Terri Terri Quite Contrary How Does Your Garden Grow?

My peas are poking up their furly little heads above ground. It makes me giddy with agrarian power. Giddy I say. Even the lettuces are starting to make an appearance.

Of course, to keep me grounded, my beans are refusing to leave their dark little holes.

The herbs, planted as little plants, are filling out nicely and the tomatoes are holding their own.

Flowers, both home and graveside, are settling in.

I don’t have a green thumb. Unless I wear my gardening gloves– but even then only the underside of the thumb would be green. The upperside would be floral. Not sure what that would mean. I’m just not good at growing things. So when something happens like peas poking up their little furly heads it’s cause for celebration.

Join me for a nice salad in a few months?

Sunday in the Park with JAck

This weekend we made a dent in the loooong list of Outside Chores. By Sunday we were itching to get away from home and hearth (and mosquito babies) and fled to the nearby park.

There are climby structures there that are colorful and busy. They double back on themselves in places so that there is a steady flow of children crisscrossing and sliding and climbing and tunneling… Jack loves it. Around the edge are benches for the parents– though you can’t get too comfortable– there are places that you lose the sight line and so the Mommies and Daddies become part of the dance, too– popping up and moving left or right until we can see our little ones again.

Jack likes being with other kids, too. He watches them and imitates them and laughs heartily at their antics. And they watch him, too. One little girl told him, “You climb really well!” with such earnest admiration. Little kids aren’t so stingy with their praise of others. We could learn something there.

Philbin came along, too, and sat quietly on the bench next to me. The poor little dog is tense at the park– it’s a dangerous place for a pup. Kids coming at him from all sides, “Oh! a doggie!” and other, bigger dogs plus the design of the benches that keeps him sliding off the back.

By the time we got there that evening the crowds had thinned considerably. Only a few children were left on the play structures and the lines at the ice-cream stand were reasonable. We pointed out to Jack the two picnic tables of firemen– they sat eating their ice-cream treats while, across the street, two fire trucks and an EMT vehicle were parked. Jack didn’t quite believe us about the firemen. They weren’t in their firecoats. They had on matching t-shirts. He looked at us skeptically…. But the firetrucks were a draw. So, while I went to get us treats, he and Robby and the pup strolled over to peek at the trucks.

When I joined them they’d been befriended by a fireman who had charmed them both with a tour of the equipment. Jack got to sit inside one of the big trucks– his entire face lit up with joy. (When the fireman made the suggestion that Jack sit inside Jack was so thrilled he didn’t wait for Robby but shot up his little arms toward the fireman to lift him up…) The fireman, whose name I should have learned, couldn’t have been nicer to Jacky. He showed him all the buttons and dials (he was pretty nice to Robby, too– since Rob had a several questions, too) and gave him a roll of shiny sticker badges.

We finally extracted Jack from the truck and said thank you to the nice fireman. We apologized for taking up so much of his time but he shook his head and said, “this is the best part of the job, it really is.”

All in all a nice break from weeding and staining…

Go Speed Racer! Go!

Last night we went to Chris’ for supper. Jack ate some cold pizza in his usual manner– he scarfed it down quickly– and then pleaded with us to hurry up our bowls of stew.

Chris has a huge backyard. It is green and rolling and open. Jack loves it. He runs and runs across it– his legs pumping and his face lit up with glee at so much freedom. We take turns chasing him or racing to this tree or that fence post. Our bodies do not have the abandon of his– we are cautiously aware of the dips and hidden holes in the wide expanse and we are all too aware of the dangers to our older ankles, knees, and backs. But it’s hard not to feel some measure of his joy at the perfect mix of a Spring evening, green grass, and no rules.

Eventually we have to coax him inside and he plays with his little cars while we visit. Later, at home again, he will shed his grass stained pants and sweatshirt and pull on the stripey jammies that melt us both. His hair will still have souvenirs from his wild romping– dried grass and the like– and he really needs a bath…his little neck smells sweet and outdoorish but it’s grubby nonetheless. He falls to sleep quickly and soundly.

When is it that running becomes a chore?

So far, at three years, nine months, and 1 day it’s still an utter joy.

Out of the mouth of our babe

Well our kid says the darnedest things.

The good:
“Oh! That’s the saddest sound!” when he finishes his milk or water. The little slurp always prompts this now.

The bad:
“I’m sick of you!!” We can’t quite figure out how this one came about. We’ve never said it to him. He says it with deliberate force and always looks to see if we are reacting to it or not…

The ugly (but funny):
“I want to punch you… in the face!” Robby’s taking the hit for this one. He’s jokingly said something similiar to the dog… but still, the original twist that Jack’s put on it– combining the act of punching. the pause, and the addition of “in the face” is funny coming out of his preschool lips. (It’s horrifying, too, of course, and we’re careful to be stern if we react at all…)

I type all this because it’s part of Jack that I want to remember– and it’s an honest side of this part of our lives together– he’s trying to express emotions now. This is big. It’s the edge of reason and empathy. It’s critical in him becoming the kind of man that will be a good husband, a good father, a good friend.

It’s, as Jack would say, “wunnerful” really. Even if it’s a bit disconcerting.

My hands are tied

The worst part of having a blog is the editing.

I have to be careful what I type some days so that no one is offended… or that information doesn’t reach the wrong hands.

It’s like working with Friend Chris who is now my boss. A lot of stories had to go instantly into the proverbial Disney Vault– there are coworkers that occasionally read this.

And family antics have often to be discarded as a possible topic lest I incur wrath or the like.

Last night, for example, was a really fun night. The parties involved were hospitable and a great time was had by all. We enjoyed our activity very much. If we DID eat, and I’m not saying we did, we enjoyed it very much.

Sigh.

Dumb husbands and other trials

I’m out of sorts. Robby screwed up my sweet Phyllis-the-laptop. I’m cross about it and I can’t shake it.

He says he’s sorry but the fact remains that my computer is still wonky.

Jack’s not learning any big lessons on forgiveness today. Today we’ll tackle scrunching up our foreheads in disappointment.

Argh.