Sunday, June 17, 2012

MCG's Trifecta

Claire's big lead in the play on the 8th:

Claire's Solo in Clowns production 2012 from The Homesteading Hussy on Vimeo.

I don't know where she gets it but maybe Paul Bunyan is a closet Broadway performer and no one knows it- not even him.

Claire's big lead in her first 5K race ever on the 9th:

She said she hated every minute of it and if it wasn't for Paul Bunyan pushing her every time she wanted to walk, she wouldn't have done it.  She was very quiet after the race and very mad.  She said running isn't her thing.  I said acting isn't my thing.

Claire's big lead in the 4th grade graduation ceremony on the 12th.

 I cried not because of the fact that she wore a sweatshirt over the amazing dress my mother made for her, nor because of her funky socks and chucky T's she wore with it.  But mostly because she sat up there on the "stage" with her legs crossed looking all of 17.  Head held high...mostly because of the singing and racing and being the big lead in life.  I could see her sprouting branches right in front of me.  All this growth makes me want to keep watering and fertilizing because she's reaching for the stars and I can't wait to watch her sway in the spotlight. 

Saturday, June 2, 2012

You should really try the pulled pork on sweet cornbread muffins or maybe you should adopt a child from Africa but anything is better than trying to brew your own beer- you idiot.

I have nothing to show you.  I have only a dirt road, making my undercarriage rattle.  It's also the place that I pick up random roofing nails (every now and then) which puncture one specific tire- the right rear.  So I go and see the men with oil under their finger nails who break lug nuts with one hand behind their backs and say, "it may hold, it may not."  And so I drive away following the way the balloons are telling me to go- straight for the party.

Me and my friend Jen, with a load of stinky boys in the back, drive an hour to a mansion on a hill with a view of a hill.  My friend Rebecca is there in a purty green dress.  She has the best boobs you'll ever get a chance to wrap your hands around.  But since it's a formal affair I refrain.  My friend Katy is there.  And my friend Lee is there.  And my friend Catherine is there.  And my friend Jules is there.  And we're all there to help raise money for this program, which (of course) if I had stayed through all the talks I would have been writing my number down on the silent auction sheet for a new baby instead of a fair trade purse.   But instead I was shoving my mouth with shrimp and goat cheese on zucchini fritters and mini-blt's and pulled pork on mini cornbread muffins and loving every minute of not having to cook my own dinner.

Forget that I left my ten year old home alone for 5 hours.

Shit, did I just say that?

Please don't call the CDC- oh, wait, that's Center for Disease Control?

Maybe I have a disease.  Yea, I think I do.  It's called selfishitis.  It's not a problem pertaining to too much consumption of shellfish.  And it's not an infliction that has to do with too much shitting.  It's a disease that I've garnered from, well, I'm not quite sure- maybe laziness.

Because as I was saying, here I am on this dirt road and I'm approaching a V.  Not a Y but a very distinct V.  And as I ponder my approach I look at the surroundings and I see her saving people every day at work, and her saving the youth of America and making them better citizens, and her and her and her and especially Her:

the one with the purty dress on who is actually DOING something to change the world (this is no joke) and all the babies in it who don't have a home!

And so this morning when the wind was whipping up the atmosphere and my brain couldn't handle the swaying, I arose.  Today was going to be the day that I brewed my first batch of beer.  Ah hah!  There was no power, as in electricity.  I was going to start a fire in the green monster to disinfect all my brand new shiny equipment.  But I couldn't.  So, I pondered.  The BeeDeedleDee chewed.  Sydney pooped in the house.  The cat drooled on me.  When the power came on, I said "Now!  Now we start."  Paul Bunyan, who I needed help from, rolled from his nest and we started.  We started fires.  We unpacked boxes.  We tried to fit hoses.  We cut fingers while using switch blades as screwdrivers.  We read instructions, twice.  We needed sponges, propane, different size tubing.  We said the, "you shoulda, you never, you always"- everything you're not ever never supposed to say.  He said you don't need to do this (maybe six times) and I said, "yes, we do" (maybe seven times).  And then, and then, I dropped the hydrometer.  It shattered.  Maybe there's mercury in it?  I don't know.  But it was toxic.

We stopped.

He had to go anyway.

We needed to move the pigs.

His cut was bleeding.

It was raining.

The space needs cleaning.

I'm still standing at the V, the undercarriage is rattling, the patch in the tire might hold, but it's the second one in the same tire, within the year, so it might not.

If I go in THAT direction I will not be saving any orphans.  I will not be bettering America's youth.  I will not be helping with my severe case of selfishitis, in fact I may be feeding it with beer made from scratch.  Which might even make my infliction and waste line grow, as in bigger.  But I don't even know what's in the other direction.

Hello?  Hello?  Are you seriously still here?  Because I don't have a cell phone (Bee took it and chewed it up and now I can't find- not that I ever used it anyway) and I don't know which way to go and my AAA membership just expired and I don't have a spare tire and I wouldn't get cell service anyway on this back road and I certainly, most definitely don't have a GPS.

So, as you can see I'm in dire need of assistance.  And maybe some geranium bug spray because as I sit here, the bugs are getting really bad.