when life gives you lemons

Technorati Tags: lemons,life,lemonade

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should be excited that you will soon be the envied green thumb of the neighborhood.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should be thankful that they require no real care and water and pruning.  Count your blessings that they just do their own thing.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should photograph them often.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should trick your boys into standing under the tree after a rain and then shake the branches to get them wet.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should have the “lemons aren’t baseballs waiting to be picked” speech with your boys.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should have the “lemons aren’t to be used as ammo” speech with your boys.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should enjoy the fragrant lemon blossoms each morning.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should share with your friends.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should cook lots of seafood.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should clean all of your copper bottomed pots.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should plant a lime tree.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should buy  a juicer at the thrift shop.

 

And I suppose when life gives you lemons you…

Could make some lemonade.

after the rain

During the rainy season the luminous clouds roll in like clockwork.  We work outside in the morning when it’s cool and play in the backyard in the late morning after breakfast.  Then it’s lunch and naps.  By the time we wake up in the afternoon it’s far too muggy to venture out.  So we wait.  We wait for the sun to hide and the clouds to saunter in.  The grass gets greener and the sky turns eerie and the pre rain smell wafts on the sticky breeze and the air gets heavy.  Sounds are intensified and the thunder rumbles quiet and dull and low.  The sky opens up and the sweet cleansing rain starts to wash away our sidewalk chalk and our skid marks.  Like drops of water on the hot pancake skillet, the raindrops eventually overwhelm the baking pavement and cool it  to something a little less than scalding.
We wake up from our napping pile calmly one at a time smiling in silence at each other.  We untangle and lay in bed while we listen to the fat raindrops pelting the window.  After ample stretching and cuddling we emerge from our nest like a bear family waking from hibernation.  We take our places at the dining room table.  I open the blinds so we can watch the storm while and eat cucumbers and drink icy root beer.  We sit in the dark munching and dipping our hands into the cool saltwater retrieving cucumber slices.  We search for the skinny ones with the highest salt to cuke ratio.  Just when we think it cannot possibly rain any harder it does, and it comes down in sheets overwhelming the eaves troughs.  My mind drifts to the backyard gardens.  The tomato under the drain spout has fought a valiant battle this rainy season, but today’s storm wills surely do him in.  I should have a garden full of little seedlings taking advantage of this soaking rain.  Instead, I have an empty garden save one aggressive rosemary plant.  My mind comes back to the table full of silent boys still puffy with sleep and then without notice the screaming rain turns to speaking rain and then whispering rain and then nothing but the occasional pitter patter.  The sun cautiously makes a reappearance ready to start undoing what the rain has created.  He works to dry up the ditches, heat up the pavement and scorch any new seedlings considering growth. 
We fly up from the table sloshing cucumber water and make our move.



I grab my camera and two shoes.  My lens immediately fogs over.  I wipe with my shirt again and again until my lens acclimates to match the steamy temperature outside.  I snap some test shots of my feet knowing I’ll scrap them later.  I don’t.  A sparkly heel and a men's size 13 flip flop.  This is honest and us, so it will survive editing. 


Those of us who had chosen to nap in the nude throw on whatever we can find, even if it means a pair of backward jeans. 



We don’t even take time to go potty.  It’s time to play.  So we climb to the top of the quarter pipe and slide down.  It’s rather slick when wet and makes for a speedy slide.  Hitting the pavement at the bottom is a bit abrupt but worth it. 


We waste no time tromping into the ditches.  Each one claims their territory. 


The goal being to get as wet as possible, create as much laundry as possible and have the most fun.

 
Bikes turn into make believe wave runners.  Splashing and spraying all spectators including ones with rather expensive cameras.  We do not discriminate.

 
Those of us who put clothes on get photo attention.  Those splashing naked in the driveway with their sippy cups are not afforded the same opportunity.  

   
There is no such thing as a no wake zone.  We race and ride and splash and soak until we’re out of breath and out of memory card space.



Slowly but surely the earth reclaims her water and our ditch way canals dissipate.  We stomp and splash till the water recedes and Daddy comes up the road in his truck. 
We all head inside for a special treat.  Fried chicken and mashed potatoes and movie night.  We cuddle and eat and watch a family movie.  A few nod off as Scott and I cuddle and watch a less appropriate movie while I hold a bag of frozen hushpuppies on a boy with a seriously bruised coccyx,(the result of a scooter/wood floor/mashed potatoes accident).  Carrying each slumbering boy off into another direction, Scott finally gives in to his heavy eyelids and retires.  I remain sitting in my chair computer in hand editing afternoon puddle photos.  I love editing photos by myself in the dark. 
Tomorrow will be more of the same.  Sun and cooking and playing and eating and cleaning and napping and rain and more sun and more eating and more playing and more eating and sleeping and cleaning and editing photos in the dark by myself with some mashed potatoes on the floor.   I can hardly wait. 

I had a dream

I had a dream the other night.  Not like the Martin Luther King dream but your typical, abstract slightly supernatural type of dream. I dreamt we ventured to a laundry mat.  It was bright and shiny and industrial.  Rows and rows of big loud machines humming and whirring and spinning.  Soap suds were on the floor and it was hot and sticky and humid.  I can remember my dream laundry mat so vividly. 

 

 

Which is funny because I’ve never actually gone to a laundry mat in real life.  Well, once in the itty bitty town i grew up in.  I think I crept in to spy on a boy I liked.  Why a 13 year old boy would be in a laundry mat I’m not sure.  Bizarre.  Anyway, I often use my dreams as inspirations for our adventures. 

 

 

So today, we went to the laundry mat.  I envisioned an educational fieldtrip of sorts and a fabulous photo shoot opportunity.  They would count their blessings and realize how fortunate they are to be born into a family that has the luxury of doing their own laundry in their own home in their own washer and I would walk away with a memory card full of clever little boys photos.  Instead…

 

 

There was little to no education involved and I walked away with ten pictures on my memory card two of which were unusable due to a steamy lens.  I found myself chaperoning a divided group of boys.  Two big boys who have absolutely without a doubt confirmed that I’m crazy and two little boys who have absolutely without a doubt confirmed that I’m the funnest mom ever.  We explored all things laundry until Finn settled on this rather large industrial washer.  I pulled out my camera for a few snaps.  Note that I did not photograph the two wet blankets who sat on the metal chairs slapping at mosquitoes on their bare legs complaining.  “I had a dream the other night that I had a motorcycle.  Ya think she’d let me ride a motorcycle?  DOUBT IT!  I had a dream the other night that she was normal?  Do you think that came true?  NOPE!”  I really wanted to photograph them and document it, but I don’t want to give them a reason to hate the camera.

  

 

Speaking of blankets, were you aware that they make a washer that can hold five standard loads of laundry at one time?  That’s a lot of wet blankets.  Our laundry mat field trip was short lived.  Partly because I brought no actual laundry (minus the two wet blankets), and partly because the laundry maid girl found it a little odd that a mother of four would show up at a laundry mat with nothing but her four shirtless boys and a camera.  When she approached the washers, I circled over toward the dryers, when she walked back to the dryers, I made a beeline for the commercial laundry section.  Around and around we went until I could take no more.  We never made actual eye contact but I got her message.

 

 

Short lived, but fun.  A little disappointing that we were not able to pile into the laundry cart pictured above.  It would have made for a lovely photo.  We’ll be back.  Maybe we’ll even do a load.  I think I could probably find some dirty laundry around here.  In fact I need to wrap this up because my own washer is attempting to walk across the floor while it spins.  To many wet blankets I guess. 

letter to 11 year old me

I just spend the last 45 minutes digging through the box of old photos, the kind you used to actual print before the digital era.  I was searching for a dandy picture of 11 year old me to accompany this post.  I dug through years of bad hair styles (this was not limited to me, I come  from a long line of bad hair), Cosby sweaters,  many awkward family photos including one where we’re all grouped around a casket smiling like we just won a million dollars.  Funny because I don’t recall that inheriting a million dollars or any money even, but we were certainly happy for some reason.  Unfortunately, I must have been a little camera shy around that age because there are no photos from about 11-13.  Either no one took any or they were all afraid of me (likely) or I have already destroyed the evidence of how ungraceful I was at that age. 

So please use you imagination and picture a fabulous photo of me here.  I would be wearing my favorite pink headband in my unwashed hair and smiling with some very crooked teeth.  I would probably be wearing makeup and if my memory serves me correctly, I would have matched my eye shadow to my shirt.  There’s a good chance it would be purple.  Unfortunately coming from a mother who doesn’t wear makeup I was on my own so naturally I also owned colored mascara and would have coordinated that accordingly.  I would be wearing a cheapy metal best friends necklace.  I always had the right half so it would have read “st ends” on my side of the broken heart.  I think that about covers it.  I know it’s just a photo but just to set the scene, I would have had some Wilson Phillips music playing in the background. 

 

As you can see I was in great need of advice, fashion and the like.  Not that I was interested in taking such advice from anyone.  In fact I had a lot of advice to offer everyone else because clearly I had it all figured out.  Since I haven’t changed all that much and still like to give that very advice, I am going back in time to send a little letter to 11 year old me. 

 

Greetings Erin,

Please put down that copy of Seventeen, your never goint ot look or dress like that anyway, and listen up.  I realize you have it all figured out and require absolutely no direction from me, but you may want to listen.  I know you better than you think I do and I can save you a great deal of suffering if you listen closely. 

Who you are:

You are Erin.  Don’t try to be anyone else.  Don’t hide what you perceive as your weaknesses.  People who would taunt you for living in a ramshackle house don’t deserve to be in your life anyway.  Believe me, they aren’t assuming you live in a castle anyway.  It will keep you humble which is a desirable adult trait.  It’s OK to be weird, at least when you’re an adult.  Don’t try to fit in so much and stifle your creativity.  Embrace your roots.  You turn out to be a really admirable person (at least in my slightly biased opinion)

Appearance:

No more perms, this includes home perms.  End of story.  If you are interested in living with no regrets, take this warning seriously.  You are not fat.  In fact, you will never be this skinny again.  You can see your feet.  You’re perfect, stop thinking about it.  You have the rest of your life to hate your body, enjoy it today.  On the appearance note, don’t sign up for the 4-H group dance performance.  You’ll end up winning and having to perform at the Wisconsin State Fair where you will be forever documented in the Milwaukee Journal dancing to a New Kids on the Block song called Hang In Tough.  You will dance with your brother and the paper will serve as evidence of your poor choice for the rest of your life.  If you ever fun for president this will be uncovered and your chances of winning will be ruined.

Bras

Quit wearing that bra, you’ll have the rest of your life to suffer with with underwire.  Enjoy the fact that you don’t actually require one now because after nursing four boys (yes, that’s what’s in your crystal ball) you will most certainly need one and Victoria Secret isn’t cheap either.  Start saving your money.   

 

Boys:

Just relax.  Stop trying so hard to make the boys like you.  Only the stupid ones will take notice anyway.  The most wonderful man will be coming your way in a few short years.  Just hang on and stop your foolish antics.  Seriously, the endless phone calls and the teasing are not really attractive anyway.  And dump Chad today, he ends up in prison later in life.  Just because someone is interested, doesn’t make them good boyfriend material and your mom is right, if they have chest hair, they aren’t boys. 

 

School:

Be a little kinder, don’t hate your teachers before they even have a chance to hate you.  Teaching is a really hard job and one day you will find yourself on the other side of the desk and believe me, it’s not easy.  Don’t spend so much time hating the popular girls.  It’s not entirely their fault that they’re popular and some of them are actually decent people.  After high school popularity means nothing anyway.  Believe that heath video that Mrs.. White forced you to watch, it really does hurt that bad to have a baby.  And don’t sign up for Spanish class.  Five years of Spanish with will not make you fluent.  Maybe spend some time in some intensive math.  Believe me, you’ll thank me when you take your college entrance exams.  Sitting through 7th grade algebra in college is embarrassing.  If your hesitating about breaking into the school and stealing that runty lab rat, go with your gut and do it.  She’ll be the best pet you’ll ever have. 

Family:

Quit wasting time thinking about how you can punish your sister today.  She’s not actually trying to destroy your life.  In fact, she turns out kind of nice.  Spend a little more time with your family instead of with your friends and your boy of the month.  Work with your Dad in the garden, one day you will have a real interest and no experience.  Your family isn’t going to be together like this forever. 

Plans:

Don’t get so caught up in following the plan.  You change your mind as often as you change your boyfriend.  Even though massage therapy sounds really cool and mystical it’s really just a job and once you’ve rubbed one back, you get kind of sick of it.  Keep an open mind and consider real college.  It’s far easier to do it when you’re 17 than when you have a big pregnant belly and more little babies at home. 

Life:

Enjoy not having to work for a paycheck only to give all that money to Publix and the electric company and to put gas in your minivan (sorry, that comes along with the four boys).  Embrace sleeping in and acting impulsively with relatively few consequences.  Your life turns out wonderful, although far from what you imagine right now.  Don’t spend too much time worrying about it.  You’ll end up in a good place. 

 

Warmest Regards,

Your friend from the future

coordination

 

Your wallet coordinates with your purse which matches your lunchbox which compliments your eye shadow which blends with your eyeliner. 

I am not you.

But occasionally I get lucky.

I went to the beach to catch a sunset with the boys last week and noticed much later during editing that the beach towels (actually my good bath towels which have no business being at the ocean) matched the evening color palette most exquisitely.

See, I may not have a matching bra and panty set on today, but I get it together occasionally. 

made to be broken

 

My prompt this morning from the creative writer’s block people was:   List the twenty rules that you’ve broken. 

Contrary to what you see in the above photo, I have never approached, fed or harassed an alligator in the state of Florida.  Considering that I may still run for president I will refrain from listing anything that is actually illegal.  Although, I have no law degree and have been quite surprised in the past by little actions that are actually illegal.  Not winding up my hose (guilty and charged already) and having a clothesline (both illegal in my city).   

In no particular order other than how memorable they were:

1.  Fashion.  I don’t believe I need to go much further but I can’t really help myself.

putting on a pair of nylons while driving (this was in the nineties and I had a spiral perm to go with my nude nylons).  While not technical spelled out in the state troopers’ handbook, I did get pulled over and ticketed.

having a spiral perm

having a mom that believed she could recreate the spiral perm in our own kitchen (not really a rule breaker, more of an unfortunate situation)

frequently wearing pj pants with holes in bad places

not remembering to sit like a lady while wearing said stripy pj pants

I could go on and on, but my prompt said twenty rules, not twenty categories.  I always interpret things my way.  I’m a fashion disaster and I’m well aware.  Moving on.

 

2.  Becoming a blogger without knowing anything about computers, like how to un indent this stupid line.  I don’t want it indented as though it’s  part of my number one category.  But I am sick of fighting it.  I give up Microsoft Live Writer.  You win.  I look dumb and you win!

     Believing that all advances in technology ended when I graduated high school in 1998

     “I’m sorry, that’s a what?  A flash drive?  It’s so small, don’t you lose it?”

3.  Taking a job in the IT department where my computer inadequacies really shine.

4.  Blogging about my lack of computer skills on a blog that I’ve instructed all my coworkers and supervisors to read.  Excellent decision Erin.

5.  Wearing my heart on my sleeve.

This will include the following:

     bursting into tears in the HR meeting

     bursting into tears in the school choice office

     bursting into tears when I got pulled over… twice

     I think you get the point

6.  Allowing my babies to run naked in the backyard

not all the time, but sometimes when there little buns look like they could use some sunshine

7.  Drinking caffeine while pregnant

8.  Allowing my boys to sleep with us.

so annoying

so cuddly

so habit forming

so gonna let Finn sleep with me tonight… again

9.  Not getting my cat spayed yet (as I mention this to my husband, he adds the tidbit that he hasn’t seen the cat in three days, problem resolved I guess)

10.  Not putting sunscreen on my boys unless other moms are watching

11.  Crashing parties

Here’s a documented account

12.  Feeding the boys organic apples and good old nitrate packed corndogs in the same meal.

13.  Watching Housewives, Desperate and New Jersey, Mob Wives and occasionally Basketball Wives

14.  Admitting I watch any of the trashy shows mentioned in number 13.

15.  Renting, not houses, just stuff

I have purchased (usually to the tune of twenty something dollars) more Red Box movies than anyone in South Florida

If your unaware, they do actually sell it to you if you keep it for X amount of days which I guess is better than charging you a dollar a day for the next sixty years.  My most recent purchase was a Diary of the Wimpy Kid movie.  

I would mention the library but I believe this would involve admitting to a crime because I have recently received some threatening letters.  Don’t mess with them.

16.  Not sorting laundry… ever.

17.  Not clipping my boys nails.

They’re boys.  I think they’re like wild birds that wear their talons down on rough surfaces.    Occasionally when I do locate the clipper behind the TV or in the sofa I will capture up one of them to examine.    It’s really a mystery because they aren’t ever long.  None of them are nail biters either.  I think I’ll stick with the wild eagle theory.  It’s weird.

18.  Blogging about the state of my boy’s talons as well as other personal issues as well as photos unflattering and possibly embarrassing.  Most of my boys don’t follow my blog, but one day they might or their girlfriends might.  But until one of them locates it while surfing the internet or until more of them start to read better and object, I’ll continue to blog.  Sorry boys, maybe you should start a blog about your mother.  You could post all those unflattering photos of her that she never does.  Fun idea.  In fact I could even help you with my expert computer skills. 

19.  Innocently researching on the internet at work the other day and threatening the entire network with a virus of sorts.  Actually, not sorry that this happened, it was an accident, but sorry the office IT security busted me in front of all my coworkers with a Ghostbusters looking contraption that worked like a metal detector beeping faster and faster the closer they got to me.  How embarrassing!  I’m still trying to determine if this was an office prank. 

20.  Pets

taking any animal rearing advice from my mother

     allowing her to convince me that the one eyed gerbil and the guinea pig should live together

     allowing her to convince me to set my pets free for the summer under the belief that we would capture them back up prior to the first frost.  This included

          rabbits, angora and albino, guinea pigs, mice, and goldfish

          for the record, the only ones that were ever capturable where the guinea pigs, they’re loyal

     allowing her to convince me that there is no reason that a cockatiel should have to live in her cage, even if we did have four cats

     allowing her to convince me that any animal can survive the winter outside as long as they have enough hay in their house (in Northern WI)

and lastly, buying puppies (very expensive) ... twice.   Rule number one in the cat lovers handbook clearly states, NO DOGS. 

 

 

I suppose that’s it.  I briefly considered following all the above rules today but looked down at the computer in my lap sitting on top of the stripy holey pj pants and have decided that maybe I can start following the rules tomorrow. 

be skeptical, be very skeptical

 

 

Some of the most embarrassing or upsetting or near death experiences in one’s life are the result of childhood sibling pranks.  The very brother that should have your back is the same brother who might convince you to put a water balloon in your shorts just so he can pop it and make you look like you had an accident.  Even though a 2 year old having an accident isn’t even actually surprising or even funny.  But logic doesn’t really apply to practical jokes.  If you can point your finger and laugh at someone, it’s funny and it doesn’t matter even if they’re bleeding or blushing

With three older brothers, Petey often gets the short straw and finds himself at the wrong end of practical jokes.  He’s an easy target being too gullible, too patient, and too agreeable.  Poor guy.

This is part of every family with a sibling group close in age.  I was a middle child and recall being both the pranker and the prankee.  I’m still trying to settle the score and continue to be the office practical joker.  After all, what fun is an office without a practical joker? 

I recall a few legendary pranks from childhood that could serve as a PSA to young people amongst sibling groups everywhere

If your older siblings fashion you a diving helmet from an old motorcycle helmet and some duct tape it’s too good to be true.  Actual diving helmets can’t be built, one must purchase them from a reputable company.

If they let you have the last piece of (pizza, pie, toast etc…) there’s something wrong with it and they’ll all laugh if you eat it.  If you don’t have to fight for it don’t trust it.  Never eat the beef jerky in the back at the back of the frige.  Most likely it’s dog treats. 

If you ever wake up to find the crotch has been cut out of all you pants and underwear, you best analyze your yesterday’s actions and make amends quickly.  There could be an underlying message here and you best take the warning and back off. 

In true practical joke fashion, I’m waiting for Scott to turn on the sink faucet as I type.  I’ve rigged the classic rubber band around the spray trigger trick.  This still makes me smile, nothing funnier than seeing someone get sprayed in the crotch with cold water.  Hmmmmm…

Not that far from the joke the big boys are playing on poor unsuspecting Petey in this photo.  Do you think they get this from me?

Carmageddon Advice From your East Coast Neighbors

It appears doomsday is upon you. We’ve watched you pondering and planning and pouting all week bracing for the dreaded 405 freeway shutdown that will occur this Friday.


We’ve learned from our national media that your beloved 405 carries a half million people from San Fernando Valley to West LA every day. The shutdown, that you’ve nicknamed Carmageddon (we think this is so clever), will close ten miles of your freeway from Friday to Monday for some much needed widening. In good old American disaster fashion, the media loves this, the late night shows love this and the economy loves this. You are evaluating detours, and listening to PSA’s and Tweets from hired celebrities. As with most predictable disasters, the economy is smiling as new GPS apps are flying off virtual shelves and you stock up on whatever their local news anchors convince you there is a shortage of. We don’t mock you for behavior as many of us are still eating canned green beans from a recent near miss.

Here on the East coast, we are quite familiar with disaster preparedness. A disaster that sneaks up with no warning almost seems more tolerable than the ones that are preceded with days of warnings. Although FL celebrities don’t usually Tweet about hurricanes, maybe because celebrities don’t actually reside in FL or maybe because the celebrities that do are too busy playing shuffleboard in their matching track suits. Receiving warning of the impending doom has the same effect whether it’s a hurricane or a shutdown of a vital thoroughfare. Like all disasters, those who prepare well and make smart decisions survive, and those who don’t make the news. Here’s some disaster advice from your friendly neighbors:



Hibernate:

East Coast Comparison: The resident who plans and prepares accordingly, accepts his fate and hunkers down

* take your earplugs out of your head and shut the computer and turn your I-phone off and have your spouse hide it (you know temptation will get you) and take a good look around. You’ve probably been missing some things. Did you know you you had a cat?

* Make pancakes or meatloaf

* Get to know your kids

* Play those board games you got but never opened

* Introduce yourself to your neighbors; you know they’ve been wondering about you

* Take a bath, it’s not just a shower, you can actually sit or even lie down in that thing

* Throw a BBQ Carmageddon party. We call them hurricane parties, mostly designed to clean out the freezer prior to losing electricity for two weeks, but if the end is coming, who doesn’t want to go out drinking beer and eating hotdogs? I’ll RSVP to that one

Venture Out (not recommended):

East Coast Comparison: The individuals who take their boats out into the ocean to ride out the storm

* Realize that no disaster has ever been improved by an extra onslaught of onlookers (if this speaks to you, reconsider and see above list)

* Realize that you are a workaholic. If this is by your own choice, get help. If this is required by your employer, get a lawyer

* Understand that there will be no short cuts, no secret back way and no speeding

* Attempting to find a new shortcut will no doubt cause you to find yourself in suburban hell winding through garage sale lined streets and church picnics and small town parades celebrating strange small town milestones.

* It will take you three times longer to get there than the time you actually spend there, prepare to be disappointed

* Prepare to be even more disappointed when you see your gas bill

* Prepare to be surprised when you find yourself stopping to buy a striking lamp for the guest room at random garage sale. Welcome to the real America where we don’t drive past everything at 80 miles an hour.

* Stay calm. Expect delays. If you tend to be uptight to start with, consider wearing a bathing suit and flip flops and a straw hat for your commute. How angry can one actually get while in beach gear? Well, technically you can get angry but may consider withholding any road rage displays out of fear of looking ridiculous. Would you be intimidated by a man in a Speedo and plastic flip flops and a visor ranting and raving and honking while listening to the Beach Boys? I think not.

* Listen to good music, not the good music you listen to while jogging or preparing for battle, the kind your crunchy massage therapist plays while you’re on her table.

Take a deep breath California. Recognize it… and release it… In with the good… out with the bad…

This too shall pass and at least you still have your air conditioning and at least your state fixes your roads in a timely manner. Three days is quite impressive by Florida standards. A few of us are laughing at you and some of us are praying for you and most of us are sitting back, in our lawn chairs on the beach (because everyone knows that people in FL just sit on beaches like people in CA sit in cars on their freeways) and thinking of you.

Take the advice and please come visit, it’s been awhile. We miss you us and quite frankly, we could use the tourism dollars.

Love,

Your East Coast Neighbors

out on a limb

I presume this one’s ours…
Gangling…
Winding…
Battered, but unyielding…
Unique…
Twisty…
Scarred, but magnificent…
Determined…
Complex…
Solidly attachment to the trunk…
Charming…
Worn…
Forking sporadically…
Accommodating…
Flourishing…
Riddled with holes…
Stable…
Captivating…
Threatened by storms…
Evolving…
Reaching…
Yearning to be bigger, but not willing to unbalance the tree…
Unpredictable…
Alive…
Lacking in grace…
Amazing…

I think this one’s ours.

suffering

Mostly I blog from photo inspiration.  Often times these photos have a recent experience woven into them that just begs to be written.  Sometimes though, I look at the photos from my most recent camera purging and nothing jumps out at me.  Plan B is to think about what’s happened in my life most recently that is causing me some sort of emotion.  Maybe I’m overwhelmed with being mommy this week or maybe I’m jumping into some exciting new hobby or most recently on the verge of dropping out of life to live in a quiet commune and raise my boys and home school them and hide them from the world (yeah, this never really materialized).  But when nothing is rattling around in my head threatening to take over unless I peck it out on the keyboard I have a plan C.  Some people get a daily joke delivered to them, some get their horoscope.  I get a creative writing theme to work on. 

Plan A and B fell through today so onto plan C.

Assignment: Make a list of 31 things that caused you great mental or physical discomfort this week.  Put them in no particular order and do not spell check them.  This is just a list, not a best seller.

Situations that caused me to suffer mentally or physically this week are as follows:

1.  Swimming at our first sanctioned swim meet and watching Gavin get disqualified because I explained to him how to touch the wall and perform a flip turn when in fact I was completely wrong.  This is probably why I am not a swim coach, or a swimmer for that reason.   
2.  Arriving at the pump to fill up gas and remembering that I threw my debit card in the garbage at work. 
3.  Digging throw the garbage at work to recover said debit card after driving through afternoon traffic.
4.  Tearing up when explaining to a mom at a swim meet how much it meant to my son when her teenage son was the single voice cheering him through his backstroke when his goggles fell off.  Can’t I ever say anything with out emotion spilling out anymore?  I hate that!
5.  Opening an envelope from the IRS. 
6.  Finding out that that my friends at the IRS would like $2000.00 more by next month.  Yeah, probably not.  Sorry.
7.  Hiding in the only semi quiet area today, my office, but sitting on the sofa on top of the dumped out monopoly game.  OUCH!
8.  Cleaning up poop three times today.  No more pooping!
9.  Washing the moldy lunch bag.
10. Having to pay $41.00 for 2 printer cartridges.  Who is getting rich here?  This is crazy.
11. Panicking during an interview while trying to recall the last five books I’ve read during an interview.  I can’t even remember not to throw out my own debit card.  What makes you think I can recall the last five books I’ve read.  Worst interview of my life.  Never felt more stupid.  Well, yeah I have, but it still really sucked.  Got the job though. 
12.  My new sinus problems. 
13.  Paying for stupid sinus medicine.  Must be made by the printer cartridge people because it costs almost as much.
14.  Agreeing not to go to the cottage this weekend and to stay home and clean instead.  Notice I’m not cleaning though.
15.  Trying to unsubscribe from stupid Yahoo group I joined that sends out a hundred emails a day.  Leave me alone.  I changed my mind.  I’m not interested in home canning anymore, not if it involves receiving 50 GOD forsaken emails a day.  No, no, no keep all your stupid canning secrets to yourself.
16.  Having my recovered debit card declined in the 7-11 because I was pumping gas at the same time I was attempting to purchase Gatorade. 
17.  Having clerk point out that it was illegal to allow the gas to pump unattended.
18.  Lying through my teeth explaining that it wasn’t unattended.  My husband was out there in the van laying down and was watching the pump.
19.  Watching clerk laugh at me as I walk out and fake conversation with my non existent husband and stop the gas.
20.  Losing right little toenail on ridiculously small shopping cart at Indian spice (or whatever that smell is) smelling natural food store. 
21.  Removing 7 wet moldy swim towels from my van.  Sometimes I hate Florida.
22.  Juicing and drinking Parsley.  Experimental purposes only, not by real choice.
23.  Cleaning stupid juicer afterwards.
24.  Getting honked at when I had no choice but to change three lanes at a time.  It’s not my fault, it was a bad road design.  Don’t honk at me. 
25.  Submitting an article, then reading it and finding an error after it was too late.  Argggggg…  I’m too impulsive. 
26.  Wearing an underwire bra (this should require no further explanation).
27.  Hearing the alarm clock.
28.  Finding a dead lizard in my bed.  Not the more tolerable dried and crispy version, an actual cold, moist, squishy one. 
29.  Defending the cats while my husband cursed them after unknowingly picking up the dead lizard in the dark.  That was meant to be a gift.  You are so unappreciative.
30.  Allowing Petey to have a full fledged temper tantrum on the deck of the pool while attempting to convince him I was oblivious to his crazy behavior and simultaneously attempting to convince all nearby adults, including the suspicious looking most likely under cover DCF woman, that I was indeed his loving mother and was attempting to teach him that this behavior did not have any power.
31.  Finn

So who cares what your horoscope read  or what your joke of the day is.  Today I want you to think about 31 reasons you feel bad for me and what you might be able to do to help me out this week and ease my suffering. Please put them in either alphabetical order or prioritize them and be sure to spell check.  This is not seventh grade creative writing with Mr. Lebouton.  You are an adult.  Be responsible with your words and your punctuation.  Please forward lists no later than midnight tonight.

Thank You,
Erin

over and under

over the weekend…

under a thatched roof…

over the water…

under the influence  (of some old fashioned root beer)…

over the wood deck…

   

under the spell of the Yard Dogs (a favorite shoeless local band)…

overwhelmed…

under the palm trees…

over the age limit…

underdressed…

over the legal limit (taking shots while singing “Pukin in the Parking Lot”)…

undercover…

over tanned…

  

under age…

 over the top…

   

under supervision…

We had a fabulous afternoon dancing and eating and drinking at a local waterfront bar.

small town parades

I sat fourth of July morning with a roll of white duct tape and aching cheeks from blowing up an entire bag of tiny balloons.  I smiled realizing I’d come full circle.  I can remember my own mom decorating my banana seat bike for our own small town fourth of July bike parade when I was Tommy’s age.  She reminded me as we reminisced that at our parades there were relatively few spectators due to the fact that most of them were marching along in the parade.  I had a feeling Pine Island would be similar and I was right.    

Like most of our recent weekends, we spend the fourth on the island at the cottage. 

When we arrived at the cottage, The Eagle, our weekly newspaper was sitting on the steps of the cottage.  As Scott skimmed it for weekend events he stumbled upon the Island’s Fourth of July Celebration Parade which would include a children’s bike parade.  I took a trip to the island dollar store with the boys and we filled our arms with the necessary supplies.  Crate paper, balloons, duct tape and windsocks. 

Apparently Pine Island officials decided that the island should be on lock down during the parade.  They closed the only road and forced any traffic to wait until the entire parade was finished.  I guess when you only have one real road a detour is hard to come by. 

Pretty much everyone on the island is encouraged to participate.  Who needs a float when you have boats and boat trailers?  Not the islanders.  They just drank bloody marys and decorated and drank more bloody marys and climbed aboard and drank more bloody marys and celebrated the fourth of July.

 

If you live on the island and play any instrument I think your presence is actually required in the parade.  Even if you insist on showing up in your plastic grass skirt and your comfortable blue elastic waistband shorts and insist on warming up in the Winn Dixie parking lot.

 

The parade master decided I was the official Pine Island Eagle photographer and instructed me to send all photos to the editor.  I actually did this and received an email back requesting the name of this grass skirt wearing bag pipe man.  Seriously?  I just took his photo, I’m certainly not on a first name basis with this one.

 

 

Floats are certainly not limited to boats and trailers.  Why let a perfectly good golf cart sit at home in the car port when you could decorate it and drive it in the parade?

 

 

Even though the bike parade contest was limited to children, that did not stop the adults from dressing up their bikes and their heads and riding along.  I love this photo, no actually I love this woman.  I want to be the woman with the floppy hat and the antique bike and the patience to sting crate paper in her spokes and the balls to ride down main street in a parade just cause you feel like it.  I also sent her to the paper, and no, I don’t know her name either.

 

 

If you have a three wheeled bike and a spare portable baby swing it is highly recommended that you drive in the parade.

 

 

This was the entire boy scout troop of Pine Island.  I could actually double the size of the troop if my boys all joined scouts.  The thought of selling popcorn and becoming a den mother is not appealing though so carry on boys, carry on.

 

 

If you are lucky enough to have a boat named The Proud Mary that is already painted in such a patriotic way, rest easy.  No need to decorate, just put it on the trailer and pile on.

 

I believe every motor cycle owner on the Island participated.  

 

 

This guy made me smile.  

 

This guy made me smile more.  

 

 

What else does one do with a dollar store windmill and some white tape? 

 

 

If you know my children it will not be hard to guess which little boy insisted on wearing this headband the entire length of the parade.  Yes we walked in the parade because we had a stroller and a flag and a boy in that stroller wearing said headband so of course we marched. 

 

I take crafting very seriously.  So it shouldn't surprise you to find out that the bulge under this tape is actually one of Petey’s Crocs.  After all, what else would help balance a crate paper covered tree branch on a mud flap.  Don’t try to find this on Martha Stewart’s website, it’s an original. 

 

 

The day before I searched through the mosquito infested ditches for the perfect stick because I was certainly not paying for a stick to create my vision. 

 

Islanders were quite concerned about seating and reserved their spots early. 

 

 

Petey rode along and perfected his flag wave while Finn wowed the spectators with his princess wave.

 

 

This trailer rode in the parade near us and made me really ponder crimes in our area.  How much agricultural crime must we have in the area to actually designate an entire unit and what exactly is an agricultural crime?  I could possibly be guilty for some of these crimes if they include garden neglect and  harassing roadside cattle.

 

The sidewalks her look a little different than we’re used to.

 

 

there were even a few that looked like this. 

 

 

The parade ended at the Elks club were we went inside for some music and free hotdogs for all parade participants.  Shortly after finishing our meal we were called outside for the judging of the bike decorations.

   

As we came outside, Tommy’s bike was missing.  We looked around a bit and then noticed the judges had moved it across the parking lot to the winner’s circle.  

 

 

A smile spread across his face when the judges told him he had taken first place.  He stood a little taller and climbed aboard his creation for pictures and his medal. 

 

Later in the afternoon at the Legion, Tommy, still wearing his medal was introduced by one of the parade leaders to the entire bar.  she walked him around to each and every patron introducing him as the bike parade champion.  Tommy showed off his medal, accepted many congrats and walked away a small town celebrity with an ego far too big for this little island. 

 

Flags and Tootsie Rolls and fake Tattoos made our celebration complete.  The memories are quite persistent as I scrub my arm each day with an alcohol pad attempting to remove my glow in the dark patriot heart shaped tattoo.