Kids keep you sane. Without their presence in your life, you can easily spin into regrettable behaviors. This day surely is proof of it. See if you don't agree:
Fourth of July. It's a holiday that I think about, of course, even though I'm never quite as enthusiastic about traditional celebratory activities as most people appear to be. Typically it's hot and buggy outside. Parades, military fly-overs -- well, I'm not a fan of them on any holiday, unless it's Thanksgiving and you have it on the TV in the background and the things that are flying over are huge balloons of Peanuts characters. I suppose having been raised in a (so-called) communist country, where parading success, real or imagined, and glossing over failures was the norm, I tend to shy away from this kind of stuff, preferring humbler displays of pride in country. Kids on bikes and trikes with red white and blue streamers seem so perfect, no?
I do like food traditions and Fourth of July has a lot of good edibles associated with it, so there's that. But then come the fireworks. Neither Ed nor I especially like fireworks. And so this day, this historically important day (why the fourth, when the vote for independence actually took place on the 2nd?), is a time to skew dinner toward the traditional grilled foods and to think, especially this year, about the significance of historic events in the evolution of this country and about the people who contributed their heart and soul to improving the lives of others.
So, bottom line -- we keep things simple, contemplative, and quiet. And yummy!
As predicted, it is hot outside. High near 90F (32C). And sticky. Flies buzz and it's not a lazy buzz, it's an "I'm going to get you!" buzz that you feel obliged to swat at, just in case it's a horse fly. I feed the animals and consider what's next. Surely I have to fill out tax forms. And clean the house so that it shines! We have floor cleaning stuff. We have rags. Ed promised to help.
But first, breakfast.
I had started in on cleaning, but now, having spent the morning meal gazing out on the flower beds, I cannot turn my back and go inside.
It's the first day in several weeks without kids here and I feel I need to catch up with weeding and a bit of watering.
And then it all spins out of control. Without the need to stop for kids, for anything actually, I don't bother looking at the clock and work from one bed to the next, pulling out one weed after another. I work all the flower fields but two (so seven in all). And the temperature climbs and the sun is hot and flies buzz and yet I do not take a pause, but continue to work and pull and dig until I haven't a single ounce of oomph left in me. Hands take on blisters, nails break, and still I keep digging and pulling and in some instances, dousing with water.
You'd think I'd stop by mid afternoon, but I do not. I mow down paths across our grassy swaths of land and Ed and I speculate about planting more wildflowers and keeping our mowed paths interesting and inviting going forward.
This year, since we no longer mow most of the farmette grasses, we have an enormous number of frogs showing up -- tiny ones, big ones, brown ones, green ones. And, too, dragon flies and damsel flies. Ed's enchanted by it all. I am too.
Late afternoon. This is not time to start in on the taxes. I pick up a few rags and attack the floor. Between the two of us, we manage to wipe down a lot if not all of the farmhouse hardwood floors.
Evening. Grilled brats with sauerkraut, the very last of Matt's asparagus, lettuce from our own lettuce patch, berries from our bushes...
... pea pods and scallions from our CSA box.
To say I am spent understates things for sure. Still, it's the fourth. Look outside, if not at fireworks, then at the full moon that shines brightly on all of us, equally, tonight.
Fourth of July. It's a holiday that I think about, of course, even though I'm never quite as enthusiastic about traditional celebratory activities as most people appear to be. Typically it's hot and buggy outside. Parades, military fly-overs -- well, I'm not a fan of them on any holiday, unless it's Thanksgiving and you have it on the TV in the background and the things that are flying over are huge balloons of Peanuts characters. I suppose having been raised in a (so-called) communist country, where parading success, real or imagined, and glossing over failures was the norm, I tend to shy away from this kind of stuff, preferring humbler displays of pride in country. Kids on bikes and trikes with red white and blue streamers seem so perfect, no?
I do like food traditions and Fourth of July has a lot of good edibles associated with it, so there's that. But then come the fireworks. Neither Ed nor I especially like fireworks. And so this day, this historically important day (why the fourth, when the vote for independence actually took place on the 2nd?), is a time to skew dinner toward the traditional grilled foods and to think, especially this year, about the significance of historic events in the evolution of this country and about the people who contributed their heart and soul to improving the lives of others.
So, bottom line -- we keep things simple, contemplative, and quiet. And yummy!
As predicted, it is hot outside. High near 90F (32C). And sticky. Flies buzz and it's not a lazy buzz, it's an "I'm going to get you!" buzz that you feel obliged to swat at, just in case it's a horse fly. I feed the animals and consider what's next. Surely I have to fill out tax forms. And clean the house so that it shines! We have floor cleaning stuff. We have rags. Ed promised to help.
But first, breakfast.
I had started in on cleaning, but now, having spent the morning meal gazing out on the flower beds, I cannot turn my back and go inside.
It's the first day in several weeks without kids here and I feel I need to catch up with weeding and a bit of watering.
And then it all spins out of control. Without the need to stop for kids, for anything actually, I don't bother looking at the clock and work from one bed to the next, pulling out one weed after another. I work all the flower fields but two (so seven in all). And the temperature climbs and the sun is hot and flies buzz and yet I do not take a pause, but continue to work and pull and dig until I haven't a single ounce of oomph left in me. Hands take on blisters, nails break, and still I keep digging and pulling and in some instances, dousing with water.
You'd think I'd stop by mid afternoon, but I do not. I mow down paths across our grassy swaths of land and Ed and I speculate about planting more wildflowers and keeping our mowed paths interesting and inviting going forward.
This year, since we no longer mow most of the farmette grasses, we have an enormous number of frogs showing up -- tiny ones, big ones, brown ones, green ones. And, too, dragon flies and damsel flies. Ed's enchanted by it all. I am too.
Late afternoon. This is not time to start in on the taxes. I pick up a few rags and attack the floor. Between the two of us, we manage to wipe down a lot if not all of the farmhouse hardwood floors.
Evening. Grilled brats with sauerkraut, the very last of Matt's asparagus, lettuce from our own lettuce patch, berries from our bushes...
... pea pods and scallions from our CSA box.
To say I am spent understates things for sure. Still, it's the fourth. Look outside, if not at fireworks, then at the full moon that shines brightly on all of us, equally, tonight.
