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We took dinner to Grandma’s for Sunday Dinner last night.  I’d made Kitchen Sink Casserole, which, as you may surmise, has everything in it but the kitchen sink.

And that is a good thing, since my kitchen sink is pretty grody right now.

Anyway, the casserole was yummy.

Critter and I had had a particularly difficult day leading up to dinner, which included unfortunate events like:

Getting yellow paint on the wooden deck because he was curious as to how the spray can worked, and

Getting gravel in the lawn which needed to be picked out by hand, a piece at a time, when he was trying to shotput a bucket of said gravel into the driveway from the front steps, and

Spraying the garden hose all over creation, making mud puddles galore, when he was asked to just fill up the watering can.

Now, I realize that none of these things, or the literally dozens of other similar events, were horrific transgressions, but added up together, he became nothing short of Dennis the Menace.

There was yelling.   I won’t lie to you.  There was copious amounts of yelling.

And then….

I HATE ‘and then’s….

and then he got sassy.

THAT was his only true mistake yesterday.

You don’t sass Mama.

So we upgraded from stage yellow, the ‘yelling’ stage, straight to stage orange, the ‘I’ll be taking that’ stage.

The “I’ll be taking that” stage is where I begin taking toys and privileges from him and putting them away until he re-earns them.  Yesterday afternoon, Critter lost just about everything but his mind.  And I’m not sure on that one.

You get the picture …  it was a rough day.  We were all SO ready for the peace and calm at Grandma’s house.

We got there and ate, letting our heart rates slow, and blood pressures decrease, and then I flopped out on the chaise lounge on Grandma’s screened porch while Critter, Varmint and My Captain went out into Grandma’s Orchard to pick some cherries in the warm late afternoon sunshine.

When the breeze shifted just so, I could hear them laughing; and every now and again I caught a glimpse of running legs or reaching arms from the cherry row.  The peach and apple trees, and the concord grape vines were too much in the way to see clearly.  But there was no doubt they were having a ball.

I really wanted to be with them.  I’d been in ‘enforcement’ mode all day and longed to be in ‘playtime’ mode. Besides, Critter and I needed to do some re-bonding. But my dingdang knee makes it impossible to navigate the orchard by foot these days.  (The knee surgery is in two weeks. And that is two weeks too far off, if you ask me.)

They eventually came back with full bags of cherries, eyes shining, grinning ear to ear.  Grandma Jane was content to sit back and watch her brood be happy….but I wanted to be a part of it!  Especially after our horrendous day.  They told me I could make cherry tarts for them, and that would make up for not being able to run in the orchard.

Gee, thanks!

(Well, of course I did, and they were delicious, but that is for another post!)

Later on, back home, I laid down in Critter’s bed to help send him off to sleep.

He turned on his side; his little back and shoulders curled away from me.

I wrapped an arm around him anyways, and listened to the Lullaby music I’ve played for the kids since they were babes.  I could see the stars twinkling in the window.  One of the cats jumped onto the foot of the bed and laid down, purring.  The clocked ticked.

I felt his little body slowly relax.

I whispered in his ear that I loved him.

He mumbled, “Yeah, right.”

Apparently he was still peeved about the day.

I know better than to argue with my Critter when he is holding a grudge.  So I began kissing his whole face until he giggled “Ok! Ok!  I love you too!”

Hey, I’m not proud.  I’ll take an “I love you, too” even if it is given under duress!

It’s better than a home made fresh Cherry Tart, I promise you.

I took Varmint and Critter to the pool yesterday.  And we were lucky enough to have Varmint’s friend Amber and her family join us.  It’s always so much more fun with friends.

I realized pretty early on that the snacks we’d brought would not be sufficient, so I asked Amber’s mom, Michelle, to hold the fort while I zipped over to the nearby CVS for more sustenance.   (It’s fairly well-known that I’m an innate nurturer, but few people know I’m also a pretty good hunter-gatherer.)

Before I left, I realized that I had no cover up for my bathing suit.   But the bathing suit I had on was a swim dress and I told myself it might pass for clothes.  Still, I felt a little uncomfortable shopping in what felt like a nightgown.  But this is the cross a mother has to bear….we sacrifice for our children!  If I have to go get a bag o’ munchies in my underwear, so be it.  I love my kids!  I had no choice.

I pulled in, parked, saw only a couple of cars, and figured I was home free.  I would zip  in like a commando, grab some high-fructose corn syrup, high-dose fat, and sodium, and be on my way before you can say ‘Occluded Artery’.   And the best part of it was there would be few, if any, witnesses of me in my bathing suit.

I grabbed what I needed and hurried on over to the check out counter by the door….I was in luck!  Only one person in front of me.  I got behind him, and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

This customer was having issues with his visa card.  Of course he was.  How could it go any other way?

Then a group of no less than four people walked in. The door is right next to the check out counter, so they couldn’t miss me.  I averted my eyes.  Nothing to see here, folks.

I heard one of the girls snicker.

The customer in front of me decided to try a different card.  Holy. Stinkin. Moley!  I started tapping my foot, and pondered what the consequences would be if I just slapped my money on the counter and ran.

Then a couple came in.  Elderly.  In their Sunday Best.  The woman in the couple looked at me with disapproval.  I averted my eyes, again.  I felt like I’d just offended ‘Aunt B.’ and wanted to sink into the floor.  I felt naked, clothed only in my bag of Cheetos and sunblock.

The customer in front of me finally finished and moved on.  I sighed in relief and put my goods on the counter but the guy at the register looked at me for a moment longer than necessary, as if to say, “Really?”  I averted my eyes, again, again, swiped my visa card, and got out of there fast, fast, fast.

Like, quickly.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I got back to the pool because I could relax amongst all the other people walking around in their skivvies.  I was once again amongst my kind.  And now, in fact, I was the hero bearing goodies and munchies.

Why is it, I wonder that it’s socially accepted to be walking around half-naked in one place, and a block away it’s taboo?  What a ridiculous concept.

But you can bet your bottom dollar that next time I’ll have a cover up on.  Or bring more snacks in the first place. Or both.

My Captain, Varmint, Critter and I had “family night” at our local firehouse Bingo, yesterday.  We arrived together, spent the hour and a half waiting for the game to start by eating sloppy joe dogs and home-made potato chips and other health food alternatives together, and then the game started…..and my kids didn’t speak to us for the next 2 and a half hours.

Bingo is not as social as you might think, apparently.

And talk about competitive!  There were ladies at this thing who would shoot stink-eyes at anyone who called ‘bingo’.  These were seasoned stink-eyes, too.  The kind that makes your belly all jittery if you are on the receiving end of it.  One woman, in particular, who had about a dozen professional-grade ‘dobbers’ for marking her bingo card, and more than a couple weird-looking ‘good luck charms,’ downright scared me.

I could almost understand that kind of competitiveness if this bingo was for money…but the bingo prizes at this firehouse are primarily more kid-friendly baskets stuffed with goodies.  This was not a game that warranted poor sportsmanship!

At some point during the game, I happened to glance up at my Varmint.  She was smiling optimistically as the numbers were called.  She was fresh and clean and beautiful in her non-stink-eye-giving bingo demeanor, even though for the entire two and a half hours, she didn’t win a single bingo game.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.   I was filled with pride.

And then I wondered what the cranky bingo players…the ones who shot off stink-eyes like Howitzers when they didn’t win…were like when they were Varmint’s age.

What happened to take the generous, kind-spirited child heart out of them?    Did no one ever teach them good manners?  Good sportsmanship?

It was worth pondering for a moment or two as I munched my sloppy joe hot dog.

In the end, my daughter, though not winning a single bingo game, came away with the grand-poo-bah of prizes, the coveted raffle basket….WITH chips and salsa and watermelon salt and pepper shakers, thank you very much.  She was delighted.  And I was grateful that she won something as reward for her good attitude.

Critter won nothing.  Not a stinking thing.  And gave not a single complaint.

Though he does keep referring to Varmint’s basket as ‘our prize’…….

….which might get interesting.

My Varmint’s softball team, The Poolesville Lightening, is coached by two incredibly strong women, and an equally strong and generous-hearted man.  Coach Takisha, Coach Wendy, and her husband, Coach Doug.

Let me paint these personalities for you:

Coach Takisha:  Smart, good-humored, athletic, patient.

Coach Wendy: Smart, good-humored, athletic, red-headed (‘nuf said).

Coach Doug: Smart, good-humored, athletic, controlled.

Coach Wendy could not be at practice tonight, so Takisha, Doug, and a stand-in father, Coach Muddy (Don’t ask.  It took me three years before I believed it was his name.) took the girls on.

It was when I heard Doug say in an overly sweet voice,

“I want you to try to be aggressive, ok?  Please?” 

that I knew Wendy had beaten him down before practice! I could just picture the conversation:

Wendy: “Honey, you can’t coach girls like you coach boys!  You have to be gentler.”

Doug: “OK.”

Wendy:  “I mean it.  You have to build their confidence and encourage them differently than you do boys.”

Doug:  “OK.”

Wendy: “And don’t yell at them.  Girls don’t respond as well as boys do to raised voices.”

Doug:  “OK.”

What could I do?  Me being me, I couldn’t just let Doug off the hook.  I’m a huge subscriber of the idea that no good deed goes unpunished; I had to give him a hard time as he  herded the cats…coached the girls.

From the sidelines, I thoroughly enjoyed watching him struggle to keep his calm.  I know he must have wanted to revert to his normal ‘guy’ state.  You know, the butt-slapping, shoulder-punching, spitting, scratching, booming-voiced, athletic man-state.

But he didn’t.

I continued to heckle him as he plodded through practice-pitching bucket after bucket after bucket of balls. Cackling gleefully, I bellowed to him to quit being so nice!  That the girls aren’t made of sugar!  That they are tougher with each other on the field than he was.

And you know what he said?

“OK.”

Wendy’s a lucky woman!

….and I’m not sure, but I may be barred from attending practices from now on……

There is a shrub in our back yard, the name of which I know not, that has beautiful white flowers in the spring.  Before you start: no, it’s not a Dogwood, or a Lilac, or an Azalea or Rhododendron.  I don’t know what it is.

Dammit, Jim, I’m a gardener, not a Botanical encyclopedia!

Sure I could look it up, and act like I know what it is, and lie to you about it, and feel smug in my know-it-all-ness, but frankly, I’m way too lazy for all that.

And that is not what I wanted to talk about anyways.

You see, this shrub, while beautiful, tends to get a little bit ‘too…Too‘, if you know what I mean.  It overpowers my hosta/fern/lily of the valley bed, and I just can’t have that.  So each spring after it blooms, I trim it.

And by trim it, I mean hack it to a shell of its former self.

And it feels good.

Oh, sure, I always START with the artistic frame of mind, snipping here and there, stepping back, getting bearing on my next cuts and all.  But inevitably I end up getting into a cutting frenzy the likes of which only Edward Scissorhands can empathize.

Snipping becomes Lopping.  The ‘stepping back and take a look to see how it’s shaping up’ thing turns into turbo-shearing.

It’s intense, man.

I couldn’t really tell you what goes through my mind during one of these pruning sessions.  All I know is that afterwards, I feel light and happy.  Like a load has been lifted.

The shrub looks like hell, but a load has been lifted.

I wonder if giving a hair cut feels the same way? I’d love to experiment on that.  I wonder if my family would let me try it on them?

I doubt it.  There is a shocking lack of trust in this family when it comes to Mama yielding scissors. All because once….ONCE!… I may have accidentally messed up helping My Captain cut his hair so badly he had to shave his whole head to fix it.

What?  It happens.

Geesh.

Looks like it’s gonna be just me and the shrubs.