It's been a few days since I last blogged. This was mostly due to the screaming, fighting cherubs who, for some reason, have been especially annoyed with each other lately. In an attempt to quell the racket, I've been spending a lot of time outside with the girls. This means that I've been gardening, weeding, vacuuming the pool, running errands - pretty much anything to keep the girls distracted and busy.
I started watching a movie on IFC the other day called "A Love Song for Bobby Long." Critics gave it three out of four stars, but didn't grab my attention right away, and I ended up falling asleep towards the beginning of it. But the point of this verbal vignette is not the movie. The point is that Scarlett Johansson played a girl who was (for lack of a better word) a "trailer trash" character. Not everyone that lives in a trailer is trashy; there were subtle visual clues that gave one the "trashy" impression, such as a filthy mess of leftover food and beer cans littering her trailer while she sat on the couch in a tube top watching soap operas and smoking, occasionally running her hand through her "femme-mullett." What struck me is that my hair looked exactly the same as Scarlett's when they were trying to make her look trailer trashy. Not the look I was going for (not that I actually go for a look - I'm happy when I get time to bathe daily, but I certainly don't want a femme-mullett, even if they are supposed to be coming back in style), and I began leaving desperate voicemails for my hairdresser friend. Sensing the urgency of my hair situation, she obligingly cut my hair in her kitchen, and I feel much better about life.
I have fought a losing battle with my youngest over weaning. Yes, she's almost two and still nurses. I keep reminding myself that breastmilk is good for my child. I keep reminding myself that in other cultures (New Zealand, for example), women nurse their children until they are four or five years old. I keep reminding myself that she will not graduate high school unweaned. I keep reminding myself of this when we are in public and she thrusts her hand down my shirt, starts squeezing my ... um, my "breastfeeding equipment" and chanting in her not-so-quiet toddler voice, "Boobies, Mom! Boobies, Mom!" Any suggestions from successful weaners are welcome. Anyway, this morning, the girls were playing on my bed while I tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep. I heard Bean say, "Cakes, I have boobies." I cracked open my eyes to see Bean trying to nurse Cakes. Later, as I changed Cakes' diaper, she tried to nurse Bean. I guess my girls have a future in lactation consultation?
We planted a second garden. All together now, what is my husband's motto? "If a little bit's good, a whole lot more's better!" Hence, garden number two, full of corn, watermelons, and Big Max pumpkins. Burnie wanted to plant pumpkins for the sole purpose of making Jack-o'-Lanterns with the children in the fall. He saw the name "Big Max" on the pumpkin seed packet, and the motto kicked in. Now, we can look forward to Jack-o'-Lanterns that are six feet in diameter and weigh 100+ pounds. Maybe we'll climb into the hollowed out pumpkin and carve it from the inside out. Anyway, we planted a virtual plethra of corn and watermelons. While I was getting my "femme-mullett" removed, I wondered aloud to my hairdresser friend what we are going to do with approximately fifty, 25-35 pound watermelons and a couple hundred ears of corn. She wisely suggested piling all excess melons in the back of Burnie's pick-up truck and parking on the side of a busy road with a sign. Sounds like a plan!
Thus concludes my random thoughts and occurrences since Saturday.
Borax-Free Slime Recipes
7 hours ago