May 9 2013

Leave me alone!

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Last week Martin needed some alone time.

I know this because he said, “I need some alone time.”

Actually he said, “I need some alone time; I’m going for a walk.”

“Okay,” I replied, refrained from adding, ”…fine by me because you’ve been a total grouch lately.”

I didn’t say that last part.

Well I sort of said it… with my eyes.

Anyway, back to walking and alone time. There’s no such thing as “alone time.” At best, if you shed the kids, you’re still stuck with a maniacal dog. Maisie runs circles around anyone attempting a walk. And while she’s running, she’s barking incessantly. Every so often, she swoops behind to bite your ankles.

That’s as alone as it gets.

But last week Martin couldn’t even manage that. He laced up his shoes and set out before dinner, but a chatty neighbor cornered him for an hour.

Later, he made a second attempt. This time the kids trailed him.

It was sunset when he struck out again, in a positively thunderous mood.

My cell rang 15 minutes later.

“I give up!” Martin yelled into the phone.

“What is your problem?” I hollered back. “I have the kids! You’re on your own!”

Apparently not.

Martin made it through the woods and nearly reached the ridge when he felt another presence. He glanced back and spotted the straggler, skulking silently behind.

While on the phone, I asked him to snap a photo.

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And I listened to him rave out for a few minutes.

“Okay, okay,” I finally interrupted. “I know you’re crabby and you want to be alone. I get it. But you’re really gonna be alone if you lose Mel. So you better get back here. And bring that damn cat with you!”

 

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By Jo • Family • 1 • Tags: , , ,

May 7 2013

Sheep-a-thon

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Cloaked and content…

 

Another Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival, come and gone. (For details on the festival, see last year’s post here.)

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Due to social conflicts, we blitzed the sheep show on Saturday — we breezed through the tents and pavilions and skipped the main events. We missed the “grand lamb cook-off,” and the “sheep and wool skill-a-thon.” We bailed on the crowning of the lamb and wool queen and princess.

We did, however, find time to wolf down lamb gyros, lamb kabobs, corn dogs and cotton candy.

Hands down, the family-food consumption award goes to Brynn, who singlehandedly polished off a platter of cheese fries.

Not too surprising, given Brynn’s penchant for grilled-cheese sandwiches, garnished with a wedge of soft cheese and few slices of cheddar on the side…

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By Jo • Animals • 1 • Tags: , ,

May 1 2013

The Saturday Scene

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The good old days

Ten years ago, on any given warm, sunny Saturday (like the one last week) Martin and I would have been busy.

Busy drinking beers.

Or maybe a round of cocktails — something to accompany a platter of bar food. Back then, sunny weekends centered around a drive to an historic town; we’d wander a few cluttered, cheapish antique stores, then retire to an outdoor bar. There, we’d drain our glasses and swap snarky comments about the people passing by.

A decade later we’re still hunkered over beers on a Saturday, gossiping and soaking up spring. But we’re not people watching in town. Now we sit in the gator, parked in the woods, watching our half-naked kids wade in a creek. (I don’t know why ankle-deep water warrants stripping, but it does.)

Watching muddy kids isn’t as captivating as a bustling streetscape, but it’s not the worst. With a little time and creative thinking, it’s easy to imagine that the kids are performing. For nobody. In the middle of nowhere.

Cayden plays the part of the Native American. Crouched in the water, he scours the murky creek for salamanders and crayfish, cupping his hands around his quarry.

Hadley performs the role of pioneer.

Well, a nude pioneer.

She busies herself collecting wooden planks (left below a deer stand), lugging load after load across the creek, pausing only to free herself from the thorny weeds.

Then there’s Brynn, who gravitates towards a symbolic role: she represents American development and modernization. Brynn crushes everything — scattering Cayden’s squirmy collection and knocking down Hadley’s new construction.

It’s the classic American tale: a native people, a pioneering spirit, and an opportunistic, exploitive outsider. From our perch Martin and I listen to complaints and replenish drinks from our cooler.

For a while, the factions are peaceful. We can’t see the kids but we hear them high above — perched in the deer stand.

Finally, I spy a flash of skin at ground level. Brynn appears in the clearing and gingerly crosses the creek.

Their meeting has not ended amicably.

“Mom–” Brynn says flatly. “Mom. Hadley… stuck her bubble gun… In my hair.”

 

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“I see.” I gently tug at her hair. It’s a modest section but thoroughly tangled and knotted in the battery-operated propeller.

“You know,” I say, “this reminds me of when I flew a helicopter into Hadley’s hair. It took ages to get that thing out. And the helicopter was never the same.”

 

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Flashback…

 

“It makes me wonder where we’ll be 10 or 15 years,” I tell Martin, as I finally tug the bubble gun — and some hair — from Brynn’s head.

In 15 years we might be helping Cayden untangle his hair after a keg stand gone wrong. Or some other idiotic act.

I hope not. But at least by then, he should be wearing clothes…

 

 

 

 

 

By Jo • Family • 0 • Tags: , , , ,

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