The Forgotten Cucumber

Against my better judgment, I planted some cucumber plants next to the fence in the garden. I really dislike doing this because the grass inevitably creeps back in and I lose whatever is planted by the fence in a tangle of weeds and grass.

This is especially problematic with cucumbers, because you know what happens when you don't see a cucumber for awhile? Yeah, one day you finally excavate under the weeds, only to find . . . THE CUCUMBER THAT ATE THE GARDEN.

But you know who's not scared of cucumbers bigger than his arm?

That's right: the digger man.

He gnawed it like an ear of corn until he got tired of it and tossed it to the ground. And then Mia found it and chewed on it as if it were a bone until it was gone.

Nothing goes to waste around here, at least.

The Weird Mom

I think I'm getting a reputation at the preschool.

Every Thursday, each child brings in a piece of fruit and then they all help cut it up to make fruit salad for their snack. Last Thursday, Cubby brought Concord grapes from our vines and two of the MILLIONS HOLY LORD of pears from our pear trees. I explained to one of the teachers that the Concord grapes have seeds, so they might not be universally popular with the kids. And then I left a bag of pears for each of the teachers.

When I went back to pick Cubby up that day, I was presented with an ENORMOUS container of leftover fruit salad to take home. Seriously. It was at least a gallon. The teacher explained, "We tried to think of someone who would be able to use it all up."

Right. It's in my freezer now, awaiting blending for five thousand fruit shakes.

Today there was a sign requesting that anyone who could contribute bring in various needed items. One of the items was yogurt. Since I just made some two days ago, I currently have five quarts of yogurt in my refrigerator. I asked the teacher if homemade would be okay. " Yes!" she said. "And can you give me your recipe?"

So when I went to pick Cubby up this afternoon, I brought the yogurt along with the instructions on how to make it. On the wall was yet another sign, this one asking if anyone could bring compost home.

Well, hell. We have not one, but two huge compost piles in which we dump shit on a daily basis, so I figured a little more from the school wouldn't make any difference. I told the teacher I could take it home. And then she asked if I could take it every week.

So I am now the Official Compost Lady for the preschool. Along with That Mom who makes her own yogurt and forces fruit onto people.

Oh well. I suppose there are worse things to be known for.

The Arachnid Convention

'Tis the season for every spider in the tri-state area to convene at Blackrock. Come on in! Spin your webs in my house so I can walk into them all unsuspecting and then get that creepy sticky feeling a million times a day!

I'm not joking about the number of spiders in our house. It's a really big, really old house near a lake. We have THOUSANDS of spiders. They're in residence all year long, but this is the time of year they really start appearing everydamnwhere in the house. I reach in to get a bowl in the kitchen cabinet and . . . gah! Wispy creepy spider web feel on my hand! I go in the corner to retrieve a ball for Charlie and . . . GAH! SPIDER WEB IN THE FACE!

Or I go to take a shower and end up sharing my ablutions with no less than four spiders hanging out on the ceiling. No joke; I counted last time.

I suppose I could be more vigilant with the broom, but they'll just come back the next day. And it's not like we have black widows around here. So come on in, spiders! Make yourself at home! It's spider season at Blackrock and they're here to stay.

Advocating for a Liquid Diet

Do humans really need solid foods? Can't we just exist on milkshakes or something? If we don't need solid foods, then we don't need teeth. And with no teeth, there would be no teething babies. And with no teething babies, there would be no screaming in the middle of the night. And no screaming far too early in the morning. And no screaming during naptime. And . . . well, no screaming.

So with no solid foods there would be unlimited milkshakes, uninterrupted sleep, and quiet. Sounds like utopia to me. Sign me up. And sign Charlie up too while you're at it.

Stupid teeth.

A Helping Hand

The relationship between Cubby and Charlie is . . . uneven. Sometimes Cubby loves Charlie and croons about how cute he is and gives him kisses. And sometimes he, uh, doesn't.

Okay, MOST of the time he doesn't. Most of the time, if we're to be honest here, there's an ongoing "very bad baby" chant (sometimes he also puts these three words to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"--a musical prodigy without doubt), run-by head squeezings, and purposefully knocking Charlie off his wobbly feet.

I think this is pretty normal for brothers, but what do I know? I only had one.

Anyway. The point is that any interaction between the two is apt to become a one-sided brawl within seconds. So I'm always apprehensive when Cubby gets within striking range.

Today when we were playing in the library, I looked over to see this:

Just chillin'. And stuck.

Charlie did not seem unduly concerned about his wedged position in the box. When Cubby noticed our overstuffed box, he ran over, yelling, "I'll help you, baby!"

And miraculously, he did.

HEAVE . . .

Success.

There may have been a tumble against the toy box there immediately following the rescue that resulted in a head-bonk for Charlie, but since he didn't cry and it was an accident, I ignored it.

It almost makes me forget the time yesterday when Cubby poured a rubber boot full of muddy rain water over Charlie's head and then chucked the boot at him.

Almost.

Here He Goes Again on His Own*

Although "again" isn't really accurate, since Cubby has NEVER been on his own. He has never once in his three and a half years spent any appreciable time without his mother, father, or grandmother present.

Until today. When he started preschool.

It sounds more momentous than it is. He's only going two mornings a week, from 9 a.m. to noon. Not exactly like sending him off to boarding school. It's a tiny preschool in the village a mile from us. One of the teachers is a mother he knows from story hour at the library. He's related to one of the other eleven kids, and our friends Jodi and Alyssa's younger son goes too.

But still. He's asked several times in the past few days if I would stay at the school with him. If Charlie would be there. What if he gets lonely. That kind of thing.

And then I dropped him off this morning and he raced directly to the play toaster without a single backward glance.

Right. I'll just be going then.

When I returned three hours later, the kids were out on the playground. When Cubby saw me, he said he didn't want to go home and continued climbing on the jungle gym.

I asked the teacher how he did. She said he did great. If I may quote: "He reminded us all of some rules and was the line leader today." Which probably means he was maybe a little bossy and domineering. Neither of which surprises me.

Cubby will be Cubby wherever he goes. I just hope the rest of the world is ready for it.

* That title should, of course, remind you of this song, if you are as prone to 80s hairband sentimentality as I apparently am. It's really a wonderful video in the genre. The spectacular backlighting does a superb job of highlighting The Hair.

The Summer of the Cucurbit

The tomatoes are on their way out. They have late-season blight. And thanks to all the rain we got early on, they didn't even set their fruits until late, so I don't even know if I'll have enough to do even one canner-load.

This is the third season running of sucking tomatoes. Maybe next year will make up for it. Maybe.

And in the meantime, how about some cucumbers and squash!

I've made two batches of refrigerator dills already (that's ten quarts total) and given my sister-in-law enough cucumbers to make a batch for herself. That's a lot of cucumbers.

But the cucumber plants are nothing in comparison to the freakish squash plants. There's a volunteer . . . something that came up in the compost. I think it sprouted from the seeds of a random squash Mr. Jason brought us. It's some heirloom kind that's the shape of a pumpkin and the color of a blue Hubbard. And the plant ate the entire east side of the garden. Seriously out of control.

But even THAT is nothing to the lone surviving butternut squash plant. I planted four butternut squash seeds. Only one came up. And thank God for that, because that one plant has 21 squashes on it. Twenty-one.

Send me your squash recipes. I'm gonna need 'em.