The Three Musketeers

Taken a few minutes ago, from my view at the top of the stairwell. The kids were sitting on the front doorstep, enjoying their craisins on a warm summer's evening, while Sam petted his dog.

Aren't the best pictures always taken when the subject is unaware? (At least according to Stalking for Dummies, chapter 4, "Photographing Your Subject").

This summer has been great. The kids are getting along so well, really and truly enjoying each other's company. Every day when we get home, I've been putting the gate up at the end of the driveway and letting the kids and dog run free. With the doors and windows all wide open, I have auditory and/or visual contact at all times and I'm mostly free to clean, cook, or make uninterrupted phone calls.

The past two days, I've canned: Strawberry Blueberry Banana jam, Strawberry Balsamic jam, Lavender-Infused Strawberry jam (strawberries are on sale this week; can you tell?), Gingered Pear preserve, and Mixed Dried Herb vinegar. On the docket for tomorrow is Strawberry Margarita preserves - yummy! It has alcohol in it, in case you didn't guess from the name - so it is mine, all mine, not to be shared with the young'uns. I'm thinking it sounds delish over some vanilla ice cream.

I'm so sad that this summer is almost over, and I'm trying to savor every last remaining second.

A Brief Update

Has it really been that long since I've posted?  It's not for lack of things to say - wow, has there been a lot going on lately - but for lack of screen time.  The only screen time I've had lately has been with our screen door, as we've been enjoying this beautiful, temperate summer.

 

Last week, it got hot for the first time since June.  And I've had the misfortune of this coinciding with me having to wear long pants every time I leave the house, in order to keep people from screaming and running in fear from my leprous-looking legs.

 

It all started two weeks ago, when I took the kids and the dog to a local park of woodsy, walking trails.  The raspberries were thick, and since we haven't had enough of our own this year*, I was picking dozens of raspberries to feed to my (apparently) starving children and dog.  (Happy the dog LOVES raspberries and peas, I discovered this summer.)  (And anything else, really.  Including, but not limited to, plastic toys.) 

 

There were lots of mosquitos at the park, as well, so when I noticed lots of bumps on my legs the next day, I assumed they were bug bites.

 

Until a few days later, when it became evident that I'd tangled with poison ivy.  Which over the course of the next few days developed into the worst case I have ever had.  In case you're lucky enough to be one of the 15% of people who aren't allergic to poison ivy, let me tell you that not only does it itch, in bad cases it causes weeping, oozing sores.  Not to get too disgustingly graphic here, but I would bandage up my legs every morning, using my own patented system of cotton balls, tissues, and band-aids, and I'd still have wet spots developing on my pants by the time I got home from work in the afternoon.

 

Ah, the glamorous life I lead.  Next up:  Adventures with Bats in the Laundry Room!  I only wish I were joking.

 

*That's said tongue-in-cheek, you should see the bags upon bags of frozen raspberries residing in my freezer right now!  And the raspberry bushes are again filled with tons more berries that are about to ripen.

 

Things That Go Bump! in the Night

At 12:30 a.m. this morning, I was woken out of a deep sleep by the sound of toenails clicking on our bedroom hardwood floor.  I laid there in the dark, half-asleep, thinking that Ron must have forgotten to put Happy out in his kennel.  In light of all the potty accidents we've had lately*, I knew I should take him outside for a few minutes and then put him in his kennel.  But the lazy half of my brain sleepily murmured that I could clean up any messes in the morning.  I agreed with the lazy half of my brain and started to drift off to sleep.

 

The second time I heard the toenails, I snapped to attention with a different thought - had I remembered to put Johnny back in his cage?  He'd been running in his exercise ball last evening, and at least three times I had thought to myself, "I really need to put him back in his cage before I forget" but I couldn't remember actually doing it.  Oh crap.  That feeling got even stronger when I found his empty exercise ball in the kitchen.  How he got out is a mystery, but I suspect he bumped into a chair while he was speeding around and the door popped off.

 

I got out of bed and blearily looked around in the dark.  I couldn't see anything but wasn't really expecting to.  Johnny isn't really that big, after all, and there are tons of hiding spots for a small hamster.  I decided my only choice was to make a hamster trap.  I found an ice-cream pail, put some treats at the bottom of it, and started looking around for something to use as a ramp (the theory being, he'd climb the ramp, see the treats at the bottom of the bucket and drop down, then not be able to get up again).  My sleep-addled brain wasn't cooperating and I couldn't find anything sufficiently ramp-y that would allow him enough traction to actually climb it.

 

Time for Plan B.  I got a flashlight and started looking behind the dresser and the bookcase.  The flashlight hadn't been on for more than 10 seconds when I felt whiskers brushing against my ankle.  I shone the flashlight down and, lo and behold, there was Johnny looking up at me with his beady eyes.  He came right to me, like a dog or a cat would.  (I suppose he was probably hungry, after being out half the evening.)

 

After putting him back in his cage, I tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep in spite of the snoring taking place next to me in the bed.  I finally moved out to the couch, where I listened to Johnny happily reuniting with his exercise wheel for the next hour before I finally dozed off.  Shortly after that, Natalie woke up and started crying so I moved back to the bed with her in tow.  And then Sam woke up and decided to join the party, leaving me approximately 2 inches of sleeping space.

 

Ron slept through the whole nighttime drama, and the kids got to sleep nice and late this morning.  I still had to get up at 5:30 a.m. to head off to work.  *yawn*

 

*Happy has not been the only source of potty accidents.  A few days ago, Natalie removed her diaper and then took a dump in the hall.  After I cleaned it up, she still excitedly pointed out the spot to anyone who'd listen: "Poop there!  Poop right there!"

 

Slàn leibh, Frank McCourt

I was never really a Michael Jackson fan, so all this hoopla about his death has seemed a little over-the-top to me.  I was over it about 5 minutes after I heard the news.  (Obviously, I'm in the minority here, or it wouldn't be STILL all over the news, two weeks later.)  No doubt, the guy made some good music, but what I mostly remember him for is the child-molestation accusations that have overshadowed his life for the past 20 years.  Whether or not he was guilty, I don't know - but at the very least he was a sad, strange man-child who made some bad decisions.  Honestly, I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him. 

 

But I was very saddened to learn this morning that Frank McCourt is critically ill and not expected to live.  Angela's Ashes is on my list of top-10 favorite books of all time.  After reading it with my own eyes, I listened to the recorded book version (which Frank McCourt himself read aloud) and...wow.  It was so powerful to hear his story, in his own words, read by his own voice.  So sad but yet uplifting.  And, improbably, laugh-out-loud funny at times.

 

The likely loss of Frank McCourt affects my life much more than Michael Jackson's death did.  I feel a bit as though I'm losing an old friend.

 

I Have Similar Feelings About Cleaning

Freeing the world of obnoxious cleaning equipment, one colorful feather duster at a time.

I wonder what color his poop will be tomorrow.