Another sign that we made the right choice when we picked a new neighborhood . . . we stopped by a real live lemonade stand on the way back from our picnic at the park. Two freckle-faced red-headed kids were running it. They even said, “Yes, M’am” and “You’re welcome.” When questioned on what they would do with the funds, they said they were “saving for college.”
Are you kidding me?!
Rollie was like, “I’d buy hot wheels!”
Oh, and the going rate for a pink lemonade, in about a 6 oz cup, is fifty cents. They even put a slice of lemon on the edge of the cup. I am so not kidding.
What? No Dixie Cups for ten cents? I kinda miss the Dixie cup.
In case you are in the area and want to help out the enterprising young chaps, they are located between the park and my house.
So, in the course of any given day, I have about five to ten main things I want to get done. I am terrible at completing tasks. TERRIBLE. I get very overwhelmed by a pile of tasks at hand, and if I don’t just concentrate on only my top priority, I will make myself crazy. Things that I stress about include:
Making doctor’s appointments for me, the kids.
I need to start taking a multivitamin.
I did not write a word today.
I have not been keeping up with my blog.
I feel like posting about anything on my blog other than the things I am REALLY preoccupied with is “false.”
I have not worked out today.
I have not called the doctor about my ankle, and if my ankle is going to get better, I need to do that.
If my ankle isn’t better, how will I run?
I am fat.
I need to eat better.
I need a new composting solution.
I need to check work email.
I need to do work.
Facebook is the devil.
I need to stop drinking so much during the week.
I need to clean litter box.
I need to trim shrubbery.
I need to work more in yard.
We never finished renovations on house.
There is cat puke on the bedspread and i haven’t cleaned it up yet.
I need to help my mom and dad.
I need to help my sister.
I haven’t worked on my family history files in ages. What if I die? They will never get done.
What if I die?
Do i have anxiety?
I have anxiety.
I have never had anxiety before.
I need to get the oil changed.
I wish I was more like Todd when it comes to laundry.
I hate laundry.
I hate putting away laundry.
I hate feeling guilty about doing laundry.
Do you think today is the day todd will divorce me over the laundry?
I need more large pots for my patio.
I should go to yard sales to find them for cheap.
Don’t forget to pick up a cushion for the lounge chair at the lake.
On clearance.
The kids need to turn off the tv and get more exercise.
I haven’t finished the dates for the damn school newsletter schedule yet, or i’d take them to the pool. No, I wouldn’t because I need to start dinner.
I am going to let down 500 elementary school kids who won’t have a newsletter.
I am going to let down my family
I am going to let down myself.
You get the idea. So, any time that I can take one thing off my plate, i am for it.
Which is why I have decided that I am going to stop dyeing my hair.
I have been going gray since college. I guess it is God’s way of punishing me for all the dyeing and crazy hair colors of my youth that now i am doomed to the albatross of dyeing my hair twice a month. As it is, I dye it at home. When I say, “I,” I mean Todd. Yes, Todd dons the plastic gloves, which are way too small for his manly hands, and he dyes my hair like a pro. Sort of. Having the salon dye my hair is not an option: It is too expensive and time-consuming to have it done, and at the rate that my hair grows out, and with the amount of gray that I have, it needs to be done about every two weeks.
Whatever. I am over it. I am chucking the outdated, Loving Care Loreal ideal of beauty in a box. I am embracing my gray. Now, you probably have some questions about this process. Hopefully, the following will help answer those:
Yes, Todd has been notified. And by “notified,” I mean that I stared at him without a trace of a smile, and told him what I was going to do and he was too scared to laugh, show disbelief, or protest in any manner.
Yes, when it all grows out, my head will probably look like I am wearing a hat made solely of gray pubic hair.
Yes, I will probably be wearing a lot of hats and scarves this fall.
Yes, I will probably break down and dye it again by this time next year. It’s nice to keep options open.
Yes, I’m going to document this in photos and post them on my blog; Just think of the self-embarrassment potential! It’s, like, photojournalism. I’m pretty sure that Oprah will pick it up, or I will get book offers in the coming months.
Okay! Who’s with me? Hello? Hellooo! Whatever. Screw you fancy dye-job, black-rooted, broke-ass, slave-to-fashion bitches!
I already feel better about having one less damn thing to worry about. FTW!
We took the kids for ice cream this afternoon. Oddly, Rollie wanted a Sprite instead. Todd and I decided we’d all share a bigass rice krispie treat, too.
Tiller went for the ice cream (birthday cake) and a handful of rice krispie treat, too. Sometimes it was hard for her to decide which to bite from. . . .
I am feeling ungrateful and babyish today. I love my kids. They are fun. But I miss the trips with leisurely walks, and less argument, less potty emergencies. I miss strolling around, stopping for a coffee or a beer. I miss perusing bookstores for an hour at a time, and window shopping, and not having to have a destination or a time schedule.
I know I will have it again someday. I just mourn it sometimes. And it is hard to stay dissatisfied when they look this happy.
So, haven’t blogged about my garden much lately. I heart my garden – It is the best part of our move to the new house. For the two years that the old house was on the market, I barely grew anything in the garden. What was the point in creating a lot of garden infrastructure if I was going to move?
So, this spring, Todd and Rollie and I built a raised bed frame. So, we then took it out by the road. That is the only really sunny place in our yard, as we have HUGE old trees in the back. I love them. So, shade out back, sun in the front. I hope the neighbors don’t hate my garden right up by the road, but so far, the feedback has been positive.
We had a truckload of good soil dumped into it, and then I planted squash, cucumbers, tomatoes (including some odd ones: Lemon Boy, a yellow tomato; Mr. Stripey, a striped one; and and heirloom called Cherokee Purple), basil, bell peppers, oregano, cilantro, chives and parsley. I was so excited when I started getting blooms on my tomato plants.
And, oh God, the cukes have started coming in. We are eating cucumbers and onions in vinegar. Sliced cucumbers plain with salt, or in salads, or dipped in blue cheese dressing. The kids are loving them! They will eat sliced cucumbers as a snack. Amazing what a kid will eat if they see it growing in their own backyard. (Or front yard, as the case may be.) I even made a cucumber and radish relish. I gave cucumbers to my parents. To my inlaws. To the cool lady down the street named Harriet, who has an old Ford truck that I covet. She gave me Gardenias in exchange. I like that about my neighborhood.
And now the garden is going like gangbusters. Squash is coming in. And a buttload of tomatoes. Cukes. See all those yellow blooms? Each one is a cucumber in the making. I am going to die a sweet, sweet cucumber death!
Rollie liked to dance in the raised bed frame.
This was all mid-month: Things have gotten wild out there in the last couple of weeks. I will keep you posted on ultra-important Dogwood Girl garden developments! I know you are on the edge of your seats.
Dash spent the night with us last night, while Lisa went to our friend Alexis’ wedding to create a horrendous Sunday morning hangover with old friends. Dash and the kids were up early this morning. I let Todd sleep in, as he had partied with neighbors until the wee hours of the morning. So, i was wrangling my now very mobile nephew (He’s going for the stairs! He’s going for the dog’s bowl! He’s juggling knives!), keeping Malex the Pup from chewing everything in his way, and attempting to make Mama some coffee, all the while fielding the constant barrage of questions, interspersed with their own brand of commentary, that a three and five-year old will throw at us in the mornings.
What are we having for breakfast? Can we have blueberry pancakes and eggs and apples with peanut butter? We don’t have milk. We should have juice. We can have water, but if we have the water the juice will have to be watermelon. Can I smell that coffee? Dash is funny. Who is the Birdiest of the birds? And so on. The coffee continues to drip in slow motion, not nearly fast enough to save me.
“Mama?” Rollie says, “What are people for?”
I look at him blankly.
“Huh?”
“What are people for?” he says again, a serious and thoughtful look on his face, his morning hair mussed.
Todd received Wendell Berry’s essay collection What Are People For? for Christmas, and I have been reading it, ahem. . in the bathroom for a few months. I thought, well, maybe Rollie read the title of the book.
“That’s a good question, baby,” I said. Damn it, coffee! Drip! For the love of God, drip!
“I mean, like, what are people for? Why did God make them?”
Since he started school this past year, he has started describing things using the word, “Like.” It makes him sound like a complete and total dumbass teenager. It is driving me crazy.
“Well, baby, that is an awesome question. In fact, people have been asking that question for a couple thousand years, and taking years and whole books to answer it. No one has really answered it. And I can’t begin to talk about it without my coffee. We’ll talk about it this afternoon, okay?”
I was astounded. Holy crap. Not enough coffee in the world.
I really found Fat Tire at the grocery store. For reals. It’s in the big bottle (couldn’t find a regular six or twelve pack) and they had two or three other New Belgium beers, too. The Fat Tire reads something like, “Georgia on my Ride. The first (legal) commemorative distribution of New Belgium beers in Georgia.”
Commemorative, my ass. . . I’m drinking that bitch.
We’re in Chattanooga. Mom, Lisa and I drove up yesterday afternoon. The drive up was uneventful, except for a portion near Dalton where we got the giggles over stories of things we have done or said while sleeping. The one that really got us was Todd’s nightmare about the ghost, where I awoke to him moaning. I thought he was dying. He was trying to scream in a nightmare. This also happened to me when camping with Scott Phillips one time; he dreamed a bear was attacking the tent. I awoke in the same tent to him thrashing around and screaming like a baby. I thought we were goners. There was also the time that Rollie was a newborn and Todd and I were sleep-deprived. I woke up to Todd sitting on the side of the bed, rocking the baby. I sat up, because it seemed weird. I looked down. No baby. He was half-awake, half dreaming that he had gotten up with Rollie and was rocking him. It was so freakin’ creepy. Now those stories make me laugh.
What doesn’t make me laugh? This. Talk about me having nightmares. . . .
I digress.
So, we got to Chattanooga, and checked in at The Read House. I Pricelined it, so there was a smidge of a chance that we would get a King instead of two doubles, which would have been . . . cozy. We lucked out. It’s pretty beautiful, and just reminds me of stories my mom and grandma told me growing up about dances and parties and events there. Mom was genuinely excited about coming home to Chattanooga and i could tell she was really excited about staying here, which made me feel good.
Lisa and i got settled in and Mom went out on her own to look around. Then lisa and i decided we needed a drink. We started walking and came across this church. We recognized it as the church my parents were married in:
So, then we walked down Broad Street and found Big River. They had beer. I like beer.
After dinner, we walked a ways, then took the shuttle. I shot this one of The Bijou Theater.
We made a little of a ruckus in the hallway at The Read House, too.
And then we were in bed by 10:30, because we are old as hell.
Spring! Love it!
It is our second spring here in the new house. Can’t believe we’ve been here a year now. This time last year, we were so caught up in the move and unpacking and repacking and living at the lake, that I didn’t get to take much notice of what was blooming in my new yard.
So, right now we have Forsythia. Some bulbs (daffs, some purple/blue elongated guys that I can’t remember the name of), a few pink azaleas (why, oh why did Grandmas have to plant Pepto pink azaleas?), a couple of white and red azaleas. My garlic is coming up nicely, even though Tiller mixed the cloves up on planting, and so I don’t know which is which. Some of my lettuce for last year is popping up again this year. That was a nice surprise – Especially the arugula and swiss chard (my fave!). Daylilies are popping up in my monkey grass. I think i remember only a few of those blooming last year, so I guess I need to dig them up and separate them. Kind of sounds like a drag, since they are all mixed in with the Monkey grass.
I pruned a ton of shrubbery around the house. I am leaving the Camellia until next winter. I think I waited too long to whack it back now. Todd has fertilized and put out seed. Hoping that our shady back yard grass will take. Fingers crossed.
Todd and I built a raised bed, too. Need to level off the spot it will go into in the front yard (only place we have enough sun – hope the neighbors don’t hate it), and then get it filled up with the good stuff. I am hoping to grow some crazy veggies this year.
Finally, we put up a birdfeeder outside our den window. I can sit on the couch writing this blog post, and see the little birdies checking it out from the redbud outside the window. Oh! And the redbud is blooming! Dogwoods are just starting to come out too.
So, i have been thinking about my neighborhood a lot today. A friend from my old neighborhood is grappling with the whole educating-a-kid-in-intown-Atlanta-schools issue. She asked my opinion on a living in my old neighborhood (EAV) vs. living in my new neighborhood (Northlake Mall/Lavista/Briarlake) vs. living in the real OTP burbs (I grew up in Roswell/Alpharetta. She is considering E. Cobb.)
I thought scads about all the different things that go into choosing what is not just best for a kid’s education, but what is best for a family. And all of that discussion confirmed for me that we made the best decision for us.
Also? It helps when my awesome neighbors call me at 3pm on Friday to bring the kids over to play in the sunshine, swing, slide, throw pine cones, and climb fig trees, while we drink beer and wine and order Mediterranean takeout.
I miss my old neighborhood. I love my new neighborhood. I wish they could meet each other, because, damn, they would get along really well together.
