The End of Summer Vacation

Sometimes, you just get lucky.

Lucky is when the cottage rental you trustingly made via the internet with no way to verify its actual existence, actually exists.

Complete with a dock for peering at fish.

Lucky is getting not just one, but two, parking tickets, in separate cities, and the total fee is $15.

Lucky is when the one week you take a vacation has the best weather of the whole summer.

And nobody gets a sunburn.

Lucky is returning back to your rental before the overturned lamp actually catches the now scorched rug on fire.



Lucky is having other adults around when your son declares, "It's all right, my penis is lower than the blueberries," as he pees on a bush.

Lucky is when you realize that spending time together as a family actually makes you want to spend more time together as a family.



Lucky is listening to your toddler murmuring, "Happy happy happy," as her father carries her home.

Past week

Last week we got notice that the town was going to repave the road next to our house, the school parking lot (next door) and the primary street we use to access our street. This might sound annoying, or banal, but please keep in mind, we have a truck obsessed preschool boy in our household.

For the past week, we have had the privilege of watching a diverse quantity of trucks parade past our house, multiple times each day. Street sweeper, asphalt cutter, many dump trucks, excavator, tank truck (with water), asphalt spreader, grader, I'm losing track. And below, you can see what Q has been doing all day long.

The poor kid. At breakfast, he'll sit down to eat, and a truck will go by. He runs to the door, watches for a while, returns to the table, takes one bite, and a truck will go by! It is the height of preschool distraction.

The road looks lovely. We're hoping the repaving doesn't send draining water straight into our parking spots.

On other fronts:

Q wants to hear Stellaluna again and again. (A book about a bat raised by birds.)


Noodle is practicing for her future as a bat-head-eating rock star.

She had her 15 month check up yesterday. She's doing great. She is still not quite 20 lbs. Although if I'd given her free rein with the blueberries yesterday, I'm sure she would be. She's 19 lbs, 15.5 oz. (Half an oz shy of 20, if you're weak on English weights.) Which puts her back down in the 10th percentile, which is absolutely fine, I am told. There have to be some babies in this percentile, after all. And we're lucky we got a healthy baby there.

Excuse me, toddler.

We're off for New Hampshire today. It's probably just as well that she's no bigger than she is, since we may lug her on our backs much of this week. I want to be a slacker mom and not worry about packing every item that my children could conceivably want this week. Yesterday, for example, we went blueberry picking and I didn't even pack the girl a diaper. I know how to live on the edge.

I am not intrepid about travel. It's not part of my personality. However, as a concession to the car's limited space, this time I'm pushing the envelope: I'm only bringing two pairs of shoes.

Lactose Results and Nature Knocking

So, as I understand it, you breathe into a tube and a machine measures something.

If you score 10 or higher, you are lactose intolerant.
If you score 5 or lower, you are lactose tolerant.

I scored a 0.

We did the test twice since the result seemed, well, negligible?

I think I am one of the lucky few who have an actual obligation to eat ice cream.

***

We're being skulked by a skunk.

We'll be sitting in the den and suddenly I'll run over to the window and peer out, trying to spot her.

J asks, "Honey, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

They're so fearless and beautiful. I'm not stupid enough to mess with her. I just want a glimpse of her as she wanders through our yard, leaving a trail of musk so distinctive that it may beat out cut grass for the true smell of summer.

I haven't seen her yet, but I know she's out there. A smell that strong can't hide forever.

Several times lately we've heard a screech owl.

A mature screech owl is a dignified and haunting call. If you're curious, listen to the whinny sound on this site: "The Owl Foundation".

A few years ago, we were guests at my mother-in-law's house. At 2 am I woke to sounds from a horror movie. I was absolutely convinced that the neighbors had puppies that were being eaten alive. If you want to hear something similar to what I was awoken by, listen to the 'nestling food cry.'

Hopefully the sound of the adult I heard does not precede being woken by the second later this summer. They'd be done with nesting by now, right? right?

The Camel Discusses Straw...

Even when J is working and it's just the three of us, I like us to eat together. So I make dinner. I set it on the table for Q and myself. I load Noodle's high chair tray and lock her in place.

I call Q to eat dinner. We sit down. For less than a minute.

Q has to use the potty. He goes potty. For twenty minutes.

Noodle and I eat.

Q comes out of the potty. He informs me that he wants to wear clean underwear and shorts. I say, "Please, just wear what you had on before."

Q leaves the room.

Q comes back and tells me he wants to sit on a towel instead of putting on his underwear and shorts. I say no.

Q melts down.

Noodle begins to wail because she wants down from her high chair.

I offer Q a compromise. He can go upstairs and get fresh clothes on if he can do it before a 5 minute timer goes off.

I repeat this offer because he cannot hear me through Noodle's screaming.

He accepts the offer and goes upstairs.

I take Noodle's tray into the kitchen and start wiping her off with a washcloth.

Q returns and asks me to help him put on his old underwear.

I help him get his underwear on.

I get his sister out of the high chair.

I sit down to drink a cup of tea.

Q sits down at the table in his old underwear.

Noodle wanders around.

Our cat Savannah walks over to Noodle and pukes a huge quantity of cat food onto the rug next to her.

Noodle screams in terror.

Q announces, "Mommy! Savannah puked!"