Monthly Archives: March 2012

I needed to get Critter’s hair trimmed today.  He’d been trying to grow the top of his hair fashionably long and shaggy, and I’m not cool with that.  I cannot STAND the constant flick of the head to get hair out of eyes.  I cannot STAND a child hiding their eyes (and therefore their true emotions) behind their hair.  I don’t care if Davey Jones died and a sudden comeback to his hair style is imminent.  I don’t care if long hair on boys is the rage on the Disney Channel.

It’s NOT the rage in Dickerson, Maryland.

Understand that Critter is rather persistent…dogged…determined. (read: Stubborn as Hell)  His will is a force to be reckoned with.  I knew I was in for a fight.  Or at the very least, an unpleasant battle of the minds.

I called Donna and set up an appointment with Amy in Poolesville at Images Hair Salon, and warned them that I would be bringing in Rocky Balboa.

They were not afraid, or impressed.  I tried to communicate the dangerous force with which we would be dealing.  I got nothing but patiently, humoredly, pooh-poohed.

I dreaded their upcoming disillusionment.

The school bus arrived, Critter and Varmint got off, and my stomach knotted.  We only had time for afterschool snacks and then headed out the door to Poolesville.

I was comforted in the knowledge that My Captain was with us.  I knew he was quite capable of picking up the pieces if we had a  “BLEVE” (Boiling Liquid Expanding Vapor Explosion.)  A BLEVE is a term used by Fire and Rescue folks when you’ve got something like a pressurized gas tank, like a propane truck, on fire.  It’s bad.  Really Bad.  REALLY REALLY Bad.

It’s what we call an immediate threat to life and limb.  It usually only leaves pieces and scorched earth.

That would be Critter in full-blown tantrum mode.

We arrived at Images Hair Design in Poolesville, and were greeted by a very cool, calm, and collected Amy at the desk.  She flashed Critter a big bright smile….

…and then something unexpected happened.

He was putty in her hands.

Before I knew it, she was chopping and trimming and cajoling and flirting and he was having a BALL.  His hair was exactly as I wanted it, and he had not made even one PEEP about it.  It was short, clean-cut, off of his face, allowing his beautiful eyes to shine through.   He looked so handsome in the mirror as he laughed at her banter.

Two things hit me hard in the gut:

1) Other women have better communication skills with my son than I do.

and

2) My son is awfully easily swayed by a pretty face and charm.

Neither one of these epiphanies makes me very happy.

He’s in his 9th year.

I’ll never make it to his 18th.

It started out innocently enough.  A parent of one of my Critter’s basketball teammates e-vited the team and their parents over for an end-of-season potluck and cookout.  A list of choices of things to bring was included.

Me, being me, didn’t get to the RSVP thing until everyone had already pretty much chosen everything good on the list.  So I said I’d bring bread.  (woo woo.)

But when the day approached, I found I wanted to bring something else.  Something with a little pizzazz.  I decided to bring some home-made punch in addition to my home-made bread.

I got out my favorite Pier One Imports beverage container

and proceeded to make up the punch as I went along.

I made lemonade.

I added fruit….apples, lemons, limes, oranges, blackberries.

Tasted it.  Needed something else.

I added seltzer water.

Tasted it.  Needed something else.

I added apple cider.

Tasted it.  Still needed something else.

I rummaged through the fridge.  Nothing looked appealing.  I shut the fridge door and tapped my lips with my finger.  Hmmm.  What to add?  What to add?

My eyes fell on my Little Red Hutch.  I love that thing.  Everyone should have one.  My Captain bought it for me when I first moved into my little cottage.  It holds lunch items for my kids’ school lunches; it also holds water bottles and telephone books and goldfish crackers and vitamins and pasta bowls and caffeine shots and napkins and my moose cookie jar.  And Booze.

Ah Ha!  That’s it!  Booze!  My punch needed booze!  I grabbed the first thing I saw:  Citrus Vodka!  And proceeded to empty the bottle into the punch.

Tasted it.

OH YEAH.  It was like Mike’s Hard Lemonade mixed with Sangria mixed with a whole lot of happiness and love.

And I now had a couple of gallons of it to share.

Uh oh.  Wait.  I don’t know these people all that well.  I mean, we are acquaintences…but maybe they don’t imbibe?  Maybe they would feel this was not an appropriate venue for mommies and daddies to get snookered?

I called the host.  “Um, is there going to be alcohol at this party?”

“I just finished putting beer in the cooler.”

“We’ll be right over!!”

It was a huge success.  A beautiful evening at a lovely house.  Fantastic food, funny people, happy kids, basketball medals, contented coaches….

….and adult punch.

I just love it when a last-minute idea becomes a moment of genius.

I spent the majority of the day smelling like fertilizer.  I fertilized the grass, the garden, and, apparently, my clothes.  And since I didn’t have time to shower or change until 11:00pm tonight, I enjoyed that odor all day long.

I use an organic product called Milorganite.

Milorganite is cheap, and full of crap, much like myself.  ( huh?)

It is literally “composted bio-solids.”  Sounds yummy, don’t it?

Second line under Growing Beautiful Lawns, Trees, Shrubs and Flowers since 1926:

“…produced by sewage wastewater treatment processes..”

I have to wonder who first came up with the idea to: 1) use human poo to fertilize and 2) collect and process it for such a purpose.  Oh, and 3) how much did they pay people to make it?  Not enough, I’d venture.

Why do I use it?  When I was a young whippersnapper (whippersnapper? Really? Did she really just use that term?) I worked at a company called American Plant Food in Bethesda, Maryland.  There I learned all about this fantastic product.  It very effectively keeps deer away from flowers. It slowly releases Nitrogen into grass without burning it.  It does not consist of any chemicals.  And it costs less than just about any mass-produced fertilizer/deer repellant out there.

I use it every season.

Here is what my tulips look like when I don’t treat them with Milorganite.

Damn you, Bambi!

It’s a good thing I’m a bleeding heart, or you’d be a steak on my plate you no-good tulip munching …..

And here are some tulips that have been treated with Milorganite:

Show promise, don’t they?

Ok, so my camera wouldn’t focus properly on the foreground.  Nice detail on the soil, eh?

Gracie was helping.

Let me tell you about a couple of drawbacks.  First off, there is a question about some tiny little detail like heavy metals in the product.  I dunno.  Look it up.  I’m not smart enough to understand it.

And secondly, there is a smell.  Not just any smell.  A SMELL.  Well heck, it’s composted human poo…of course it smells.  And no, you just don’t get used to it.  So I try to put it down before a good rain.

It was forecasted to rain all day today, tonight, and tomorrow.  So I spread it liberally, in addition to over-seeding our lawn.

It hasn’t rained.  Not one drop.  My yard stinks.  My clothes stink.  My cats stink.

But by Golly I’m gonna have me some purty tulips this spring!!!

Even if they do smell like poo.

If it can be propagated by rooting it in water, I’ll do it.

Doesn’t matter the species.

Ivy?  Done.

Philodendron?  Done.

Peace Lily? Done.

Avocado? Done.

WHY?

I’m a mother.  I have to nurture.  I can’t help myself.

Which is the same reason I can’t bring myself to kill the mold growing in the refrigerator.

Guys just can’t understand.

Driving up Sellman Road in Dickerson, you pass Poole’s Farm.  And on Poole’s Farm is a small wetland (as in, puddle) that is filled every spring with the welcome song of Spring Peepers.  The sweet beckoning of one wee boy-frog to one wee girl-frog…times a bijillion.

Critter and Varmint and I were driving home one evening, via Sellman Road, and I lowered the windows and slowed down so we could enjoy the reptilian concert.

Critter:  “Why do they do that?”

Me: “It’s their mating call.”

Critter: “What’s a mating call?”

Me: “It’s the boy-frogs saying ‘Hubba! Hubba!’ to the girl-frogs.”

Varmint: “What is ‘Hubba! Hubba!’?”

Me, not liking the direction of this conversation: “It’s like the boy-frog is saying, ‘Hey!  I want to kiss you!’ to the girl-frog.”

Critter, laughing because he does like the direction of this conversation: “Peepers don’t kiss!”

Me: “Sure they do.”

Varmint, matter-of-factly : “Uh, no, Mom, they don’t.”

Me: “Yep.  They sure do.”

Varmint: “Mom, I’m pretty darn sure Peepers don’t kiss.”

Me: “Prove it.”

Silence.

It’s good to be the Queen.