Camping!

In our back yard!

I had the possibly not-so-brilliant idea to set up the tent in the yard. I thought it might be fun for the kids to hang out in, something to encourage them to be outside more. Well, my dear husband is now dismantling the brick wall around our front yard and building a fire pit out back. In the middle of the yard. The grass...? Honey?

Well, I don't want to discourage his enthusiasm, especially since last week I was moaning and groaning about how we need to come up with memorable experiences to share with the kids.

"Hey kids, remember when dad set the yard on fire?"

More like 73% cocoa extra-dark

Kindergarten was fun,

We made many new friends.

We worked, played and sang there,

Hope we all meet again.

If I possessed the technical ability to embed a video, you could hear the above words sung with gut-wrenching sweetness by 17 about-to-be-former kindergarteners. And then you would be on the floor in a puddle of your own tears. So, you're welcome for my lameness. 

Today was the last day of school. I am usually fine with it, but I am so insanely in love with my kids right now, that any indication of time moving on (with the resulting growing older of said kids) is just totally unacceptable. I don't know exactly when it happened, but I cannot get enough of them.  Yesterday I told Ella I love her so many times that by the end of the day, if I called her name, she would just say, "I love you too, Mom." Also, if I could walk around with my nose permanently burrowed into Finn's hair, that would be great.  

All of which would be fine if I could just stay in the moment and enjoy it, but the more I adore them (of course, I have ALWAYS loved them, obviously, but we have reached a new level, you see), the more I want to shove my face into Ella's mouth and smell her kitten breath, the more I think about the fact that they will one day hate me and avoid me and LEAVE. This must be the French part of me. The part that sees the end in everything. What is wrong with me?

On a totally unrelated note: Hi Gaea! I miss you!

This is how it starts

So my boy had STAR testing last week, which is standardized testing that determines the amount of funding a school receives. Finn was very nervous and weepy the night before. I tried explaining that it's a test for the school and he didn't have to worry, but he was determined to wallow for a bit, so I hugged him and left him to it. 

I decided to write him a little note to find in the morning before he went to school. I wrote, "Dear Finn,  Just relax and read directions. You'll do great! Love, Mom and Dad." I should have known better. 

Finn was so happy with his note that he took it to school. And showed his teacher. And said sure, she could read it to the whole second grade class. Why? Why would his teacher read it to the class? That is blood in the water to a bunch of kids who want to prove they aren't babies any more. They laughed. 

Finn cried on the way home. He has a tender heart. As much as I don't want him knocked over by every emotion, I hope he isn't teased into indifference. It is hard for boys. How do I help him be tough and brave and resilient without hardening his heart?

Distant thunder

That's my honey, handcrafting a motorcycle gas tank. He has always wanted to do this, so he just started trying on his own. Slowly the word got out that he could make custom tanks and all of a sudden, he is bombarded with orders. He has guys bringing bikes in from two different states this weekend. 

I have never known anyone who manifests his dreams more than Shawn. I sometimes tease him for his one-track mind, but the guy doesn't stop until he gets what he wants. He should write a blue-collar version of The Secret. His would say, "Never stop thinking about what you want. Also, never sleep and stay up all night working on it and talk about it incessantly to everyone within earshot and there you go. Wish granted." Good job, honey. 

Breathing

Things have been tense around my home-planet lately. The news, the bills, the everything. Last night I was particularly keyed-up. It was stuffy in our bedroom, so I opened the window behind the bed and passed out watching Dancing With the Stars.

I woke up around two in the morning to the sounds of night birds and crickets. Somehow, the idea that those birds and bugs would be doing that very same thing no matter what happened to me was oddly comforting. It made the struggles of my life seem small and ordinary. Nothing so big or bad that it would stop a bird from singing in the night. My heart expanded and I slept. 

                                               

                                                             

Seriously.

Here's what's weird-the last time I posted, I was furious at my credit card company, and hey-ho-whadda-know, I'm furious again! Please explain to me why they continually make it harder for me to pay the balance down? I realize lots of people have filed for bankruptcy or are just not making their payments which forces the credit card companies to be more careful, but why take it out on those of us who have NEVER missed a payment? It really makes me want to do just that. It makes me want to take up a life of crime and never look back because there clearly is no point to playing by the rules. 

I curse you, Capital One! A pox on your house!

What does his heaven look like?

Damn it. I was all riled up to do battle with my credit card company and I go to the computer and see that Lux Interior died. He was 60. That bummed me to no end. If you never saw the Cramps live, I have no words to accurately describe the simultaneous jumble of emotions that Lux inspired as frontman. It was a combination of fascination, revulsion, sexiness, and fear with a lot of hell-yeah thrown in. Lux always seemed on the brink of losing control, of seriously injuring himself, but music was always spot-on and the lyrics too witty to come from some mindless freak. Maybe it was the awareness, the intent, that made a Cramps show so...thrilling. 

Thank you, Lux. I'd say rest in peace, but that just doesn't seem like your style. Tear that damn place up.