This Might Be It for the Year

I'm sure you've all noticed (humor me) a distinct lack of garden talk this year. That's because there's been a distinct lack of interest by me in the garden this year.

WHAT? Is this the apocalypse? My garden fervor has waned? No exhaustive posts about vegetables? No incessant whining about canning? NO TOMATO CRAZY?

Nope.

I could blame it all on my children--and in fact their tendency to suck all my time and energy is a large part of it--but really it just comes down to the fact that I have not made the garden a priority this year. There are several reasons for this, but one of them is that I feel defeated by it. It's just so big. And so weedy. And I'm so tired all the time. 

The MiL did most of the planting in the spring. Then the deer and rabbits showed up and razed the joint. They more or less totally destroyed the tomatoes. And the beets. They've taken nibbles of everything in there, even the peppers.

They sheared off the top layer of leaves on the long row of Dragon Tongue beans I did manage to plant, but they did not actually destroy them. It's a testament to this variety that even with extensive deer damage, they're still producing frightening numbers of beans.

Because I didn't plant enough cucumbers for anything more than fresh eating--and I don't care enough to go buy a bushel of pickling cucumbers for pickles--I decided to make some Dilly Beans.

A summer without some kind of pickle would be a sad summer indeed.

Those four and a half pints of Dilly Beans are most probably going to be the sum total of my canning for this year. I can live with that. 

Though I sure do miss having my own canned tomatoes in the winter.

To Quote the Ultrasound Technician . . .

"Oh, Kristin. I'm afraid you're doomed to be very outnumbered."

It's a boy.

A House Divided

Tomorrow I go to the doctor for my 20-week check-up. This means two things: 1) I'm halfway through this pregnancy, and 2) This is the big sex reveal ultrasound appointment.

Upon being questioned, Cubby says he wants a sister. He already has a brother, he says. Now he wants a sister. Logical enough, I suppose.

Charlie states a preference for a brother. He can't talk well enough to say why he wants a brother. And there is, of course, the likelihood that he has no idea what I'm talking about and is pursuing his own conversational path. That happens a lot.

The MiL hopes for a girl.

A. kind of hopes for another boy. He hasn't much experience with little girls, and he loves his boys so much, I think he can't imagine even having a girl.

So we have two votes for a girl and two votes for a boy. That leaves me as the tie-breaker. Which is no help, since I honestly don't care one way or the other (no, really and for real honestly--I am not secretly harboring desperate hopes for a daughter, promise).

Like all of it matters one bit, right? This kid is already one way or the other (or some mysterious third option that I probably don't want to consider at this moment), so all we can do is wait for the image to come up on the screen. And hope we don't have one of those irritatingly coy babies who refuses to exhibit at the big moment.

Stay tuned.

This Should Probably Embarrass Me

The next village over from us boasts a small supermarket. Very small--kind of like a miniature supermarket. I go there a lot because it's much easier to drive ten minutes and deal with their limited selection than drive the extra fifteen minutes into the Small City to go to a regulation-sized supermarket. This small market has most of what I need, anyway, and they have a surprisingly good meat department.

They also have a whole refrigerated room devoted solely to beer.

That probably tells you a lot about the demographic served by this market. And the fact that this beer room is one of my sons' favorite places ever probably tells you a lot about my kids.

The way the beer room is laid out is with shelves around the perimeter and boxes in an island in the center. So there's an aisle that runs around the circumference of the room. The room is about 10 feet by 24 feet, which makes it a perfect refrigerated running track for children. Formed by beer.

My kids will not go to that store without going into the beer room. And then they literally run laps, with Charlie shrieking "BEE-AH!" the entire time, beside himself with joy.

As I said, it should probably embarrass me, but I must admit I find the whole thing so amusing that I don't try to rein them in at all. Unless there's another person who wants to come in, of course, but so far that hasn't happened.

Good thing. I'd hate to deprive them of their exercise routine.

Halloween in July

Charlie and I were hanging out on the lawn yesterday afternoon watching the traffic go by while Cubby foraged for green beans in the garden*. At least, I thought that was what he was doing; turns out, he was foraging for something else.

He came running up to me with "an enormous squash!" he found. It was really more like a small pumpkin from a volunteer vine that came up over by the sheep shed. And it was most certainly not done growing. But since it was a volunteer and most likely not edible anyway, I didn't care that much. Besides, Cubby had plans for that pumpkin. "We can make a jack-o-lantern, Mommy!"

One nice thing about Cubby: He is never lacking in enthusiasm. And even if I am sometimes (always) lacking, I can fake it.

So we made a jack-o-lantern.

 Scooping out the guts with a smile.

I prefer to think of my pumpkin carving style as "classic" rather than "boring and crappy."

While I was inside putting the large, serrated knife safely out of reach of Charlie, Cubby got to work with his pocket knife and a leaf.

"I made a jack-o-leaf!"

Oh, that clever Cubby.

We still haven't illuminated it yet, since it doesn't get dark until 9 p.m. and my children are not awake at 9 p.m. Hell, I'm barely awake at 9 p.m. I suppose I could light it in the morning, since it's still mostly dark at 5:15 when Charlie wakes up, but somehow I'm lacking in festive Halloween cheer at that hour in the morning.

No matter. The making of it was the fun part, anyway. And there are more pumpkins where that one came from. Assuming I can keep Cubby the Stealth Harvester from picking them all before October. No promises.

* The one reason above all others I must always grow vegetables: My kids will eat ANYTHING if they can pick it straight from the plant and shove it right in their mouths. But if I dare try to serve them a cooked version of the very food they ate half a pound of in a raw and unwashed state? It's suddenly anathema. Weird little creatures, those kids.

Old Photos Are the Best Photos

I was looking through some old photos on my laptop (nope, still haven't gotten all that organized) and I came across this one*. I couldn't help but laugh at it.

Bet you laughed, too.

I stopped laughing pretty quick, though, when I realized that all too soon I'll be wearing that coat in that weather with that baby carrier and an even smaller baby riding in it. 

Winter is coming. And so is the baby. Brace yourselves.

* Taken by my sister a year and a half ago when she and my mom came for Cubby's third birthday party. Good times.

This Calls for a Celebration

Today A. and I celebrated our eleventh anniversary. And how did we celebrate, you ask? Why, in spectacular Blackrock fashion, of course.

The celebration began at 4:47 a.m., which is when Charlie woke up. Sickened at the idea of actually getting up at that time, I cravenly allowed him to get into our bed for half an hour more of fitful sleep before finally getting up and starting the day.

Two hours later, I was making breakfast in the kitchen when the MiL went out to feed the dogs. She returned a minute later with a bowl containing dog food and some sort of insect larvae. Appetizing.

She and A. engaged in a no-doubt very educational discussion about how they weren't really maggots because they were too small and look! They have legs. And Cubby was clamoring to save the maggots for fishing (all he heard was the maggots part) and Charlie was grabbing at the bowl too and all of this was happening two feet from where I was making breakfast. I had visions of vermin-infested kibble flying all over the kitchen as a result of the children's struggle for control of the precious substance, so I told A. to take it outside.

Not only did he take it outside, he found a different bowl for Charlie and divided the disgusting dog food so each child had his very own. How sweet. Of course, the dogs managed to eat both bowls of larval dog food within minutes, but by then the children had lost interest.

After that excitement, I gathered the trash and recyclables and we took a family trip to the dump. Because we believe in togetherness.

Upon returning from the dump, A. donned his fishing waders and prepared for battle. With the cisterns.

We've noticed a very unwholesome smell to our water lately, and A. knew he needed to go down into the underground cisterns and see what was causing it. He also knew he wasn't going to like what he found. But since he also didn't like his drinking water reeking of death, on went the waders and into the cistern he went.

There are actually two connected cisterns side by side. In the north cistern, A. found four . . . rodents. He couldn't tell if they were chipmunks or small rats, due to their advanced decomposition, but they were without doubt not something you ever want to see in your water supply. He used a shovel to scoop them into a bucket, handed the bucket up to me, hauled himself out, and dropped down into the south cistern. Where he found eight more decaying rodents.

Dear God in heaven, I have never been more revolted. And that's saying something.

In all the years we've been here, we've only occasionally found a chipmunk or whatever that had fallen into the cisterns despite the covers. Never, ever multiples. I couldn't imagine what would have caused that many rats to get into the cistern, until the MiL told me that one effect of rat poison is a maddening thirst. So I suppose one of our neighbors must have put out the poison and the poisoned rats and chipmunks ended up in our cistern in their desperate search for water.

The only thing worse than a dead rat in the water supply is multiple poisoned dead rats in the water supply. On the bright side, at least we know our UV filter works, because none of us ever got sick from the water.

Anyway. Enough about that. A. shocked the little remaining water with bleach and then started the lake pump to refill the cisterns with untainted water.

After that, we left the children swimming with their grandmother on the beach and bolted from our admittedly sometimes disgusting life for the sterile city. Specifically, we went library browsing, Indian food sampling, and ice cream eating for four glorious hours sans children. A much better way to celebrate than our previous activities, I would say.

Then again, maggots and rodents suit us better than moonlight or roses anyway. For better or worse.