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Friday, May 18, 2012

The Strange Things I Dislike About Looking After Your Children

Sunscreen. I've always had an aversion to the sensation of rubbing lotion onto slippery skin. The roots of this go back even before I dated my sweaty backed husband who innocently asked me if I'd apply sunscreen to his back at the beach. Poor man, he had no idea.

And I have a weird, perfectionistic reaction to applying sunscreen-what if I miss a streak and your child gets an angry boiled stripe down the arm, or the back of the neck? I think about these things, and then I don't even want to start with the process. I prefer to sit in the full sun, sans screen, and fret.

But I've gotten religious about it. Fear drove me past my aversions.

 

Tattling.

Oh, how I hate it. Oh, how kids love it.

I may have delivered a lecture abillioncountless times about boundaries; being responsible for our own choices, not others; the difference between getting a friend OUT OF or INTO trouble, and then the bottom line: don't tell on your friend unless someone is a)bleeding profusely; b) trailing entrails; c) has pieces of splintered bone exposed; or c) is suspended in unnatural circumstances.

They always stare at me blankly.

Everything else about watching you kids is sheer, unadulterated bliss. Day in, and day out.

 

Splashing in the toilet.

Peeing on my bed.

Throwing cat litter.

Sucking on the arms of the couch.

Dumping the dog's water.

Picking the perennials.

Petting dead birds.

Throwing soup.

Drawing on the cupboards, table, floor.....

Swinging on the drapes.

Throwing electronics.

Sucking on our toothbrushes.

Relocating the contents of the sandbox to the lawn, the couch, the living room floor.

Bringing me bouquets of dandelions.

Laughing at my jokes.

And calling me Joycie.

 

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Mother's Day

 

I like having a nine year old boy around the house.

Really, really like.

 

I also love having a thirteen year old boy.

Really quite a lot.

 

 

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Untitled

 

Dear Diary;

Remember when we first moved here, and how hard it was to find my feet in this new place?

And then after that first, horrible year, things began to fall into place? I found new friends, another community, and I made our home eclectically ours.

I began to love our new life.

There was only one thing that I couldn't quite find. And that was the art piece- the place where I could go and be challenged and wowed by someone else's interpretation of beauty, someone else's re-use of found objects, someone else's "out of the box" creativity.

So imagine my joy in spending a practically perfect spring evening in a place like this.

With its rambling, endlessly creative farmhouse.

Its perfectly imperfect gardens.

The most perfectly rusted wrought iron, green fences.

The clothesline.

The outhouse.

The sheds.

The barn.

 

 

 

 

 

The trees.

And did I mention the fence?!

 

Then there were the peaks,

The windows, the decks, the bricks.

The log cabin. The beams, the shingles, the colored glass.

The people.

Musicians.

Artists.

The cause: raising money for sand dams in Kenya.

 

How lovely it was to find my seat in this place.

To rest my feet on old brick and smell the bonfire, beneath a canopy of trees.

To feast my eyes on some non-Chatelaine inspired clothing, nibble on some peppered cheese, sip some wine, and celebrate all this lovely arty-ness.

Yes, Dearest Diary, I held that piece tonight.

And how inspired it all was.

Friday, May 04, 2012

She Realizes Too Late.....

That what she should collect is not more chairs, but more tables.

Kids these days prefer a challenge.