Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Aquaman...he rises again.

I'd like to introduce you to Aquaman. His superhero suit is a bit hairy. But it provides a layer of warmth for his long underwater searches for garbage at the bottom of ponds. His bald head is aerodynamically designed for diving into the dark depths of water. He is saving the world one golf ball at a time. Unbeknownst to him, his perpetrator is standing next to him. She is the reason why discarded Christmas Tree Shop Swag is contributing to algae blooms at the bottom of her pond. And next year Aquaman will be diving down for a long lost fire ring, decorated in moose and pine trees, which was tossed in with a few sun umbrellas. And everyone will cheer, "Hey Aquaman, I didn't even know that was gone! Hooooray for Aquaman".

This is the perpetrator's view, every morning noon and night. Unless there is a blizzard outside. I know, so not fair.

This is the perpetrator herself, from my view, which was under an umbrella, under a sun hat, under 70+ sunscreen. I almost apprehended her myself on Tuesday. Her car was exploding with Christmas Tree Shop swag; tiki torches were spilling out of open windows. She skidded out and took off down the dirt road when I approached her car. I couldn't give chase, as I didn't want any of the swag to fall out and litter the road. Aquaman doesn't pick up litter unless it's under the water.

This was also in my view from my shady spot by the pond.

She makes Aquaman melt. In ways that I haven't seen Aquaman melt before.

I mean, really, I have curls too.

And soft supple skin.

And a gorgeous back.

And a cute butt.

But that's okay because seeing Aquaman melt for a baby, besides his own, makes me melt too. And that's a good thing.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Climbing Mountains

I went into the woods with these hoodlums yesterday. 9:30 a.m. sharp.

To climb the second highest peak in Vermont. For something to do.

I had 2 peanut butter and honey sandwiches, 4 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bag of Flavor Burst gold fish, a bag of pretzel sticks, a big bag of trail mix, a bag of dried apricots, 10 granola bars, 9 apples, and a bag of gummy bears.

There was green lichen. green moss. green ferns. green leaves. And red mushrooms.

And one man on top telling us not to step on anything that was green.

And after we ate our peanut butter and jelly (or honey) sandwiches, we got cold.

And after we got our ten minute view of the top of the world, we got cold.

And after we sipped a few of the clouds, we got cold.

But before we exited the rocky summit, I took in the sheer significance of these toos first hike up a mountain. Any mountain. When I think of their lives and the number of mountains they'll hike, both literally and figuratively, I was glad to be able to teach them a few of the important rules of hiking. The first one being: always let climbers coming up the mountain have the right of way. If it's a lesson they can apply to their lives, I hope they will always help anyone working their way up.

When we came out of the woods 6 hours after entering it, I had half a bag of pretzel sticks, 1/4 of a bag of gold fish, 3/4 of a bag of gorp, 4 granola bars, and 9 apples.

I had full on signs of fall.

I had full on memories of hiking with my father in the mountains of New Hampshire when I was a little girl. And of being mesmerized by this leaf...the hobblebush...and its shade of fall purple.

And its bright red berries that look like spots of blood on the green backdrop of the forest.

I had full on images of young boys peeing on each other.

And images of my young boys becoming young men just by the way they walked with their hands in their pockets.

I had one girl who almost lost her teeth when she slipped on a rock, one boy who professed his love for said girl, one girl who pretended like she was from New Zealand the whole way down, one boy who didn't complain the whole day, which was a slight miracle, and one dog who was able to feast on the shit of humans who poop in the woods. We could smell her breath around every corner.

It's amazing what can happen in 6 hours in the woods.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Because 12 is good, real good.

Paul, 12 is good. I'm so glad there are still moments, like the other day when you jumped off the tractor and you had on your hiking boots and your work shorts that are stiff with dried polyurethane. And then you strapped that weed whacker onto your naked back and pulled the starter like you owned that thing. And you were all sweaty and dirty. I'm glad there are still moments when I find you irresistible.

I'm glad there are still moments that are ours. That will always be ours. Here are just a few and although the pictures lately are of the spawn, we can't forget that there are moments that are just us.

Here's to many many more. I love you so very much.

Friday, August 20, 2010

My Last Day of Sunshine is Tomorrow

For the last two weeks, I have been pampered. I have been allowed to go out with my husband every night (if I wanted to), sleep in until I wanted to, exercise if I wanted to. I have not had to do the grocery shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the entertaining. I have only been required to shower my children with admonitions, or praise, depending on the need. I have only, in the last two weeks, been required to go tubing every now and again, eat lots of walleye sandwiches, and drink many a Long Island Iced Teas (if I wanted to). I've had to clean a few smoothie faces and brush a few teeth. But that is all.

I have been a spoiled woman. And I hate it. Nothing in my past has led me to think I deserve this. I have been a stay-at-home mom for the last 8 years. Just last year I dabbled in part time work, a little. I have not had to work full-time and overtime as a parent. I've not had to work traffic control. I don't deserve a two week vacation from life. I just don't.

And yet. It happens. And every year I return home to all the chores I wasn't good at before I left. And I can't get to the dishes. And I can't unpack. And I can't get to the vacuuming. I can't quite get the laundry done. I can't get through the pile of mail. I can't get dinner on the table. I can't get the shopping done.

It takes me awhile.

But I'll get to them. Especially if you come to visit. Then I'll have a reason.

But I've had a really good homecoming. Here's a list of why:


He's still alive. And the pink fiber awaits me. It will be a happy day when I get to start spinning it.

2. We have eggs. small eggs. but eggs none-the-less. Yay chickens.

3. We also have a rooster that crows. He didn't do this before we left. He is too big for the pot. He has furry feet. Do you want him? I won't tell you he starts crowing at 5:30 a.m.


We have bat shit. It's a reason to celebrate. I was worried about our resident bat. I didn't see his/her shit this year on the porch. I'm not sure this is his/her shit, but it's another sign that life goes on. And if it's another bat's shit...welcome. Eat those bugs. I give you permission. And it's okay if you hibernate in my attic. Just don't come "in".

5. We have cherry tomatoes.

6. We have zucchini the size of Paul Bunyan's arms. Perfect for bread, cake, fritters. I'll be motivated soon. Do you need some?

7. We have cukes. I'm a pickling crazy hussy. Today I pickled dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, dilly beans, and later tomorrow I'm going to pickle my spawn's toes. They're soaking overnight in a salt water bath.

8. My spawn have discovered the Bridge to Terabithea. They have a rope down the clift (Auggie's word) to the stream across the road from us. Today, they packed bologna sandwiches and grapes and ate on the smooth rocks in the stream. No one came home crying.

9. Paul Bunyan's birthday was two days ago and we went out to eat on a date even though we didn't "need" to. I ate a pig's face. It was all boiled down and soft and tasted great with honey mustard. But I was picking it out of my teeth all night. He turned 28.

10. My friend Charlotte had her birthday the next day and I forgot to wish her a happy birthday because I'm selfish like that and right now I'm only thinking about myself and the weeds in my garden. But I love her dearly.

11. Today we went blueberry picking. The last day before the last day. I'm going to make buckle and muffins and cake and ice cream. And I won't do any of the dishes.

12. This might be the thing that has made me the happiest (and possibly the thing that I missed the most):

Miss Liebe's snoring at the foot of my bed. The comforts of home. I know you understand.

***the meaning behind the title of this post is that I am switching my antibiotics back to Doxycycline from Clarithromycin and will no longer be able to bask in the sun. I still have scars on my fingers and toes from the third degree burns I received from the first round of antibiotics. I will cover my extremities better this time and might have to go into hiding. But I'm going to kill these fuckers if it's the last thing I do. I will poke my head out soon, just in time for the snow to fall and for me to turn my face towards the sun as I wave my arms and legs in the snow like an epileptic...all for the sake of fun. Wish me luck.

Monday, August 16, 2010

And then the two for ones turned six....

And so here we go again. Another couple birthdays without a party.

I know you're sorta upset. You there. You with your freckle on your left ear lobe.

And you there, too. You with your freckle on the tip of your nose.

And you with your "momma waked up," and "I almost falled out of the boat," and "look dad, I throwed the ball." I can't correct you because you're so cute.

And you with your thumb sucking. I can't correct you either.

And the tooz of you riding bikes with gears and breaks on the handle bars. And snapping your fingers as you wind your way around life.

And, like, actually throwing and catching a ball.

And tying your own sneakers.

And swimming without life jackets.

And drinking beer.

And taking walks in the woods by yourselves.

And contemplating life.

And reading books by the dozen.

And looking people in the eye when you say hi.

Okay, so maybe not the last five things. But you're six now, so it'll all be soon enough. Too soon.

And someday when you guys are sitting in your dorm room discussing how unfair it was that your mom never ever threw you a birthday party, you won't be mad at me, will you? I'm hoping that even though there was never ever a birthday party with friends- no invitations. no pool parties. no bowling parties. no arcade parties. no streamers. no mountains of presents. No. None. No.- you'll realize that maybe it was just as good, if not better, when it was just us. Just. us.


Sunday, August 15, 2010

Running Ruminations

I'm jealous of all you
with blue crosses tattooed to your backs.
You, that have hope
draping around your necks on chains
and hymns bleeding from your eyes.
I'm chanting my way
through the swamp,
"please, please, please,"
as if my politeness
is all I'll need.
And yet, I'm trying to cross the road
a blind mole.
So please, just leave me some
tall grass to bed down in.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Pico Pico Pico and a mermaid.

Paul Bunyan wants to buy a 50 foot sail boat some day. He wants to live on it for months at a time. Bath in the ocean. Sleep on deck. Drink rum and hang upside down from the mast. I told him I would go for short trips, but he knows I want to die in the house on the hill in our happy valley. I don't want to die by the hands of dirty pirates jumping aboard to steal our rum.

So, instead, he's training his troops. His deck hands. Auggie came off the water the other day and said that they had flipped over and Paul Bunyan had to right them. He was lying. So, I'm pretty sure he's on board for any excitement that the open waters might bring.

Timmy is game too, but was very glad to be learning on the Pico Pico Pico (sorry, I have this need to say it three times) and not in the open ocean.

And both were pretty excited at the prospect of someday pooping in the ocean and drinking their father's rum.

She, on the other hand, she is training to be a mermaid.

Similar to the rust colored one we discovered on a rock in the middle of Canadian waters.

She's starting to get the mermaid hair down, matted and tangled.

And she, too, is excited at the prospect of pooping in the water.

How 'bout that?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Just sayin'

I don't read too many other blogs out there. I've got my favorites and I check in with them pretty regularly and sometimes I'll venture off on a tangent from their blogrolls. But that generally puts me off into a cyberspace land of the blues, or worse yet...land of the reports. The 'report' blogs are the ones I try to stay away from. The "I woke up this morning and had a cup of coffee, and then I went for a run, and then I read my book, and then I just about died of boredom except someone came and dumped me out of the hammock I was hanging in upside down to make my life seem so much more exciting."

But I feel like sometimes I do that. And then I start to realize that not everyone can post things like this. This is a picture of three Augusts all born in August. Now, that's pretty cool. Not everyone can do that.

And okay so maybe I can't write as well as she can. Because she could probably make this event- my youngest son holding his father's toe nail clippings- into an artistically important life changing event. Just sayin'.

But it's not everyday, if (let's say) I was reporting on yesterday's events, that you come across a cement mermaid on a rock island who was covered in a rust colored algae.

In a lake that has over 1,600 islands.

That has over 1500 miles of shoreline.

That has a maximum depth of 161 feet.

That is 227,600 acres big.

That has fish in it the size of my 8 year old daughter.

That is half Canada and half U.S.A.

That is one of the most spectacular places on earth.

I mean...if I were to try to "report" on yesterday's events, let's just say I would say that all these people jumped off a cliff. Or clifft as Auggie calls it.

Into dark bottomless waters.

Sometimes upside down.

But every time without hesitation.

Would you still read my blog?

Because the report would include something like this, which might be a little too much of that, which you've already read about, which you're probably all sick about, which no one around here can get enough of, which I'm pretty tired of taking pictures of, which I'll stop now reporting about. And maybe tomorrow we'll focus more on bald eagles, or Long Island Iced Teas, or the way the poplar leaves blow in the wind. Something definitely more vastly important than seeing an iron colored mermaid on a rock island in Canada on a very big lake. But you'll have to come back and see.

Unless this "report" has totally bored you to death and then you can move on to a more entertaining and promiscuous blog.

god speed.