10 Ways I Know That Summer Is Here...{Or, Project 52 ~ Water}

1.  My children are always wet.
All the time.  Sometimes it's the pool.  Sometimes it's the rain.  Sometimes it's the garden hose.  Sometimes I'm not sure why and it unsettles me so.

2.  There's basil growing on my deck.
Which is not so much a sign of summer as it is a testament to my unfailing optimism that I can grow herbs.
(no matter what anyone says)
(and by 'anyone', I mean the herbs)
(which, I'm not sure, but I think laugh and point whenever I walk by them)

3.  We've stopped eating at the table.
And the preparation of every meal begins with
"Paper plates tonight?"

4.  We built a fire pit in the backyard.
To bring that wonderful, beachy campfire experience home so we can roast marshmallows and eat S'mores all summer long.

5.  We have a fire pit in our backyard that we haven't yet built a fire in.
Because we're flopped on the couch at 7:00 with our paper plates, Wheel of Fortune, and Netflix streaming.
(Hello?  House of Cards?)
(It's like West Wing)
(on steroids)

6.  Bedtime is no longer about sight words and glasses of water and CD stories and negotiations and 14 times up and down the bunk bed ladder culminating in a process that takes longer than they'll actually be asleep.
It's more of me lifting my head off the couch, calling to them that it's time to turn off whatever Good Luck Charlie episode they're watching and hit the sheets.
(and don't look at the TV when you walk by 'cause we're watching our show and it's not for kids)

7.  My house is a complete mess.
I've decided not to care because children are here which means no matter how fast I clean, it'll be a pit sty again in 5 minutes so what's the point?
If you need me, I'll be on my basil-smelling deck with some wine and Dan Brown.
(and an umbrella)
(I mean, we are in the northwest)

8.  I feel absolutely ZERO sense of urgency to get anything done.
I no longer have a limited amount of time to work in peace and quiet before the children get home
(I won't know peace and quiet for another two months and four days)
(unless Good Luck Charlie is on)
so I don't have to rush around getting things done and I can Facebook all day.
(there's just a whole lot a' nothin' goin' on there, you know?)

9.  I have big plans...
...to read the 27 books I have on my nightstand
...to make fresh lemonade every week
...to go swimming and to the park and to the zoo and on picnics and out and about so we don't just sit around all summer Facebooking
...to paint my bedroom
...to paint my food pantry
...to grow sunflowers
...to make raspberry jam
...to take my daughter to Girl Scout Wilderness Camp

10.  I will not be staying at Girl Scout Wilderness Camp.
Because that would kill me.

Wherever you are, I hope you have a great summer!

Project 52 2K13 ~ Wk. 24 {From The Kitchen}

 Every day, for the past two weeks, my son has sauntered in the kitchen after school and said,

"Hey, Mom, guess what?  No homework."

When he says this in October, February, and late April, I dismiss it as nothing more than the lunatic ramblings of an internet-addicted pre-teen, and I immediately ask to to see his homework folder.  At which point he throws his head back, balls his fists over his eyes and wails, "MOOOOOOM-uh!  Why can't you ever just trust me?"  And then I laugh and laugh.

When he says this in June, I shrug my shoulders, say, "Cool," and pour myself a margarita.  Clearly, my work here is done.

I spent a good portion of yesterday at Home Goods, awash in the need to own a lime green mini-colander and a set of bright orange, ceramic measuring cups shaped like baskets
(that are extremely breakable)
(and non-stacking)
and was clearly off my game, because when he came in with his usual no-homework thing, I looked at him, titled my head a bit and said,

"Really?  No homework?"
(Home Goods)
(It makes me feel domestic)
(Like I should maybe I should stop super-gluing his shoe back together and finish the year on a high note)

"Well, we have a states and capitals test on Thursday, but that's it.  And I already know them all anyway.  I'm going to go play on the computer."

As he walked away down the hall to his cave of Battlefield Heroes oblivion, I turned to look for my glass, and was struck by a vague sense of responsibility.  I mean, technically, school isn't over yet.

I called him back out to the kitchen.

"Okaaay....Ummmm....Maybe we should.....Can...I....Um, let me see your homework folder."

He brought it to me from his backpack and flipped open his planner to this week.  In his lopsided handwriting, right there on the Thursday square it said:
Written test
on states and capitals

Evidently, his teacher didn't get the directive we drafted back in September.  The one that says

No tests on material that we haven't ever discussed
and that can be found on Google in a nano-second
shall be administered during the final 4 days of 5th grade.
(The End.)

"It's okay, Mom.  We worked on them at school.  I already know them."

I picked up his study sheet with its neatly typed columns of states and their corresponding capitals and said,

"South Carolina?"

"No, you have to start at the top."

"Vermont?"

"No.  Mom.  I know them if you start at the top and go down."

So I started with Alabama and we got all the way down to the 12th state before he crapped out. 

"I-daho, Idaho, Eye-da-hoe...I know this one."

It was all I could do to keep from responding with, "No, you da' ho."

We skipped that one.  And Illinois.  And Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana and Maine.
(I'm the Main-e Mom and my birthday is in August...Augusta)
(little word association trick)

"Maryland?"

"Lansing."

"No.  Massachusetts?"

"Lansing?"

"No.  Michigan?"

"Lansing!  See I told you.  I already know them."

We went through the entire list and I highlighted every one he didn't know.  Then I made him write them out in pairs on a separate sheet of paper.  Then he tried to beat his dad in round of Who Knows More?  He would have won, too, except that just as I said,

"Pennsylvania?..........................Harrisbur-"

Prince Charming blurted out, "Harrisburg!  I was just gonna' say that."

You know how many times you can play that game in one night?
I do.

You know how many times you can ask for South Carolina and get Pierre as an answer?
I do.
("Not to be confused with the capital of Ohio which iiiiizzz.....?")
(word association saves all)

When I went in this morning to wake him up, I nuzzled his ear and whispered,

"South Carolina?"

He turned his sleepy head over to look at me.  Then he smiled and said,

"Columbia."

We might just make it.  4 days and counting.

Project 52 ~ Week 23 {Fashion}

Here's what men don't understand about women's fashion. 
It's not about them.
In any way.
Shape.  Or form.

And I say this with a terrific amount of certainty after a recent conversation with my beloved, who was under the mistaken impression that all of the primping and plucking and hoisting up meant otherwise.

"What's goin' on here?" he says, circling a finger in the air around my freshly bronze powdered face.  "Is this because Matt's coming over?"

"No.  It's because he's bringing his girlfriend."
(clearly)
(The End)

"What?  Why?"
(again, clearly)

"Because women don't get dressed for men, honey.  We get dressed for other women."
That's like...Chiquitas 101.
(Maybe 105.)
(101 might be that whole "Go ahead" really means "Don't you freakin' dare." thing)
And any woman who says differently is lying. 
Or full of crap.
Or trying to make you think she's better than you because that's what you do which makes you feel like crap.
All of which circles back around to the fact that any woman's biggest challenge in her appearance is another woman.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes.  All women do."

"All women do?"

"Of course.  It's an adversarial thing." 
I simply need to know that I look better than any other woman in the room when I arrive.
Or than any other woman who shows up while I'm there.
Or makes the scene after I leave.

"I don't get it."

Evidently.

"Look.  Women size each other up.  Hair.  Make-up.  Shoes.  Jewelry.  Cleavage.  Bra straps.  Back fat.  Nail polish.  All of it.  All the time.  It's exhausting, but it's what we do to make sure that we're always the winner."

"You do that?"

"Yes...and so does any woman in her right mind.  Women are very competitive."
(even Ingrid Bergrman)
(which is why she gets on the plane at the end. Of the. Movie.)
"It's like men pissing on trees."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does.  You're my tree.  And this lipstick is my....It's....how....It's just what we do.  Okay?  Adapt and accept."

"Whatever.  Women are freaky."

I've never said otherwise.