Progress, By Golly

That's right. Pledge one day, progress to report the very next! Fear me! 

This morning I cleared out all of the stuff Sarah has outgrown from her drawers and shoe basket. Ha ha, stuff! You Shall Not Prevail!

Hey, lookit that. Two posts two days in a row. It's a veritable streak! I, uh, noticed that I only posted five times in August. Granted, I was gone for the second half of the month but still. That's pitiful.

But I wasn't just lollygagging around the house, I swear. In fact, before I left for Michigan, I whipped up a little something I'd promised for my friend's niece. (At Easter time. I suck.)

Ahem. ANYWAY. She's finished, and I think she's pretty darned sweet.

It's a rotten photo (like a dummy, I only took one before we left town); it looks like her legs just end, but she's really wearing little black shoes. I think she looks kinda French, don't you? Her jaunty little blue scarf hides a not-great neck seam (French women have a knack with scarves, after all). I was particularly pleased with how her hair turned out, but if I'd had time I'd have redone the mouth. It's not quite there. But still, done. And cute to boot!

I can't guarantee another report tomorrow, but this morning Tom cleared out all the mail that's piled up. Contagious tidiness! Awesome.

Honeys, I'm Home

Aaaand I'm back!

I was, to be honest, a little shocked to be home Friday afternoon (stupid Earl hype, cutting our trip early). Not because I didn't want to be here, but because I'd completely forgotten what being home means. Dog hair. Cat hair. Weeds. Plant casualties. Laundry. And, overwhelmingly, STUFF.

I spent most of a week in Michigan and a week on the Cape in lovely houses devoid of clutter and now I'm home staring at rooms and rooms of crap. And of COURSE my first thought upon walking in the door was "OH MY GOD MUST GET RID OF STUFF", but it's 36 short hours later and I'm already almost used to it again. But this week, some clearing out shall be undertaken. Ruthless sorting out of unworn clothes! Disposal of (or at least storage of) unplayed-with toys! Possibly even a paring down of unused kitchen stuff! And maybe, maybe, a daring attempt at whittling away the craft stashes!

In fact, I think I'm going to pledge, right now, spur of the moment, in a fit of Sunday optimism and in the afterglow of a fabulous end-of-summer vacation, not to buy any more stuff. Anything that comes into this house for the rest of the year will be necessary and needed. By golly!

Until Christmas. All bets are off for Christmas. But I would like to buy less and make more. But I'll worry about that later.

There's not a lot of later left, really. There's a chill in the air this morning, and the heat turned itself on in the mudroom (which doesn't seem to have a thermostat. At least, in the two years we've been in this house, I've never found one. Hmm. Must remedy). But the tomato plants are still heavy with fruit and I've harvested so many cucumbers I don't want to see another, but there are dozens more coming. I even have bell peppers! Tiny, but still! Oh, and the miniest of mini watermelons has finally begun to grow. Little glimmers of summer on the vine. 

But there's no denying the autumn wind blowing leaves around the yard. And folks are already picking apples around here. Time to break out the sweaters and stash the swimsuits. It's fall, dudes. Whether I'm ready for it or not.

More Driving By

Okay, okay. I keep meaning to post more, but summer, man. It has a way of eating up the time. Even when I'm not doing anything. Which I mostly haven't.


Let's see. Lately, I have:


1) Started yet another flower garden; which meant I


2) Relocated the hound so he wouldn't trample the new flowers; which ended up with us


3) Endlessly cleaning up dog effluvia indoors, because the hound is so neurotic he can't just poop in a new spot. Oh, no. He waits until he's going to burst, and the bursts INDOORS. THANK YOU, DOG.


4) Also, we have eaten enough cucumbers out of the pathetic veggie garden that I'm thisclose to being sick of them. We have also eaten one zucchini and two cherry tomatoes. I just... I don't know about this whole vegetable thing.


5) Finally, I furiously cleaned and laundered and packed so that Sarah and I could head out today for the UP. That's Michigan, for the uninitiated. I fully intend to play too much euchre, eat too many Cornish pasties, and while away the afternoons looking for agate and tourmaline and bits of copper at the beach.


I'll be offline until our return next week and will have a legitimate excuse for not posting until then. Toodles, my friends!

Thoughts On Power

Sarah at bedtime, reflecting on the day's events:

You know when I was spinning my cup around on that stick? A WORM appeared from it! It was real magic!

(beat)

I didn't think real magic would be a dirty old worm.

(sighs, puts arms over head)

I'm tired. Dirty old worm magic is hard work.

No. Way.

WAY.

This actually arrived the day before Jane's birthday. (Yes, I know, I should have posted this weeks ago. Please forgive me. I was overwhelmed by the awesomeness.) 

ANTARCTICA, people. Actually mailed from Antarctica.

That's all seven continents. You know, this blog was just supposed to be a simple solution to a communication issue. Just an easy way for our family and friends to check in on Jane's progress. I never dreamed it would reach so many people in so many corners of the world.

My gratitude to you all can never be adequately expressed. But I feel it, every day. Thank you.

War

You pick your battles, right? You pick the things that are particularly important to you, and you stick to them because you're principled and you want your kid to learn about behavior and consequences and conduct and life and stuff, right?

Or, ahem, perhaps you arbitrarily decide that THIS is the hill you're going to die on, because you're tired, damn it, and you've been upstairs four times already and it's over an hour past her bedtime and, jesus just go to sleep already.

So, I'm sitting on the couch tonight, listening to my kid wail for me to take her to the bathroom -- a two foot trip down the hall that she has made solo many many times. Tom tries to run interference, sending her off into a shrieking tantrum and him to the sanctuary of the porch. And I don't move. I'm just sitting there and I'm not moving, and she is howling. And I am not by god going to give. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm... weakening.

Oh, hell.

So, what's my approach? Do I go in angry, do I ooze sympathy, do I guilt-trip, do I, um, come up with a better game plan that doesn't involve manipulating my kid emotionally?

And I get up there and open the door, and she hops out of bed, and I look at her. She's so damn little. I forget sometimes. She's only four, you know? I'm downstairs steeling myself for battle, but she's just a little girl. And there she is with her little round tummy and her tear-streaked face as she reaches out for my hand so I can walk with her into the bathroom.

Dudes. She totally played me. Damn it! The kid always wins.

Lordy, Lordy

Look who's... oh, you all know the rhyme. Don't make me say it.


Oh my god, people. I'm totally old! It's my birthday today, and I just got back from a totally excellent weekend in Montréal (see what I did there? It's totally French!) with two totally excellent friends. And I am tahred. I mean, way tahred. It turns out -- and I realize that this is going to be a shocking revelation for some of you and I'm sorry to have to shake your view of The Way Things Are -- but it turns out that the forty year old body does not easily do the things the twenty year old body did. I stayed up all the way until one o'clock in the morning last night and, whoo, I am feeling it.


Also, it took an actual hour, a whole hour, of waiting to get over the US border. Dudes. If, say, you were looking for employment opportunities, and had maybe a little handcart with, oh, hotdogs and cold soda and water, you would make a killing walking between the lanes of idling vehicles up there. A killing. Just a thought for anyone who might be looking to get rich quick this summer and isn't too picky about working conditions. I'm not kidding. The border guard mentioned it, and the man's had some time to think about this.


Wanna know something funny? As a kid I always loved my birthdate. It's just so convenient. Born in a year ending in a 0 makes the math easy, thought my third grade self, and born in the summer meant I was always the same age through each school year so I could always figure out how old I'd be for any given grade. I know, weird, right? But I found it gave me a nice solid footing when it came to figuring the progress of my life.


And then I went and finished school and the agrarian-based schedule of the US school system was no longer the organizing principle of my life. Dang it all!


So. 40. How 'bout that. Time to find me a new organizing principle. I wonder if Moleskine makes a journal for that.