We picked peaches yesterday. When I went to weigh out, I found I'd spent 100 bucks! OUCH!! On bruised and smashed, 1/2 rotten, 1/2 unripe peaches the kids tore off the trees. My guess is that peaches have never had child-labor problems.
And so I finished off the jamming process already begun by my progeny. I pumped up the jam last night until I collapsed. But it never set. So for Christmas this year, you get lot's of peach ice-cream topping!
Blue had it on her sandwich today and whined that it was too sweet and sloppy and so I sent her
to her room. I told her not to come down until I was over it. Twenty minutes later I let her out, hoping I was past the impulse to whip her ass. Pride is a terrible thing to wound in a mom. Blue's toast was on the table for four hours, but damn-it! She was going to eat it and LIKE IT! So... when she was helping in the garden she ate probably 2 pounds of green beans, having turned her nose up at her lunch. She finally ate it so she could go play with the neighbors. That's how much work and money went in to that jam. And, on top of all that, I threatened that if she says one more negative thing about my $100 peach jam, she's going to eat nothing but peach "jam" until it's all gone. Peach damn. (Dear CPS: joking! I mean, I did say that, but I didn't mean it.)
Meanwhile, Coyote is still waiting for a clean pair of unders. He's been sitting around naked all day staring at the ceiling. I told him he better find something creative to do and he told me he WAS doing creative things, just in his head. I hope the laundry fairy comes soon so he can go outside.
I think I'm over summer vacation. Listen to me brag about my creative parenting skills. I may not qualify as a great mom, but I think I might be pretty memorable. Which is important. It would be terrible if my children forgot me.
It's not all been "another hot day and school doesn't start for a week still... still..."
For instance, we had a fabulous time toting King Louis le cat to the vet this week. He's a great mouser. Large. But he seems thinner lately and I've been worried about worms. So I hauled out the plastic carrier he destroyed last time we took him anywhere. He's destroyed it at least five times, which is every time, except the one where we tried to drug him. And instead of getting a new, steel cage, cheapskate that I am, I fix it up real good. And with each new experience I prolong his escape by minutes more. And this time, that cat was NOT going to get out. No WAY!
I took the carrier out to our pile of fencing left-overs and I cut a piece to wrap around the previously shattered door. But that door had been plastic. This would be one-inch-by-one-inch galvanized steel. And after shredding my arms and hands with sharp wire edges, I finally had it locked in to place. And the coup de grace? A metal shish-ka-bob skewer as the latch.
It was a little difficult to sieve the King through the narrow opening I'd left. But once he was in, I wrapped fencing wire around and around.
It began innocuously enough, with a paw reaching out to pull in a plastic garbage bag. But with in minutes, he deftly reached through those inch wide holes, which now seemed gaping and large, and easily tore the upholstery off the passenger side door. Swearing profusely, I pulled over and tossed that kitty into the back. The kids loved this, as they churned around in their seats to get a good look at the beast. They screamed and shrieked and I could not really comprehend what they were saying. I mean, I heard the words, they just didn't register as coming from the realm of possibility. Until I pulled over again to see for myself. Using his one claw, Louis had hoisted himself and his carrier across the back of our CRV and had embedded his claws in my best pair of fancy shoes and was tearing them apart... leaving a few claws behind.
"PULL OVER!" They cried, in the choreographed unity only pure chaos can create.
"I can't pull over." I, actually calmly, declared. "If I pull over, Louis will escape and he won't be able to find his way home." I catastrophized. Instead of doing something useful, I blared relaxing meditation flute music.
More screams as the cat leaped down and made his way to the front of the car. Back in the passenger seat, he had his nose right in the AC and actually seemed to be recovering from car sickness. And here is where our big game of cat-astrophizing was launched.
"Mom! He's stepping on the window controls! He'll roll it down and jump out!" And they went on and on, hilariously spotting every single contingency no matter how remote and turning it into the most likely disaster ever. We had ourselves in stitches. He finally settled down on my lap.
As we left the office, cat in hand, I instructed my team. "Okay kids. We've got to be together now. Blue, you open the door. Coyote, you hold the paperwork and run and open the door to the car. Everyone's going to have to jump into the car and shut their doors really quick. Are we ready? Okay. On three. One. Two. Three. GOOO!!!" No one opened the door. Coyote dumped all the papers. And Blue had a lot of questions before she was going to get in the car.
King Louis spent the ride home cuddled up in one kid's lap or the other. And we've all decided he will never ride in a carrier again. Unless I get resurrect this one. I haven't tried duct tape yet.
PS: my camera broke, no photos!