It’s hot here in Bethany Beach, Delaware.  Over 100 degrees in the shade.   And here in Pop-pop’s cottage, there is no central Air Conditioning.

But I’m at the shore!  The sea breeze is on our cheeks!  The ocean is a cool, refreshing, escape from the heat, right?  My kids, who are frolicking around in it with their friends for roughly 6 hours straight each day are not suffering from the heat at all!  They are happy as playful dolphins! Laughing and splashing and all kinds of merriment abounds out there in the deep blue.

So I’m set, right?

Oh wait.  I’m not allowed to swim.  My Ortho dude, Dr. Raffo, has evilly declared that I am not to swim for something ridiculous like 6 weeks post surgery.  He blathered on about bacterial infections or Gangrene ….yada yada yada, blah blah blah.

I whined, “But I’m at the beach and it’s so bloomin’ hot!!!”

And he said, “Stick your feet in a bucket of water and close your eyes.”

I whimpered, “But everyone else is out in the ocean having fun!”

And he said, “Stick your feet in a bucket of water, close your eyes, and sip on frozen margaritas.  You’ll have fun, too.”

I said, “Man, you stink! …..wait…wha??”

I told you I loved this doc.

I readily admit that I’m not your normal mother.  I’ve certainly got my, er, quirky maternal ways.  So far, it’s turned out some pretty neat kids.  But there are weaknesses that I wish I didn’t have.  And one of them is being able to share my Varmint’s girly-girl ways.

I never liked to play with Barbies as much as she does.

I never got into painting fingernails or playing with hair the way she does.

I don’t even have to tell you that fashion is not an interest with me (as I sit here in my KMart clearance sale tan and white seersucker capris….WITH super high elastic waistband, thank you very much.)

And my worst failing is that I never, and still don’t, have interest in playing dolls.  In Varmint’s case specifically, American Girl Dolls.

She has a collection of them…half given as gifts, half she has actually earned the money for and purchased herself.  And Grandma Jane has sewn many new and wonderful dresses and nightgowns and sleeping bags for them with her fabric scraps.  Many of them matching Varmint’s own dresses.

So when Varmint has a friend over, one that does share her girly girl ways, I am so grateful.  Her friend, Megan came to stay at the beach with us, and she and Varmint were away upstairs in their little bedroom dormer in the little cottage for a long while.  Eventually I began to wonder….what could they be doing all this time??

So I crept upstairs to find this:

American Girl Dolls out and getting lots of love, and fingernail polish galore.

Blue and silver sparkly glitter fingernail polish, to be exact.

My Varmint was in Nirvana.

And all of us were content.

The girls because they were doing the girly things they love to do,….

and me because I wasn’t!

Both Varmint and Critter were allowed to invite a friend to the beach this summer.  Varmint and her friend, Megan, both tweenie-boppers, have begun the girly-girl thing.  They play sweetly on the beach, in their room in Pop-pop’s Beach Cottage, or walk to town together to buy important items like sunglasses or flip-flops.

Critter and his friend, Richard, however, are much more productive with their time.  These are boys on the verge of man-hood, folks.  They can’t afford to sit idly with unpurposeful play.  Like the Spartans who trained for war from infancy, these boys are training for life.  When playing on the beach, they build protective bulkheads out of sand.  When in town, they are in reconnaissance mode, searching for the perfect frozen custard (It’s Kohr Brothers, in case you’re wondering.) And when in their room at Pop-pop’s cottage, they engineer.

There are bunk beds in that room.  Every boy’s dream for the foundation of a fort.

The seeds of structural engineering, the infancy of architecture, all begin here, friends.  Do not doubt it.

And they are professionals.  They don’t mess with an amature’s shores, struts, or braces. They don’t need rakers, cables, or rebar.  They thumb their noses at post-tensioned tendons.

No Sirree.  They don’t need those things at all.

Why?

They have masking tape from the kitchen drawer.

An entire roll that has to be at least 20 years old.

But it works.  It works well.  Especially when you use all of it.

I promise you they built a masterpiece.  Complete with roof.  Composed primarily of fleece blankets, cowboy sheets, an empty TV box and bunk bed frames.

impenetrable for the most part; they take no chances.  You never know when the teenie-bopper girls might want to crash in.

So they take the proper precautions.

Painstakingly printed and spelled correctly.

But just in case that doesn’t stop the girls, they have other fail safes.

I won’t expose their booby traps, but I will tell you that the girls would do well to mind their own beeswax.

Besides, I wasn’t allowed to take any further pictures.

I don’t have the proper clearance, apparently.

When spending a week at PopPop’s house at the beach, we were attacked by not one, but two killer Yews.  We had no choice but to subdue them in order to save ourselves, and any other hapless passers-by.

This required the help of all hands on deck.

I submit to you, Item 1:

The Kingpin Yew.  The scourge of the yard.  Other aliases: “Knee Scraper,” “Bunny House,”  “That Damned Bush.”

Item 2:

Jr. Kingpin Yew.  Other aliases: “Bug Haven,” “View Blocker,” and “Privacy Screen from Hell.”

The first assault came from My Captain, armed with nothing but my wimpy electric girly-girl hedge trimmer, SPF 50 sunblock, and his natural good looks.

It wasn’t long before reinforcements were called in.  Critter charged the flank with an antique metal rake, usually used to move gravel, with reports that the rake itself weighed more than he did.

It became apparent to Critter in very little time that he had chosen the wrong weapon.

Meanwhile, My Captain had moved forward, charging the Kingpin, itself.  He braved sustained oncoming traffic with an average speed of 10 mph, and a sunburn, as the battle raged.

Soon casualties began, with Critter sustaining Yew Shrapnel injuries through his crocs.  Varmint was called in as medic and also as the Auxilliary Containment Sargeant At Arms.

It’s a serious job, but one to which she was honor-bound.  She was not about to miss her opportunity to make the anals of history in the unprecedented Shrub Clash 2012.

The battle consumed all available troops.  Everyone fought with honor.

“Really, Mom? All you are going to do is take pictures?”

“Son, throughout history the press has been an important venue for the public at large to learn the importance of our military.  This is no different.”

“So, Yes, then?  That is all you are going to do?”

“Yes, now get back to work, Private.”

And ultimate Victory was sweet indeed.

Until next year, you evergreen scourges.

Goggy made goulash for dinner last night.  You know, Goulash?  It’s that great American staple of noodles, beef, and tomato sauce.  She adds corn as her own little twist on it.  It’s fun because we can all play ‘First Corn’ afterwards.  Never played ‘First Corn?’   Check out this post to learn how!  ~ First Corn ~

Everyone ate their fill of that goulash, which she had lovingly served alongside her famous Frog’s Eye Salad.  Fear not!  No frogs were blinded in the making of it!  It’s a kind of tapioca and marshmallow and mandarin orange recipe from the ’70’s.  The kind of recipe that makes you crave watching The Price Is Right, and Bonanza.

And she also served fresh peach salad.  THAT was the bomb, I promise you!

As we were clearing the table, Papa said he thought the leftovers would make a good meal tomorrow.  I quipped that it depended on whether or not a little mouse visited the leftovers at 2am this morning!  Everyone laughed.

But darn if I didn’t wake up at 2am precisely, and darn if I didn’t go straight to the leftover goulash.

Now I am sporting a rather uncomfortable bellyache, I can’t sleep, and it’s 4am.

And I’m feeling a little bit guilty.

And bloated.

But at least I’ve got First Corn to look forward to.