tackling all the STDs

I was standing at the stove tending bacon when Andy passed through the room asking whether T2 was registered for preschool.  Not yet.  The paperwork may have been due in January?  The day I called about late forms, the lady I apparently needed to speak with was not in.  I put it off.

We repaired a dining room chair that broke when it tipped over under the weight of blanket tent plus boy.
We called the insurance company because we'd been double billed for homeowners.
We traced chalk outlines on the sidewalk.
We went to the pool.
We read all twenty seven books on the front porch.
We mowed the lawn and mopped the floors and wasted time on the internet.
We hung some shit on our bedroom wall, finally.

Tuck first read the new print as "get shirt done." He knew it didn't make sense as soon as he said it out loud.  But then he wanted to know what "shit" meant, and how to use it in a sentence.  We talked about synonyms and explained that shit should never be a first choice word.

So, we had a conversation about showing respect and using imagination to choose interesting words.

We smoked eighteen pounds of brisket.
We took the boys to the state fair.
We took after dinner bike rides.
We laundered all the linens on all the beds.
We watched a movie.
We booked hotels and ordered airline tickets and shipped wedding gifts.
We had family over for tacos.

All of these things mean we are blessed.  Too much food to eat, too much stuff to clean, money to spend on making the walls of our home more interesting.  Chairs to sit around a table, towels to dry after a swim, toys to pick up and shoes to locate and floors to sweep.  Shit to sort out.  Oil change appointments and auditions and lesson plans and a to do list as long as the Shoe.
Considering all the things we want to do - visit the caverns and check out a new park, go to campus for fall pictures and go to the Cowboy for chips and queso, it sometimes feels like not enough time to do what should be done.

But Tolliver is, with two weeks to spare, enrolled in a preschool class.
Our bedroom is a little brighter.
And we do have cooked bacon in the fridge. Because, priorities.

Resources, clockwise from top left:

Clouds watercolor by RoRo

"get shit done" typed and printed at home

Paper Hearts by Ink Dot via Minted

Flowers, another watercolor by RoRo

hummingbird by Sara Shashani via Minted

Confetti by Blair Culwell Staky via Minted

Beatrice by Cari Humphry from ArtPaperGarden on Etsy

about August

It's suddenly a scramble, trying to fit in everything we want summer to be before August is over.
School will start and opportunities to pile together in pajamas in the basement with popcorn and a movie will be slim.  Mornings slow enough to make cinnamon rolls and to sit around the breakfast table will diminish.  Fewer days to spend taking indirect paths and climbing trees and declaring most things non-essential and very few time-sensitive.
When the temperature tops ninety we tend to shift attitudes from "we shouldn't" to "why shouldn't we," inching up a few notches on the lazy/permissive/flexible scale.  It's about time to start dialing that back down.  But first, a brother campout.

This time of year there are so many folks trying to describe to the world that bittersweet flavor of growing kids.  The way time is moving too quickly and legs are getting too long, and yet how lucky are we to wake up to another sunrise.

There's still so much to savor, days at the pool and a generally carefree schedule, the way they show love to each other and make each other laugh.  They've had so much together time I barely know where one boy begins and the other ends.  So much together time that they drive each other a little crazy.  Sibling arguments and sweaty walks to the library and all sorts of other summery things can make days pass slowly and the season feel interminable, even when August reminds us that it's not.  

It feels easier to make concessions to the next season while still staring at their faces as they sleep, while they are completely here and not already half gone.

somewhere between a wish and a season

You know the way summer can taste like every single dream you ever had, all come true at once?

The way corn and melon and grilled meat remind you of happy times, the way Fritos and Jolly Ranchers take you back to rest periods on the pool lawn, the way fresh berries taste exactly like a warm morning hike.  The way cold ice cream  cones and generous slices of peach cobbler can make it feel like you've fallen into dreams you hadn't even dreamed of yet.

You know the way summer can look like some kind of fantasy you forgot to imagine entirely?

The way your kids pile in the hammock together and plan the future.  The way they snuggle close to share a book, sticky and smelling like sunscreen and grass.  The way the yard is littered with wet towels and abandoned scooters, squirt guns and excavation kits and at least eighteen kinds of balls.

You know the way summer can feel a lot like all your wildest wishes, wonderfully outrageous and suddenly very real?

The way fireflies floating upward, little points of light amid tall blades of grass, make time - even bedtime - obsolete.  The way the sky, a wavering sheet of blue, changes, clouds rolling in fast, issuing just enough rain drops to remind everyone who's boss.  The way parental perspective can change lightening quick too, can alternate between tired and energized.

You know the way the door to even more possibilities opens again every morning, the way there's always at least a thin slice of sunshine to step into?

Until tomorrow.

There is something about him right now, today, that makes it hurt a little bit to breathe.
I mean, I am not sad that my baby is growing up.  God, I’m glad he is.
But those freckles.  Those toes.  The cheeks and the chin and the filthy fingernails.
His eyes.  The way he holds his glass.  The way he says the word wish.
The way he shows numbers with his fingers.  The way he pees on everything perpendicular, like a dog.  The way crawls onto my lap mike mercury, melts into whatever space there is.
His soft skin.  All of him.  Every inch.
This is it.
Until tomorrow.

a day at the fair

This cow could be the official Ohio State Fair mascot!

The sky glider was the only ride the boys asked to go on.

This kid built his own motorcycle, and these boys were full of questions.

We saw cowboys and dairy cows and butter cows and baby cows!

The Herbert Administration Building was named in honor of the Thomas whom Tucker was named after.

So many food choices - sno cones and ice cream and funnel cake and fresh squeezed lemonade...

I remember fishing at the ODNR pond when I was a kid.  Tucker wanted to release the fish he caught, but Tolliver let us bring his home, and we had fish tacos for dinner!

lately

Okay Mom, watch this.  Watch!  Watch!  
You saw that?!

He's a real swimmer now, diving down to retrieve objects, kicking his feet to move forward.

I spend pretty much the entire time at the pool watching.  And re-adjusting goggles.

Mom, you know scientists have trouble classifying centipedes?  Also they are venomous, and nocturnal.
Mom, you know the largest hail ever on record was the size of cantaloupe?  It fell in South Dakota.
Mom, you know that a lot of planets have their own moon?  Actually, Jupiter has like sixty of them.

He unleashes a torrent of unsolicited information.  His sharing doesn’t strike me with strong interest, yet does fill me with a sure sense of connection.

I spend pretty much the entire day listening.  And thinking about how quiet the house will be at bedtime.

*Sign up soon for what was formerly known as Celia's Walk:
The Battling Batten Disease 5K Run and Family Fun Walk
Sunday, November 8 at 10am
Scioto Audubon Metro Park

July-owa

We drove to Des Moines in the middle of the month.  Although our first stop was Anamosa, in order to participate in the Chelsey's Dream Foundation 5K.  We're expecting a new nephew in November, and the Bildstein family has offered to provide financial assistance in the adoption process.  It was a pleasure to meet such a generous, resilient couple, and it felt a little like their daughter's spirit was with us all week with so many butterflies crossing our path.

And then we spent several days with the Vaudts, listening to outdoor concerts at the local winery, building Legos, playing in the backyard and making flower chains, picking fresh raspberries and refilling our coffee cups two and three times.

We visited their farm too, exploring the creek that runs along one edge, catching snakes and frogs and insects, fashioning a makeshift slip and slide, bunking together in one big room, building bonfires that lasted past midnight and cooking pancakes over open flames in the morning.

It's hard to choose a favorite part of the trip - watching our kids play together is at the top of the list.  And so is the fried fish dinner Andy whipped up.  Walking to the nearby playground to see Celia's bench was pretty special too.  But one of my best memories is the outdoor shower.  It was dark, the air was warm, and looking up at the sky it seemed like a celebration, a grand, illicit party the galaxy was throwing after most humans had been put to bed.

I love getting away and being together.  Time not spent at home sometimes helps me refocus.  Out there I was able to remember that problems are like stars:  When you’re up close, they can burn you, but when you see them from a distance, when you give yourself some space, they are phenomenally small flecks.  Getting away cannot eliminate stress, but spending time with friends sure can shrink stuff and shift perspective.