Last night at Bethel Bash, I wore a long-sleeve tee-shirt for the first time, and by the time the sun had set completely, I was a little chilly.
Which means that autumn, finally, is on its way.
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Bethel Bash 2018
Michael Arrives
K and I woke at three in the morning to the sound of the most torrential rainfall we've ever heard here. It was as if an enormous tap had been situated above our house and turned on fully. Assuming it was the first rains of Hurricane Michael. "I guess this will be what we go through for the next several hours," I thought.
I began imagining what that might mean. "Our sump pump will get its first real test," I thought.
At six, I woke. The Boy had woken and shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen. K guided him to our bed. "Go back to see, E," she instructed, "you don't have school today."
The wind, the rain -- the school board (or whoever makes the decision) decided it was too much of a risk. K told us when she got back from work that it was indeed a wise choice: "There were just sheets of rain, with no visibility."
As for the rain of three in the morning -- it never really re-materialized. It rained, quite heavily at times, but only until about eleven. Once it calmed a bit, the Boy and I headed out for inspection. And a bit of play.
In the afternoon, muffins.
As part of a literacy project from school, the Boy had to read and follow a recipe with a little help from me.
Wednesday Evening Vignettes
In a flash, the cherry tomatoes were rolling across the concrete floor like greased bearings -- E had been unloading the shopping cart when, in a moment of slightly careless abandon, the container of tomatoes crashed into the side of the buggy as he was lifting them out, then crashed to the floor.
"It was an accident!" he said, looking up at me.
"Well, clean up the accident, then."
He began picking up the tomatoes and hustling them to a garbage can. Behind us, a mother and her daughter, probably around four, stood watching. When E returned for another load, the little girl walked over and began picking up tomatoes with him.
When we returned home, K and L were in the midst of figuring out a new board game. Well, not quite a board game -- there's no board to speak of. Still, a game. An exceedingly complicated game. With multiple decks of cards. And two different sets of tokens. And so many rules to remember that it seemed impossible that a human could keep that many exceptions in her mind at once.
Of course, I started making silly comments.
L, very much wanting to play, naturally got a little irritated with my silliness.
E, content to entertain himself, worked with Legos as all this went on.
And K, determined to make it through all the instructions -- a multi-page book, mind you, not just a few short paragraphs on the underside of the box -- kept explaining the game to us.
"We have fifteen minutes before it's E's bedtime," K said. "We have a little time to play." Between all the complicated rules and steps, everyone got a single turn in those fifteen minutes.
Yellow
It's been a couple of years since we've had a yellow jacket infestation. For a few years, we had one or two nests just about every summer, and taking care of them became a simple process: a few gallons of boiling water around ten in the evening, when they're all bedded down in their nest, and no more problem.
This year, though, one hive made its home under the slab that supports our heat pump. If it were a concrete slab, I might consider the water method again, but it's some strange concrete/foam "slab" that is just a little bigger than the unit itself. The thought of pouring water into that area, possibly destabilizing the whole unit -- not a good thought. The other hive has made its home within a bush: it's impossible to pour the water through the bush to make a good clean shot.
So today, I went by a DIY pest control place, bought some Talstar and Evergreen Pyrethrum Dust and let them have it.
I hit the nest under the heat pump while it was still daylight: I turned the nozzle on my sprayer so it was a fast, fat stream, stood back about ten feet, and sprayed into the opening for a good ten to fifteen seconds. I went back ten minutes later and did it again. After ten more minutes, I hit them a third time. Then a fourth time.
By then, there were yellowjackets everywhere, all rolling around on the ground, all struggling through their last moments.
It's a strange moment: on the one hand, I feel a little bad for the guys. There they are, just doing what instinct has trained them to do. They're breeding, raising young, defending them when necessary. On the other hand, they're assholes. It doesn't take much to get them riled up, and with two kids, two cats, and a dog around, it's not a chance I'm willing to take.
Still, I can't help but feel a little like Ender...
Dinner
Volleyball
The Polish men’s team won the world championship today; the Girl is working to reach that level.
Last Couple of Days
First Sunday of Autumn
Scout Almost-Campout
The idea behind a campout is that we take a temporary home with us, setting it up in a forest and staying there for a night or two. Without that little element, it's a day trip.
But what if you forget something? No, not the tent. The tent arrived with us safe and sound in the trunk. Along with the sleeping bags, air mattresses, camera, water-and-snack bag, shoes, Class A uniform, and cell phone. What didn't make it? Our backpack filled with clothes. And toiletries. And flashlights.
K called just as we were crossing into North Carolina.
"Where are you?"
"We're still on our way, just crossing into North Carolina."
A long pause.
"Because you forgot the backpack with everything in it."
I'd so meticulously packed everything, taking care to plan for all eventualities -- long sleeves for sleeping, a jacket for the morning, extra contact lenses for me, extra everything -- and double-checking that I had everything. And then I didn't double-check that I had everything in the car.
We made plans: perhaps friends were coming and they could bring the bag. Nope, not this year. Perhaps the den leader knew of someone who was coming later and they could bring the bag that K would take over to them. Nope. In the end, we decided to wait a few hours and see. If the Boy wanted to stay, K and I could meet halfway, making it only an hour-and-a-half round trip for both of us. If not, we'd just go home after the evening's bonfire.
As often happens, the Boy was reticent to engage with the other boys at first. He clung to my side for the first half hour or so. Eventually, he joined in.
It's a common theme for the Boy. He likes to watch from the periphery for a while, check out what's going on, see who's who. I think he gets it from me. K just dives in -- she's one of the most socially fearless people I've ever met. I'm a bit more cautious, and whether by example or genetics, the Boy has gotten that from me.
Once he felt comfortable, once he joined in with a couple of boys from his den, I didn't see him all that much during the free play times. He was a totally transformed boy, and his chattiness and silliness took hold, for once he's figured out the what's going on, he chats with everyone. He used to chat with players on the opposing soccer team during games, for heaven's sake, so perhaps he's a mix of K and me.
After games, we went for a den hike. Four boys from the den were there, four fathers as well, along with a big sister.
Mr. B, the den master, taught the kids about a few plants and trees, helped them find insects, discussed the possibility of fish living in the pond we were walking beside, and explained to the boys what was on tap for the evening.
"In the evening, we'll be having a flag retirement ceremony and a little variety show," Mr. B explained. "We'll have to prepare a skit for tonight's show."
I'd already talked to the Boy about the flag ceremony. Last year he'd been disturbed by the fact that the scouts were burning flags.
This year, we talked about it several times before the event, so he was not nearly as worried. This year was different as well because there were so many flags for retirement that every scout received a flag to put on the fire.
After the ceremony and the skit, the Boy and I headed home.
"I definitely need a shower when we get home," E proclaimed, but I knew with an hour and a half trip ahead of us, there was little chance of him being awake when we got there. And indeed, by the time we were ten minutes out, he was fast asleep.