhere . . . long hours of my childhood were spent standing in hardware store aisles as my father pondered  . . . I still haven't figured out what.  So he's going by himself so he can ponder unrushed.  He plans to get around to us Monday evening.   

He'll arrive Monday evening and spend Tuesday with me.  He told me this sooo casually.  As if it wouldn't be noteworthy to me that he would be sleeping in this house a week from the moment we spoke.  As if the focus of my life was not about to be redirected for the next week.  No, it was up to me to detect the oh-so-subtle implication in his words -- that he intended to spend the night.  (My parents never stay here when they visit together.)  So.  Now I need to get the house clean AND select one of my kid's rooms and get that room cleaned myself.  I can't issue the usual edict to the kids and demand they clean their own rooms.  It has to be a good job this time.  Dusting and all.  Horseshoes picked up, even.  (A reference to the last time my son declared his room "all clean" despite having left a horseshoe lying in the middle of his floor.)

So off I go to finish putting out the Halloween decorations so I can put away the storage tub that has been in the hallway since this weekend.  Dog beds need laundering, floors need washing, rooms need straightening, everything needs dusting.

I mean it this time; no distractions . . .

Except maybe the few hundred blogs I have promised to visit and the many, many I have decided to follow . . .

Now be good friends and grab a mop and head over!

Over the Edge

Well, the march toward suburban parenting continues . . .

My husband, once a long-haired, t-shirt sporting, torn-jeans enthusiast is now a den leader for the cub scouts.  As I took this picture last week, I couldn't help but wonder who was growing up more quickly, my son or my husband.

My SweetiePies.

As if that weren't enough . . . I am now the treasurer of this humble little club.  Me.

Do you think they realize I haven't balanced a checkbook in years?  (One of the many perks of marrying an accountant type,.)

So that's it.  It's official.  No more "edgy young adults."  Well, okay, "young adult" has been off my description list for a while now.  But edgy?  Oh, okay, edgy, too.

That's it.  We're suburban.

We may as well get a dog and a mini-van and call it a day.

Oh right.  Dog is six years old.

Van is . . . older.

Think there are any Thirty Something reruns on anywhere?

In Memory of My Jimmie Jar

Somewhere far in the past, I bought a jar of jimmies.  Jimmies.  You know, sprinkles, sugar strands, hundrends-and-thousands.  We rarely use jimmies on anything.  I knew, when I bought them, they would be seldom used and take up valuable space in my pantry.  I didn't care.  I bought them for the jar.

I have scoured the internet for a photo of the cute, whimsical jar, but one like it cannot be found.  It was pear shaped, full and bulbous on the bottom, narrowing toward the top.  The entire jar was painted to look like a clown -- blue pants, striped shirt, funny face.  And, sniff, the cap was a yellow baseball cap. 

Now, no one needs jimmies,  And I know no one really needs a jar that looks like a baseball-playing clown.  But it was cute and unusual and it lended a lot of charachter to my otherwise-boring look pantry.  It was the kind of jar that my kids will forget all about until they're about 30 years old, wandering around an antiques show and suddenly, upon seeing the jar, a flood of warm childhood memories will come flooding back to them and they'll think back, fondly, about the warm, fun home they had as children.  That kind of jar.   

Have you noticed I have been referring to the bottle in the past tense.  Mmmm-hmmm.

Well, as I said, I knew the jimmies would be in there a long time.  We rarely have something around here that calls for jimmies and, even when we do, we rarely remember to use them.  I, in particular, never eat jimmies.  If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that jimmies really have almost no taste.  I don't need to waste calories on things with no taste.  So I forego jimmies.  My husband and kids are the ones who sometimes have them.  That's okay, the bottle dressed up the pantry and when they were finally gone, I planned to use the jar for cinnamon-sugar or something else cute and totally unnecessary.

In the meantime, the bottle had come to be a major figure in our pantry.  He was the ambassador.  The mascot of the "totally unnecessary" section, standing tall to welcome you to the half of the shelf that held such things as ice cream cones, jello, a couple rolls of lifesavers, a bag of lemon drops, pink sanding sugar, and gum.  When you came to the clown, it must have been a fun day.  No other reason to be in that section.

And he presided over the entire collection of gingerbread house decorations at Christmastime.  All the other decorations were in mundane, predictable bowls and containers.  There he stood, tall, in the middle of the four of us, watching . . . he could, because he had a face.      

Okay, this all probably says more about me than I'm really willing to put into words, but I loved that little jar.  That's the whole reason I bought him.  He was overpriced.  So overpriced, soon he, and all the others like him, were marshalled over to the clearance rack in the dark corner of the grocery store.  There he stood looking like something out of Toy Story, something that was waiting to be loved.  Okay, okay, it was just cute.  And once it was on the clearance rack, it wasn't so overpriced anymore. 

Home he came, and home he stayed.  He stood watch in that pantry, welcoming all visitors for at least 3 years.  Through thick and thin, good and bad, hot and cold, the clown jar was always there. 

Until.  My husband.  Used the last of the jimmies. 

What do you say to a man who coldly discarded that sweet little jar? 

"Get out and take your mundanely packaged condiments with you!"

"How does that small, cold, green heart of yours keep ticking?"

"You'll hear from my lawyer, buddy-boy!" 

Yes, yes, and yes.  And all more than once. 

All I received in return was a wide-eyed look of innocent surprise and a simple question, "Why would you keep an empty jar?"

(I have searched and searched,

I can find no picture to show you.) 

sniff sniff

Working Breakfast

My husband and I are trying a new thing this fall.

Get your minds out of the gutter, I'm talking about coffee.

We've decided to meet for coffee out each Wednesday morning. 

What a novelty it is to sit together -- alone -- while the day is new and we're not tired.  On weekend mornings, my son is up with the sun and waiting for us.  Nice, but not exactly couple-time.  In the evenings, sometimes, I'm too tired to really talk and I know my husband is the same way.

So Wednesday mornings it is. 

And out of the house.  I am not distracted by the notion that dishes need doing or laundry should be starting or anything else.  Just him and me.  Delicious coffee, maybe something to eat, and time.  Just time.   

Today we talked a bit of business -- bills, money, planning.  Of course, we talked about the kids, who may struggle this year, who may soar.  And then we just talked about this and that.  Alone.  Together.  Out.   

Amazing.

Meet you next week, SweetiePie. 

Assembling an Escape

I have no imminent topic today.

Not much going on, just this and that.

I'm supposed to be grocery shopping, but, really, don't we all have more than we need already?  Perhaps this would be a good week to pare down the stockpiles and thin out the freezer.  Yes, that's it.  I'm on to something.  Done.  No grocery shopping.  Today, anyway.  

Hubbo is assembling a new computer desk as we speak, and I'm staying decidedly out of it.  It's not because we don't work well together, we usually do (with some now legendary exceptions).  It's because he has decided to let both kids "help."  All four of us, when there is a serious task to accomplish?  Not a good combination.  I won't venture to explain why; it just isn't.

So I sit here, chatting with you, hiding in plain view.  I'll be glad when it's over and nothing got scratched or cracked.  My husband seems so calm and sure of things.  It's like he doesn't know the six year old is very likely to kneel on screws any minute -- even while they're on top of the desktop board that is unadvisedly set before her on the floor.  And he seems to think my son is way stronger than he really is.

My son is in the "spaghetti phase," as I call it.

He's tall for his age and growing so fast, you can almost watch it.  And he is currently shaped like spaghetti -- spaghetti arms, spaghetti legs, spaghetti body -- all long and thin (I should only have such problems!), and . . . spaghetti strength.  Bones may grow longer, but muscles don't grow stronger, when you're nine.  So each time my husband sends my son to bring the next piece over, I cringe because I know it is a bit too heavy for him.  And I know my son would sooner drop the piece directly on his feet and have it crack in two than admit to his father, up front, that it is too heavy for him.

So here I sit, talking to you, throwing in my two cents when needed:  "Daddy's right, don't stand on the boards."  "Yes, leave all the screws in the bag."  "No, the dog does not want to help."  My breathing is quite irregular as I have been holding it intermittently and erratically.

Uh-oh, there has been a pause in production.  Confusion seems to have descended upon the group.  The kids have been instructed to stop talking, "just for a minute." More silence.  Nothing, nothing.  Still nothing.

This sounds serious.

Perhaps the grocery store wouldn't be so bad afterall . . .