I Wish It Would Never End

Summer in Flagstaff is like homemade vanilla ice cream. You know, the kind you make in one of those old fashioned ice cream makers with the ice and the rock salt? And somebody has to crank and crank and crank while the cream mixture freezes? And when it is done you end up with a sweet, slightly salty, confection that is perfect in its creamy simplicity? That kind of homemade ice cream. The cranking part is winter. Over and over and over you shovel and pile on sweaters, and curse snow and although you know that, in theory, there is a season called summer that does not require wool socks, you are pretty sure it is never, ever going to happen. But eventually it does....and oh man, is it good. It is warm and sunny and everything smells like pine trees and you can wear your Chaco sandals everywhere to everything because in Flagstaff they pass for dress shoes (this is the sweet part). And then just when it starts to get a touch too hot, and fans are not quite enough to take the edge off the afternoon heat, the thunderstorms come and they are cool and dramatic and beautiful (this is that bit of salt that cuts the sweetness perfectly). And then there are just all the amazing things happening here in the summer. Like concerts in the park. The city books local bands to play in the park on Wednesday evenings. For free. And there are arts and crafts to keep kids entertained and everybody comes with their blankets, and dinners, and fallen brownies, and sits around with friends and family to shoot the breeze and listen to some live music. Last night it was reggae. My friend's dad remarked (with a dash of sarcasm) "wow, I wish the music was a little more political." And even though you'd think all that social justice would be a little for a heavy for Wednesday evening, it was okay. Because people were dancing, and kids were playing soccer, and the day's storm clouds were just starting to move along and there was an incredible rainbow over the whole thing. And that is just about as good as summer gets.

Imperfect Blogging and Fallen Browinies

Ugh. My blogging has so ground to stunning halt. I am constantly thinking of things that I want to write about, want to share, but this particular time in my life seems to be one of immense busy-ness. And I do not love the busy-ness. I love having nothing to do. I crave time to play in the river at my mom's house (hi, Mom! I think busy-ness or no, we're coming your way this weekend). I crave time to read, to camp, to hike (without a time goal, damn Imogene training), to go somewhere just for the fun of it, or to have NOTHING to do for a whole weekend. And also to have twice weekly visits from the laundry fairy. Anyway, I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Walk Slowly, Live Widly this evening and she posted about imperfect blogging. And I think that's it. If I want to blog I should blog and forget about making every post a try for the World's Best Blog Post Ever. Of course, even imperfect blogging takes time so I am probably kidding myself, but I apparently need to kid myself about regular blogging or growing my hair on a rotating cycle of approximately six month intervals. Since I have presently given up on growing out my hair, I will work on more regular blogging. In six months when I've failed at regular blogging, I'll switch and start working on growing out my hair again.

So. Onward. This is what we've been up to:

As mentioned in my last post, Moses and I celebrated our 10th anniversary in May by heading to Moab. I got Moses a spiffy camera so that he could pose with it and make faces at me while I photographed him with my less-spiffy camera.
Moses also went to D.C. for a week to sit in hotel conference room and read grant proposals and then took Garion to Utah for a few days of field work. He's been busy too.

The first week in July we headed to Washington state to visit Moses's mom, step-dad, and assorted siblings, nieces, and nephews. This was the first time Garion had met many of his cousins and shenanigans ensued.

Here's a sampling of the cousins (notice the 2-year old totally doing his own thing off to the right--that is the totally adorable part of 2-year olds):

On the way home we went to visit Moses's oldest brother who lives with his wife near Lake Shasta. We visit them because they have a boat. Oh, and also we like them. And they gave us Harley. Garion would have ridden the inner tube thingy all the way home to Flagstaff if he could have.

The drive from Flagstaff to Washington took us approximate 3 days each way. Ohmygoodness. Garion and Harley were champs for the most part. This was on the way home after about a week of not enough sleep because it stays light until 10-freakin'-p.m. in the Pacific Northwest:
Between the traveling, Garion's attended Invention Camp (he invented a mind-reader), swimming lessons, and summer FACTS (basically a place to park your kid for the summer if you work) and that all requires dropping off and picking up and for some reason that is all more onerous in the summer. Seriously, why do we not have teleporters yet?

Tomorrow night we are going to the Wednesday evening Concert in the Park (yay for Flagstaff in the summer!!) We're meeting some friends and several other families and engaging in some sort of pot luck dinner. My assignment was dessert. I made peanut butter cup cupcake brownies and they sank. I think though that if I make everybody consider them from this highly artistic angle they will not notice:
As in, "yes you may have a brownie but only if you hold it over your head at this precise angle to look at it before you eat it."

A Decade

Last week, Moses and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years has the peculiar quality of seeming at once to be a really long time-as in, wow we've been married forever--and also a very short time--as in wow already?, that went fast. When we were preparing for marriage, we wrote letters to our future selves talking about what our expectations for marriage were and what we were feeling at the time. I confess that I was more than a little relieved to discover that we chose a crappy pen to write these letters and the ink has faded to illegibility. Thankfully we were better at choosing partners than choosing writing instruments. We were 24 when we got married. Last week we both had the same reaction when considering our 24-year-old selves: "24? What were thinking? We knew nothing, we were idiots, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves in for. We were still in school, for crying out loud. Our combined annual income was just over a tenth of what it is now. Did anybody try to warn us? Were we just not paying attention?" Thankfully our 24-year-old selves seemed to have stumbled into a pretty good life-I think that after 10 years we can officially count ourselves as in for the long haul.
I've been wanting to write something that reflects on ten years of marriage, what it means and what I've learned. On our eighth wedding anniversary, I posted our wedding vows and the ones that I would take had we written our own-after being married 8 years-and I hold true to those.

Well, I try. I don't manage it everyday, but I think I get there more days than not.
It turns out that, for me, our 10th anniversary was not so much a time to reflect on the deeper truths of marriage, but simply a time to revel in the years we've had together, and that is difficult to express. Then, today, we had a virtual conversation (Moses is traveling, thus the text messages, not that we haven't been known to text message across the living room) that sums it up nicely:

M: Flight from NC to DC delayed
K: Sorry about your flight. Miss you already.
M: I love you. Equal parts teq (tequila), tripsec (triple sec), lime, sweeten to taste, add ice wait 1 min.

In case you missed it, that conversation was about how draining it is to deal with a 7-year-old chatter-box non-stop all day without someone to deflect the 7-year-old's attention. And Moses got it, and he made me laugh, and that's what's great about 10 years.

Word to Yo Mutha*

What I got from Garion for Mother's Day: a stuffed animal (from his collection), three pages of photos from his preschool memory book (need to sneak those back in before we lose them) and a beautiful necklace (pictured at left) that he made by drilling a hole through an enormous silver (plastic) coin and stringing it on a chain that I think he "found" in my jewelry box. On seeing this necklace, my brother remarked "oooh, Kerry, you got some bling!" 'Sright, bro.

Such was the craziness of the Mother's Day weekend, that I am just now, slightly, recovered enough to talk about it. My sister-in-law graduated with a doctorate in Physical Therapy on Friday so we went her way Friday afternoon to see if she could fix my sore foot. And to party a little. And to get talked into signing up for the Imogene Pass Run by her mom. (Note to self, need to avoid Nancy for approximately 30 days before June 1st if you are going to "forget" to sign up for Imogene).
We started Saturday by going out for breakfast with my dad who was in town for graduation. At breakfast, Garion asked Moses what a sinus headache is. Moses explained, complete with a quick consult of google (via phone) for a picture of a sinus cavity, to which Garion responded "you're giving me a headache" complete with eye rolling and head rubbing. The rest of Saturday was a whirl of cleanthehousegogroceryshoppinggetreadyformother'sdaydothelaundrychaos. I decided however, that since it was Mother's Day weekend I should not have to spend all of Saturday cleaning and that I would treat myself to a mani/pedi. Which is impossible to book at the last second on graduation weekend in a small town. So I decided to do it myself. And Garion thought it was a good idea, so we did him too. And Harley was not about to miss out on the action, so he laid down under my feet. Which is to say, that my mani/pedi did not go down quite as I had envisioned. But it was a beautiful afternoon for hanging out on the back porch and Garion sat and chatted my ear off for an entire hour while soaking his feet and waiting for his toenail polish to dry (clear on his fingers and pink and purple on his toes). Sunday we went down to my mom's house to celebrate and eat and take the canoe on its inaugural 2010 voyage. It was so windy that I think we spotted Dorothy and Toto and I'm certain I worked off most of the cheesecake I consumed that day just by paddling. At least, that is the story I am telling myself. Garion was less than enthused about the canoe (he remembers a certain windy day last summer when the canoe capsized) and pretty much informed Moses and me that he was done with us, he would like new parents now please, and why would we not just LET HIM OUT OF THE [explative implied but not used because this is from a 7-yr-old] CANOE? Because, it is Mother's Day and I want to go in the canoe, so dang it that is what we are going to do even if we all die from the misery of it. Garion also brought out the classic "why is there Mother's Day and Father's Day but no kid's day?" And did I say it? Oh, you bet I did: "because everyday is kid's day."

*This post was originally title "''Sup Homey?" My friend Stacy suggested that it should be titled "Word to Yo Mutha," and she is totally right.

The Apple did not Fall Far from that Tree

Garion came home today determined to make Nerf guns for himself and his best friend. Out of cardboard. And scotch tape. I acquiesced, or rather, willfully ignored this endeavor because I still had about and hour of work left to do and I figured the Sisyphean task of building Nerf guns from cardboard would keep him busy for awhile. Garion was still at it while I was making dinner a couple of hours later. This was a project of epic proportions. And epic use of scotch tape.
All of the sudden, he came in the kitchen with big huge crocodile tears of frustration rolling down his face: "It's not going to work! All this [big sweeping hand gesture] and it's not going to work! It's not going to ever work!!!" And I did not tell him that I had no expectation of this idea ever working because I am a good mother. Or, today at least, I am a good mother. I gave him a hug and we talked about how sometimes things don't always come out the way you thing they're going to and he cried some more while not paying any attention whatsoever to my very good life advice. And then he stopped. Broke away from me and stormed out the front door without a word. Being the good mother that I am today, I resisted the urge to follow and make sure he wasn't hoofing it to the border in search of a better life with his dog, his gameboy and whatever bit of stickiness was in his pocket. Five minutes later he came back in with some black tubing he managed to scrounge up in the garage: "This will work much better!!!"
And this is just so like his dad it kills me. His dad who embarks on epic projects, spends the whole time cursing in frustration, frequently comes in half way through and says "It's not going to work, it's never going work," goes back out, and ta-da! makes it work. And then, ahem....leaves a huge mess.

Siren Song of the REI Catalog

The REI catalog showed up in the mail the other day, as it does occasionally. I love everything in that little booklet of outdoorsy goodness. I love the clothes, the shoes, all that GEAR--even the gear for the outdoorsy things I do not do (although that list is getting smaller, did I mention I've been rock climbing?) I love it all. And I was sitting at my kitchen counter paging through its copious attractions, I realized something profound: the REI catalog is just like vampire novels. Yeah, vampire novels. Would you like to know why? I thought so.
They are crack on paper. Metaphorical crack. Not crack actually embedded into paper (but I bet they'd both do brisk sales if that were the case). They are addicting in the view they offer you of a secret world just off, by this much, from the world you live in. I have read so many vampire books in the last year or so, that I am ashamed to cop to the number. In fact, I don't even know what the number is. The book I'm reading now? Vampire book. I didn't even know it when I picked it up, I thought it was just another Deanna Raybourne book. But, no--vampires. I am subconsciously drawn to them. The REI catalog has that same seductive pull. And how many REI catalogs have I poured over in the last year? Lots. Not to mention time spent trolling their website. The catalog is filled with fit, attractive people who do things like travel the world and effortlessly climb mountains and run trails and endlessly hang out at the beach and always, ALWAYS, find that awesome camping spot that is not right next to the jerk and radio, and the girls all know how to wear those cute skirts for things like hiking. And also, they appear to travel everywhere on their bicycles or in their Subarus. Like vampires, you know they don't exist in real life (who goes hiking in a skirt?), but dang if that catalog doesn't make you think they could. And if you had those cloths and that gear you could be young and fit and effortlessly climb mountains, and travel the world, and trundle your totally cute and well behaved kid along for the ride. On your bicycle. If you reduce them both to their essences, I think what you're left with is escapism and that's why they are the same. Anywhere-but-here-and-now escapism. And that's why I love them. No, that's not true because really and truly I love my here and now. I know that I would not want to live in a vampire novel. Although come to think of it I am married to a man with a fierce temper who has a hard time sleeping at night and hates morning sunlight. Hmmm. And really, I almost live in the REI catalog (I think Flagstaff is as close as you can get). But, man the escape is appealing. The adventure. The get out and do something that is not Sitting At A Desk........Oh my goodness, I have a bad case of spring fever.

Ode to a Boy and his Dog

Remember a loooooong time ago I said we were getting a dog? Well, a loooooonnng time ago (February) we did. Yes, I know. Not filling you in for nearly three months is a severe dereliction of my blogger duties. Bad blogger.

The dog's name is Harley, and Garion LOVES him. Possibly more than he loves me.

They play ball. They play spaceship (Harley is in charge of the escape pods). They play stuffed animals (or did until I told Garion that that game might result in the grisly demise of stuffed animal). They play tug of war. They play stick:

Except that Harley would greatly prefer that Garion not throw the stick into the water. Because it is his stick and he treasures it, and if Garion throws it into the water he is obligated, compelled really, to go rescue his beloved stick even if he has to get wet and he just would really prefer not to have to swim. And dang-it-all-to-heck, the longer he sits on the shore thinking about getting wet the farther away his beloved stick drifts and the farther he has to swim. And never ever does that stick float back on its own. Bad stick.

Harley is sweet and funny and very affectionate.

He also eats his poop.

Yes, Harley. I just told the entire internet that you eat your own poop (and the poop of woodland creatures). If you cut it out, I'll never mention it again.

This is how he sleeps when no one's really watching.



Did I mention Garion might love him more than me? Whatever. I buy groceries and make dinner. All Harley can do is sniff out poop. I think that if it came down to a matter of survival, and given the choice between dinner and a poop-sniffing dog, Garion would still choose me. I think.

Garion loves Harley so much that last weekend he gave Harley a "shower" with the backyard hose. I'm not really sure what triggered this, but independent thought from a seven year old is occasionally a little alarming. I tried to stay calm and explain to Garion why this was not an okay thing to do (aside from the wet dog in the house problem). And then I remembered that when I was small, I once tied a helium balloon to my (three-legged) cat and dropped him to see if the balloon would hold him up. (It did not, in case you're wondering.) I also remember that this was not a mean thing, but a "I just want to see what happens" thing. And so, with Garion I'm trying remember that some of this stuff is stuff you have to learn, how to treat to other living creatures and how to be respectful and how to care for the needs of something other than yourself. Garion is learning and thankfully Harley does not hold grudges.

Harley is very dedicated to his day time job: holding down the carpet under my desk while I work. None of it has gotten away since he took up his post. He also reminds me when it's time to go for a walk at lunch time and when it's time to go pick up Garion.

He knows how to put himself to bed.

And he really excels at playing in the snow, which as far as dog traits go, is nearly enough to make up for the poop eating. Every snow day this spring, he and Garion have played outside for three and four hour stretches which results in a tired a kid and a tired dog and time for mom to get a little work done--it hardly gets better than that.

This is Harley pre-noontime walk. And post-noontime walk. I'm telling you--dedicated.

Harley's favorite part of the day is picking his boy up from school. A car ride PLUS children and activity to watch PLUS his boy.
I was afraid that when Harley came to live with us, he would be a novelty for a few weeks and then the glamor would wear off. Thankfully, this is not what has transpired. Garion is as enthralled with him as he was when we first met him, is thrilled to see him in the morning, and always says goodnight to him before he goes to bed. Part of me wonders if this was a cruel thing to do. Harley is six and has had some illnesses earlier in his life that probably mean he will not live to be an ancient dog. We will most likely be lucky if we have five years with him and I can see now that Garion will be devastated when he is gone and what kind of mother does that make me? But that's life, right? You love and lose and that cycle repeats itself over and over again and if you do things right the loving makes the losing worth it. And we are happy to Harley here and for now. And when you are only seven, five years is a really long time.