It Skips A Generation

I love dogs. Intensely. My Mom isn't as fond of them, but my Grandma has always shared my passion with me. We've joked that some things skips a generation....

And I've found what has skipped me and landed on my son.

As a kid, I remember my Mom moving furniture around the house, rearranging couches and chairs and hope chests and usually it was all by herself and it never mattered what time it was. If the urge to change things came on, it was changing time. I grew up knowing I could move anything I wanted if I just used my leg muscles. An adult now, I don't really move furniture. Only when I have to, like with the addition of a lovely piano.

But guess who I called to help me figure out how to squeeze that music box in my living room? Yep. My Mom. Queen of furniture arranging! And I have not varied from that arrangement for the last couple of years. It is perfect.

Last night my son came downstairs and asked if I remembered offering to trade desks with him. Um, yes. Before that monster of a desk went up to his room, before it took two men to get it up there, I did offer to trade the roll top desk in my room for it......Was that offer still open? I guess, but how on earth will that desk come downstairs at 10pm?

He'll do it with Dad.

How does Dad feel about that? My gracious husband said sure, and after we emptied desks, moved enough dust around to make the air thick with it, shoved furniture out of the way and scratched up walls, the desks were switched around.

I fell asleep listening to my son moving things around in his room upstairs and it was a nostalgic feeling. It reminded me of being a kid, listening to my Mom do the same thing.

Mom, met your first Grandson, furniture mover extraordinaire!

Pardon Me, There's A Snail In My Salad

I understand that growing your own veggies leads to all sorts of dirt and bugs that you wouldn't ordinarily find on your grocery produce. And I thought I was totally cool with that. This is not my first year of veggie growing, after all. I've seen things and still eaten my veggies afterwards.

Until now. A few weeks ago I was making a new recipe, a lettuce salad with chicken and a Thai dressing. I have so much lettuce in our garden and the weather was warm, so it's perfect. I've got all the lettuce soaking in a huge bowl, and as I take them out I even give them a rinse.

My next handful of lettuce to be rinsed felt weird, like it was a big mess of clinginess. I looked down and dropped the handful in the sink. It was a poor snail, now very waterlogged and not good looking.

I scooped him into a cup and asked my son to take him outside to...um wherever. Come to think of it, I have no idea where the snail ended up. I tossed out some of that lettuce in the sink because it was weirdly slimy, but continued on with my rinsing and washing and drying and spinning.

All with the snail utmost in my thoughts.

When it came time to eat dinner, I could barely do it. The dressing tasted fine, but it was so heavy it made all the lettuce and chicken roll up into a sticky slime ball. It was very snail slime-esque.

I continue to eat my lettuce almost every night at dinner. I'm very proud of how lovely it looks. But on the inside, I'm crying a little. That snail will haunt my love of salad.

Needless to say, now every leaf of lettuce gets a thorough inspection in the garden patch. There will be no more snails drowning in my salad bath. I hope and pray.

It's Come Down To This....

The final choice as to how my day is going to shape up.....

Should I go wash the dishes and fold the laundry and sweep up what looks like an entire dog made out of dust bunnies.....

Or should I reheat some coffee and sit down on my big comfy couch and read my book?

Decisions, decisions!

I'm Feeling A Bit Mother Bearish

Isn't this cute? A Mother Bear and her Cub, all sweet and nice and loving.

The thing with a Mother Bear is that she does not like to be poked with a stick. And whoa be it to the person who dares to poke at her child with a stick.

Fierce is the nicest word to describe it.

I feel just a bit Mother Bearish right now. And as you often find out as a human mother, this is something I just have to let my child work on. I want to run in with guns blazing, eyes glaring and teeth gnashing, but I won't.

I am going to daydream of those things though.

I Love John Cusack

I love John Cusack.

I loved him before he stood in his trench coat holding his boom box over his head. Although, that was pretty awesome! Go Team Lloyd!

I have loved him ever since I was 10 years old, in the 5th grade, and saw The Journey of Natty Gahn. Sure, that movie was kick ass in it's own right, but John Cusack in that fedora was super dreamy.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a drifter in a fedora.......

My Dad's Favorite Cake

For a lot of people, knowing that your Dad loved German Chocolate cake and asked for it every birthday, is no big deal. It's like knowing your favorite color is green.

But my Dad died when I was four years old and I don't really know that much about him. I recently told my mom how much it means to me, how the best gifts she's ever given me, are stories or tidbits of information about him.

Like when she sees a certain smile my son gives in a picture and she says that is so your Dad, I am thrilled.

For me to learn that he loved a cake I find positively disgusting is actually a really cool thing.

It's the cake my son picked for his special birthday treat.

This is not a sad post. This is a post rejoicing in family! It's funny how generations are all bound together by more than looks.....and I find that completely wonderfully awesome.

Please Come Back Bats....

The mosquitoes are killing me!

I never really complained when you came into the house and hung on walls or swooped around ceiling fans. I may have been freaked out of my mind, but I wasn't mad. I swear!

I never killed you or asked anyone to kill you. I tried to get you out of the house as safe and unharmed as possible. Even set you down outside away from where the dogs could get you.

In return for all that niceness, I have certain expectations of you. I except to be able to sit outside at night and not get eaten alive by mosquitoes.

And let me tell you bats, you are missing out on some good bugs. The mosquitoes this year are the size of baby elephants and could feed your family and all your in-laws too.

So, please, Bats, wherever you went, please come back. I truly miss you.

Or, I truly miss being bug bite free. Pass the calamine lotion please.