Things I had forgotten about having a house full of kids

None of this should be a surprise, I tell myself. We raised our own children and fostered a bunch of other children while going to grad school and holding down jobs and staying mostly sane, so nothing I'm seeing this week should surprise me.

And yet: I can't believe how quickly that loaf of bread disappeared, and didn't we just buy a gallon of milk? Where did all the sweet corn go? Why does the refrigerator look as if it's been attacked by ravenous beasts instead of three small and (mostly) harmless children?

Why are there no forks in the drawer? How can the dishwasher be full again so soon?

How many socks can six little legs wear? Are the dirty socks multiplying in the laundry basket?

Why does my front yard look like it's sprouting colorful fungi in the shape of wet boots? 

Am I seriously going to have to buy another jar of peanut butter? 

Do I have to think about cooking again today? Didn't I just cook yesterday? Where did all the leftovers go?

Finally, some peace and quiet when my son takes his nieces and nephew to play Putt-Putt and go to the pool--but who's this on the phone? One of the kids is sick? And I need to drive to town to pick her up so the others can have more fun? I mean, what was I going to do with my peace and quiet anyway?

So life is a little nutty right now but I can't complain. The grandkids are doing a great job helping keep the chaos at a dull roar--folding their own laundry, matching their own socks, fetching their own boots out of the front yard--and they're bringing lots of fun and energy into the house. We've gone on a creek hike and colored pictures and blown bubbles and we've just finished decorating a cake with fresh spring berries, and every day we get to see wonderful photos from their parents' journeys in Italy.

But also I'm delighted that the creek is low with no chance of flooding out Grandma and Grampa Camp. So even as we're horrified at the news of flash floods washing away children in Texas, we hold our grandkids close and pray for the families still wondering whether they'll see their children again.

In for some wild times

July! Academic summer is half over, but Grandma and Grampa Camp has just begun. My daughter and son-in-law will be making beautiful music in Italy for the next two weeks, so I went to fetch the grandkids and bring them here. My son has come back from South Africa with photos and fun gifts, so he'll be here to play the role of Fun Uncle while the grandkids are here.

Already they've helped me shop for groceries, examined the garden, thrown rocks in the creek, and met the chicken. (Marauding raccoons reduced the chicken population to one, but the chicken run has been thoroughly reinforced and the raccoon population has been significantly reduced. At some point there will be more chickens.) Now the little imps are doing crafts while wearing the adorable Springbok rugby jerseys their uncle brought back from South Africa. 

Day One of Grandma and Grampa Camp will soon be in the books and so far we've all survived. Tomorrow we're off to The Wilds to see some wildlife and then who knows what might happen? We're in for wild times...while I try very hard not to hear the clock ticking down toward the start of the fall semester. 

Fun watching the kids pursue their interests.

 

Sweet, sweet, sweet corn season

The best way to eat sweet corn, of course, is to chomp on one buttered ear after another while  standing up in a field with your closest high-school friends and listening to a bluegrass band singing "Just a Bowl of Butter Beans," but since you're not a teenager anymore and online "research" reveals that the Zellwood Sweet Corn Festival ceased operations in 2013, you'll have to go with the next-best way to eat sweet corn--start the water boiling on the stove first and then run down to your garden to pick a dozen ears, shuck 'em, and then plunge 'em into the water within minutes of removal from the stalk.

But if you don't have a garden or your corn patch is not yet producing or, tragically, the raccoons have removed every single ear (it happens!), the next-best way to eat sweet corn is to drive a few miles up the road to a farmstand surrounded by cornfields and pick out a dozen ears that have been picked that very morning and then drive home and cook the ears within a few hours of being removed from the cornfield. Brilliantly yellow, sweet, and crisp, they taste like summer and sunshine, and even if there are only two people at the table, a dozen ears won't last long.

That's life (and death) in the slow lane

I wonder how many times the checkout clerk at the grocery store has to listen to the same complaints about the weather? Nothing but hot hot hot all day long, and once you've covered the heat, you can move on to the humidity.

I've been watching the bottlebrush buckeye finally start to bloom and today I decided to go outside and see what sorts of pollinators I could photograph--but first I had to stand around and wait for the camera's lens to adjust to the outdoor temperature. The minute I stepped out the door, the lens fogged up. 

Only a few of the bottlebrushes are blossoming, so I stood near a cluster and waited for the pollinators to come to me. No hummingbird moths so far although I saw one this morning at one of our flowerpots on the porch. I did, however, enjoy watching a zebra swallowtail flit from one flower to the next, never alighting anywhere for long. I saw some wasps and bees but didn't hear the incessant buzzing sound that surrounds that bush when it's fully in bloom. A day or two from now it'll be alive with buzzing things.

Meanwhile, some of the denizens of our demesne are no longer alive and buzzing--or clucking, as the case may be. A raccoon ravaged the chicken run the other night, escalating the ongoing man vs. raccoon war. The chicken run has been reinforced and raccoon traps have been distributed. Current score: a half dozen missing or dead chickens and one deceased raccoon.

Finally, our son returns tonight from his two weeks in South Africa. I asked him to smuggle out a giraffe but how would he fit it in his carry-on bag? He'll be exhausted after spending the better part of 24 hours in transit, but it will be good to see the social butterfly coming home to roost. 

 

I'm melting, I'm melting!

The problem with working in overly air conditioned offices is that stepping outside the building feels like walking into a solid wall of heat. Yesterday I was carrying heavy things across campus and I honestly wanted to lie down and melt into the pavement--much easier than trying to breathe in that heat.

But I felt more sorry for the very competent and highly qualified job candidate who gave a fine presentation yesterday. We'd been warned in the morning that the College would try to save energy by cutting back on the air conditioning in the hottest part of the day--exactly when this visiting candidate's presentation was scheduled. 

The room was crowded. 

The candidate was wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt and tie.

The presentation, as mentioned, was excellent, but I was distracted by the progress of the sweat marks slowly spreading down this poor man's shirt. By the end of the hour he looked as if someone had doused him with champagne in premature celebration--but the fact that he performed so valiantly under hostile circumstances suggests that he's equipped to endure the trials of administrative service.

I, on the other hand, am preparing to endure the trials of administrative gobbledegook. This morning I'm presenting some committee-constructed prose to the Powers That Be and steeling myself for their responses. Earlier in this process, very passionate people told me, "If you take out the phrase 'liberal arts,' you'll destroy the College," while others said, "If you include the phrase 'liberal arts,' you'll destroy the College." Can't please both of those parties, and it's wearing me out trying.

But at least I don't have to present this prose in a sweltering room. In fact, given the indoor conditions in campus buildings, I'd better take a sweater. 

Summer is icumen in

This is the forest primeval I thought as I walked carefully through the mud into our upper woods this morning, except it's not the forest primeval--it's just a little fringe of woods at the edge of the upper meadow, with the early light filtering through the pines in a way that made it look lovely, dark, and deep.

The mud was deep and slippery thanks to recent frequent storms, but it ought to dry out this weekend as the heat wave hits. I made it to the Farmers Market before 9 a.m. this morning but still had to retreat to a shady spot to chat with a friend. Hot hot hot! Our electricity supplier has warned us to expect brown-outs as everyone who wants to keep comfortable cranks up the AC.

But it felt good to be out and about this morning. I saw a flicker and some hummingbirds, heard the kingfishers down by the creek, visited the chickens and admired the sun shining through sycamore leaves. Now, though, I'm staying indoors. After a long wet spring, the summer sun has come to stay.

 

The wild columbines make these lovely seed pods.

Sentinel beneath the birdfeeders.

That beeping stinking blasted ARGH

Everything is upside-down this week: My house is eerily quiet while my building on campus is abuzz with incessant beeping. I'm supposed to be at home doing whatever one does while builders tear a bathroom down to the studs, but instead I'm in my office trying to get a little work done despite the annoying alarm that keeps sounding for no apparent reason. What happened?

To no one's surprise, the bathroom project has been delayed. I knew the whole process seemed to be moving too smoothly! The tub is on backorder and won't arrive until late next week, but the grandkids will be here for two weeks starting July 1 and, given their predilection for playing in the filthy creek and working in the garden, we will need two functioning bathrooms during their visit. So the bathroom renovation has been rescheduled to begin July 14, at which point I'll be on the highway driving the imps back to their own house.

You will recall, however, that I spent a ridiculous amount of time last week clearing EVERY SINGLE STINKING THING out of the kids' bathroom, but now I'm going to need to put many stinking things back in there. Not all. In the process of cleaning, I located a stash of old curling irons and some other things we really don't need, which will be going to the Goodwill. I will put towels and soap and so on back in there, and someone is going to have to put up that blasted shower curtain--but not until I buy new hooks. I refuse to wrestle with those horrible old hooks ever again.

Meanwhile, my husband has been wrestling with the incessant issue of raccoon visits--this time in broad daylight. The squirrel baffle doesn't deter them at all, but at least this time the raccoon didn't disassemble the birdfeeders. We have two new feeders out there that may be more difficult for raccoons to open--or maybe it's just a matter of time. 

Given the raccoons' manual dexterity, maybe I'll ask them to put up the shower curtain. It's time the raccoons contributed something to the household.

Go ahead, make yourself at home.