fun in threes, sometimes fours
The last few weeks have been bad for our scrapbook. Surgery, work load, and general apathy have all combined to shut things down creatively speaking. Photos have remained on the camera for days, weeks even. Day after day has passed without writing a single word. And so there's a backlog that creates an odd mosaic of the last couple of weeks.
I made it through forty-two years or so before the integrity of the bag of skin and muscle that holds everything else in place was compromised. Intentionally compromised, to be sure. Systematically compromised. But compromised nonetheless: a small incision just below the navel, just wide enough to slide in a cable and a few instruments, but wide enough to lay you out for a week. A week of realizing anew all the various activities that require the now-incapacitated abdominal muscles. A week of wondering when things will return to normal, thinking that perhaps they won't, knowing of course that they will. A week of feeling silly for being so thoroughly knocked off one's feet by a procedure so relatively-minor.
And in that time, everything else goes on as normal. The Boy discovers new things, the Girl goes to school, our youngest cat transforms into a full-blooded hunter.
Of course one thing that does change: the interest in a silly online scrapbook. But with the return of mobility and the disappearance of pain, perhaps that will return as well.
To our sweet L on the occasion of her First Holy Communion. Hope you enjoyed your party afterward -- seems like you did, and everyone else did as well.
The Boy got some new tools yesterday. Today, we had to test them.
The Boy got some new gum boots yesterday. Today, we had to test them.
Morning. The Boy and his neighborhood friend have the perfect recipe for for a fun morning. Water plus dirt equals fun.
He explains to K the simple truth: "Mama, I just love mud."
In the afternoon, a friend drops off a play set that his youngest has outgrown. If there were a more perfect toy for the Boy, I'm not sure what it could be.
Mothers are defensive -- ferocious, in fact. A bird, for example, will take on an animal much larger than itself in an attempt to defend her young. Our tenants on the back downspout have been proving this.
Come out, for example, onto the back deck while she's feeding, and she'll attack -- positively attack.
We have two birds’ nests in the downspout of our gutters. One is at the back of the house, in a very safe location. We just leave them alone every year, and we get a good view of the hatchlings as a result.
The other nest is in the downspout next to our raspberry and blackberry canes. We have to put up netting to keep the birds out, and so the last thing I really want is to enclose them in the netting. With the blackberries blooming, it’s only a matter of time before we start putting the nets back up.
My first effort to evict them was a failure: I put nails in a board, much like anti-pigeon devices one might find in cities, and set the board in the downspout. They build around it. So I’ve been going out and knocking the nest down, hoping they’ll get the hint. But they’re stubborn and rebuild. I took some bleach water while they were out and soaked the nest, thinking the odor would repel them. It did, for a while.
I’ve got another solution in mind, but in the meantime, I just go out and knock the nest down before they really settle in. “Just leave them alone,” K says, but it’s a battle I will win.
So the day begins with an eviction, and then another battle: thick, long, heavy grass. The Boy comes running up, walking beside me as I struggle with the tall grass before deciding to raise the mower deck to its highest level for an initial trim.
“I’m going to help you!” cries E, squeezing his way between me and the mower.
It slows the process considerably, but it’s worth it. We work out a deal: he helps one direction, then races me back to the other end. We’re both happy with the compromise.
After dinner, it’s time for a little exploring.
The azaleas are in full bloom now, and the kids love picking up the fallen blossoms (and picking them from the bush if I don’t keep a close watch), so between the swing, the creek, and the blooms, it’s paradise.
The Sweet Gum tree — it spreads easily, is virtually impossible to kill, and is not as good as it looks. Sin, in other words.