... it helps if he also likes to eat a lot of peanut butter.
The empty plastic jars make really nice "bug observation stations."
I don't think any amount of peanut butter eating can keep up with this fella though.
(click on the photo to see the notes about the inhabitants of his jars)
.... there are a couple of essential bits to know.
1. They go BONKERS if you don't crack the eggs very very carefully. You see, they have plans for them.
2. You have to wear a hat. It isn't really so much about hygiene. It's all about style. I know this because while the hat is essential, pants are entirely optional.
Oh my.
... would you understand that it meant so much more?
You know, by now, that we live in the home where my husband grew up. He was 5 when our foundation was laid.
Just a couple of years later, a little boy and his sisters moved in a few doors down, and the rest, as they say, is history.
My husband, and his new friend Will did all the things boys do. They rode bikes, played football in the yard, watched Gilligan's Island. They went to school together, had sleepovers, even some shared family vacations. They were there for each other through the perils of middle school, first dates and first cars.
When Eric and I began dating, we spent quite a few nights going out to hear Will's band play downtown. There were lots of barbecues together with he and his girlfriend. He was there when we married. He was there too, with his band, when we threw a bash to ring in the new millennium.
(a shot from that night)
Then, when we were still spanking new parents (our boys were 2 and 1) Will moved to Hawaii, and we hadn't been able to see him since.
He's in town for a short time though, and spent a couple of days with us this weekend.
It must have been strange for him, I think, to sit at our table, in the same room where he had eaten hundreds of dinners, as a kid, and to watch my husband play papa... "eat your salad, James."... "mind your manners, Luke"... "yes, Ryder, you can have more ketchup."
How did it feel for him, to watch my boys run down to play with their friends, who now live in the house where he grew up?
There were so many things I wish I could have said, but just... well, do people ever say those things for real, I mean outside of the movies?
Things like, "tell me what you've seen in all the years since I last saw you. Tell me, do you watch the sun rise over the ocean? Do you hear it still, from this far away?" or "It's still us, underneath this mama and daddy veneer. Eric is still the kid you grew up with and I am still that broody, poetry-loving girl that you took to see the Black Crowes. Only now, we think about other things too, like the sugar content of breakfast cereal and how to pay for college. It's still us. Is it still you?"
I didn't know how to say that we missed you, brother, so I made pie, and bread. For you, I made overtures into vegetarian dinners. I hope you understood that it was the only way I knew how to say that I was glad to see you again, that it made me happy to watch you build Legos and play the piano and do magic tricks for my band of men, that you are a part of the fabric of their childhoods now too.
I hope that you find what you are looking for. I hope that you get lost in music, find someone to share lazy Sunday mornings with, and that when you are walking the beach, you think of us, eating what is now officially known as "Will's Peanut Butter Pie" in the kitchen, with little men dancing to "World Music Night" on the radio.
I hope you know that we're glad the world has you in it. I hope it won't be so long before we see you again, friend.
... take time to notice all the goodness in between :-)
Chances are, while you're reading this, my boys and I are on the road, or at least preparing for the trip home from Granny's house.
The trip always seems so much longer on the way back.
But you know what they say, "the journey's half the fun." So, while we pack up and prepare for the long drive, I try to mentally prepare myself to enjoy the ride. I say to myself, "don't think of all the unpacking, and the laundry, and the list of to-dos and must calls, just be open to the bits of treasure along the way.
Here's some of the wonderful things I might not have noticed on my way home from Dallas last week, had I not been looking for the surprises that highways and byways can bring:
I'm pretty sure that he had the right of way.
Do other states fly their flag as much? I think Texans are a particularly proud lot.
Just a Sunday stroll through the clouds.
In Italy, Texas, you can fill up your car, get a barbecue sandwhich and an Icee, do your Christmas shopping (think fig preserves, peach jalapeno jelly and Texas 1015 Onion Salad Dressing), and enjoy some live music, all at one service station. Brilliant!
Rural people are experts at using what's available to create something entirely new.
I don't even know what there is to say about that.
So, keep your fingers crossed, and lift up a little prayer that we have a safe trip home, and that we all take the time to notice the little glimpses of fun and beauty around us.
... you can hear better.
The doorbell rang at 8 AM this morning. For us, this is early. We are NOT morning people. At 8, we are still squinty-eyed and grunting at each other, lolling about and trying, though not in earnest, to reconcile ourselves to daylight.
The sound of the doorbell brought blank stares all around. Who would dare?
Ambitious carpet cleaners, who weren't expected until noon, that's who.
I won't even get into how much I hate carpet, but let me just say that carpet cleaning at 8 AM is reason number 4,579 that I'd like to rip it all up, install drains in the floors, and buy plastic furniture so that I can just hose my house down every night before bed.
So, with a fair amount of grumbling and dirty looks, the boys and I threw on our clothes, stuffed the essentials in a bag and headed to the gym. Not, mind you, because I give a rat's rear end about exercising at such an ungodly hour, but because they have free Internet access and reasonably healthy breakfast options.
We ate, we swam, we ate some more, and because I knew that our white (did you catch that? WHITE!) carpet needed to dry if it was to have a fighting chance against three boys, we decided to go on a hike.
And this is where I was treated to something wonderful and unexpected.
Silence, or something like it.
After all the hustle of the morning, stepping into the woods was like diving into a deep pool. Cool and quiet.
Even my wild boys grew hushed, if not still.
We closed our eyes to quiet everything but the sounds of birds calling to each other across the tree tops. So many different songs.
We stood very still, our toes underwater, balanced on river rocks, and stared, astonished that little rainbow colored fish dared to come so close.
The spell was quickly broken in the car, on the way home, where the boys bickered, smacked their bubble gum and I croaked along to Queen's, "Under Pressure." But still, something of the day has stuck.
I drained the color from all our photos, and it has made them more. I'm left wondering, what would I see, what songs would I hear, if I could peel away the distractions in our life?
... don't expect the little bugger to sit still long enough for you to take his picture before you let him go.
Will my boys be like this as teenagers? "Yeah yeah, hurry up, Mom! Take the picture so we can go!" Oh, wait! They are like that NOW! I can't tell you how many blurry pictures I have of the backsides of their heads!
Sigh.
Little things are growing up all around me. Thankfully, my guys are not doing it QUITE as quickly as our tadpoles. Almost, but not quite.
Oh, and p.s., many of you have let me know that you are having issues leaving comments on my blog. I am so sorry that it is such a pain, and thank you SO much for being so diligent in trying. I do so love to hear from you! I have spoken to the folks at TypePad and they can't seem to discern the problem. They have asked that I send people experiencing this issue directly to them HERE
They think that by speaking with you directly they will be able to get some details that will help solve the problem.
I know, total pain in the butt. Sorry!
... will people buy his wares?
(Don't you love that it's exactly $4.01?)
My oldest boy, Luke, is a born salesman. He's ALWAYS dreaming up ways to make money. It's part of his fiber. On the one hand, I appreciate his drive, on the other, I worry about him a little. He has a hard time just enjoying a thing, without turning it into a money-making proposition. I don't worry too much though, because the stuff he wants to buy with all the money that he plans to make is usually admirable - a gift for a loved one, something with which to create. He is a giver as much as he is a capitalist.
When we went on vacation in Galveston, it didn't take him long to realize that some shells come with natural holes. He promptly gathered half a million of them, and informed me that he intended to make them into necklaces to sell. When we got home, he bought the hemp rope stuff, and clasps and set to work.
A few days ago my Dad (thanks Grumpy) gave him the money to buy a table and register a booth at the Georgetown Second Saturday Craft Fair. Watch out, the kid has his first investor! Luke has decided that I need to sew some bags, placemats, checkerboards and such to sell along side him. (insert first business partner) I think it might be fun, not to mention a good learning experience for us both! So we've been working away, together, and that alone is worth it.
I've never sold anything that I've made. It's always just been for fun or gifts, or necessity. But, I think that I might enjoy it, and I am looking forward to sharing the experience of making, creating a display and selling alongside my son.
Only, I'm kind of worried. What if that he works so hard, dreams so much and then no one will buy his necklaces? I think it would break both our hearts!
I feel like that a lot though, excited to share the world with my babes, and yet scared that the world will not treat them like the treasures they are. It started from the very beginning, really. I remember being so anxious to meet each of them when I was pregnant, and at the same time not ready for the rest of the world to be able to hold them too.
It is so very hard to share their hearts.
... along with some thrifted vintage sheets, and your Great Aunt Vivian's Turtle Quilt, will you sleep they way you would if all of those grandmothers, combined, rocked you on their laps?
Reminds me of that Shawn Colvin song, Polaroids:
"Please no more therapy
Mother take care of me
Piece me together with a needle and thread.
Wrap me in Eiderdown
Lace from your wedding gown,
Fold me and lay me down on your bed..."
... You'd better have your mop handy!
Don't you just love it when they "help"? It makes a task SO much slower, but then, a whole lot sweeter too.
Oh, and I'm considering writing up a grant proposal to do a study on the genetic component to having a predisposition for fascination with dishwater. (How'd you like that for wordy?)
This is Ryder's daddy at 2:
... and the minivan mom decides to take a picture... prepare for some funny looks :-)
I never thought I'd drive a minivan.
And I'll bet the guys rallying this weekend never thought they'd be photographed from one!
