Monday, July 4


I grew up in the woods. I know there are many people who would assume that Southern California doesn't have any woods . . . but I assure you, it does. This means I am somewhat conflicted when it comes to fireworks. Living where 1 spark will set large chunks of your community ablaze can do that. Particularly when your dad is the Fire Captain for said community.

My husband has no such conflict. He grew up (maybe 20 miles but worlds away) in a subdivision where kids played with sparklers and every block had it's own fireworks display.

Needless to say this is an area where we don't always see eye to eye.

He thought it was cute that I held a sparkler for the first time at our first 4th of July together. He rolls his eyes when I forgo the 'privilege' of lighting the next fountain. And he shook his head when I was hesitant to hand our young son (Elroy, maybe 3 or 4 years old at the time) a lit sparkler even under supervision.

I know he really doesn't see what the big deal is. For him it's a right of passage. To be old enough to be trusted with setting up or lighting fireworks is a big deal in his family.

For me . . .well, for me 4th of July meant going to a large city sponsored show with my mom and siblings, worrying about my dad (who was on call at the fire station) and hoping that some firebug hadn't managed to set the mountain on fire so we could still get home.

So, tonight we'll grill and enjoy the warm night and the show with friends and family, and I'll quietly hope that when the man I love plays with fire, he won't get burned.

Friday, July 1

'Cause it's late . . .

I was going to tell you about getting run over by a motorized wheelchair at Disneyland a couple of weeks ago . . .
but it's late, and I should be sleeping.

The last 2 weeks have been . . . let's say . . . difficult.

The girls are all walking (and climbing) and once again teething (which means biting). Bam-Bam is still working on potty training. Elroy is home on summer break. Hubby's hours for his day job have changed (better or worse I don't know yet, we'll just have to see), and my help during the day is gone for the summer.

I should probably qualify that last statement. My mom has been helping me 6 days a week (when Hubby is working) since I was on bed rest during my pregnancy with the girls. This has been tremendously helpful as just getting into the store takes 2 carts and (it certainly feels like) a dozen sets of hands.

For the past year (give or take) my parents have been searching for a property to be their (for now) vacation house and (in the near future) their retirement property. They finally found one they love and were able to purchase it, but it needs a lot of t.l.c. . . . . So they are spending July (and already spent the latter half of June) at their new place making it into their place.

Which leaves me rather . . . trapped. I may need to mention that I have a low tolerance for cabin fever.

And, because I like a challange, the past 2 weeks have also included swim classes for the boys (Hubby is even in the pool with Bam-Bam). So there's an upper limit on how long I can take at anything during the day. But tomorrow is the last class and Hubby has Fridays off for the next month. Hopefully I can coerce I mean convince some of Hubby's family (who live less than a mile away) to come and give me a hand 1 or 2 days a week while my mom is gone. If not . . . maybe Hubby can watch the kids while I take the ever expanding laundry pile to the laundromat on Fridays, 'cause I can't seem to get caught up.

Laundry is kind of like sleep that way. . . . I really should be doing more of it.