Last day of June. The visual halfway point of 2006. Not much going on. Well, there is, but my allergies have morphed into a summer cold, so any creativity or wit I may have had at one point is slowly being smothered by a heavy pillow of snot. Where does snot come from, anyway? That was always the question in Wind Symphony in college. Hey, you needed something to talk about and when snot interfered with your playing, that was typically the topic du jour. Oh, and what brand of tissue was less likely to cause pain. Same flute section where the piccolo player (a former Marine) would “bless” us with the condensation/spit from his piccolo. Always lots of fun.
It’s always this time of year when I really start to miss playing on a regular basis. End of June was always band camp at Bands of America. I was either a camper or a SWAG. Met my husband there. Actually, because of the age difference, we were both there once at the same time, me as a camper, he as a band director. We met as SWAGs, then he was my TA in college…yeah, we really shouldn’t have been dating, but 10 years of marriage and 2 kids later, who’s going to complain? I also would go to flute masterclasses in July, usually the first couple of weeks of July. My favorite one in the whole world no longer exists (two wonderful weeks in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada), but my favorite masterclass teacher still teaches them around the world. When I get back into playing, I’ll play for him and no other. I don’t trust any other flutist to be supportive after such a long hiatus from playing. So I’m feeling the urge to pull out the flute and start blowing. But with two little boys I can’t see getting much done. Maybe I’ll try it this afternoon, we’ll see. The pillow of snot may have moved on by then.
I’m pretty tired. Partly because of the cold, partly because Tom has been on one business trip after another recently and I’ve been flying solo. Thank GOD he comes home this afternoon. Last night the boys and I played another rousing game of “You Can Keep the Toys You Pick Up.” Boys 0, Mom 1. I figure it’ll be this afternoon when they start to realize that half of their toys are missing.
It’s the used bookstore this morning; trade in old ones and get new ones.
Back from the used bookstore, where I paid an exorbitant amount on used books, mostly kid books. But I also took in two boxes, so I think I came out ahead. No point in keeping stuff around we don’t read.
The boys are having oatmeal for lunch. It’s ninety degrees out, and they’re eating hot cereal. At least they’re eating; they’re two little sticks. I’m about to start feeding them butter.
Long weekend! Full of sitting around and waiting for someone, for the love of Pete, to come and work on the basement. And fireworks. We’re having a fireworks party this weekend, full of friends and fun. And fear of fire; the hose will be out to spray down the back field when the neighbor a few doors down sets off roman candles and bottle rockets and anything else that involves setting match to wick.
We have good neighbors, for the most part. I know from bad neighbors, had some doozies growing up. Imagine the Addams Family, the Munsters, and oh, neanderthals living in a cave, and these guys had them all beat. You looked into their backyard and could just imagine explorers hacking their way through with a machete. They will never be able to sell their house, it’s going to have to be razed and rebuilt. That bad. So I may be the only person in the state of Colorado who is in favor of homeowners associations. I’ve seen first hand what havoc can be wrecked if there isn’t one. On one side of us we have a woman who loves rhubarb and doesn’t mind our kids. Yay! On the other side we have a young couple with a labradoodle who has trained our boys to come out when she barks. Smart dog; I have a hard time training the boys, and she’s got the running when she calls! They laugh at A and J playing “Captain Underpants and Boy Pullup” (yes, this involves them stripping to their skivvies and running around the backyard), but I’m pretty sure the boys been strong birth control for them. There’s another young couple across the street. We like them, but we have to laugh. Tom and I are convinced that their hobbies are simply washing their cars, landscaping, and inventing projects around the house…things we don’t have the time, and frankly the inclination, to do. So we snicker with a heavy dose of envy. That became a full-fledged guffaw when we heard they are expecting in January. That gives them a 3 month-old when spring (and car-washing, landscaping, and project season) hits. Insert sweet yet evil cackle here.
I suppose, with my Anti-Britney stance, that I should comment on her recent magazine cover. I’m going to state something here, and I’m going to stand by it, no matter what. Ahem…that.photo.is.airbrushed. No woman, NO WOMAN, pregnant with her second child in as many years looks that good. It is not physically possible. No stretch marks? No way. Perfectly smooth skin? Huh-uh, ain’t happening. I really do feel sorry for her. It is hard to be a mom, and having the media snipe on every move has got to be devastating. But here is the real reason why I feel sorry for her; it finally hit me this morning. She has spend the majority of her life “being” a certain role. A Mouseketeer, a pop princess, a tartlet. Roles that are impossible to reconcile with being a mom. Heck, I can’t reconcile my previous life with being a mom, and I wasn’t a tartlet! So in growing out of that role, she decided to become a mom, to see if that role fit, figuring that she’d know on the other side what her new role should be. Ok, on the other side, no knowledge, let’s go for another, buy some time. It seems that she’s finally starting to wake up to how society actually sees her. I really wish her the best, but she’s gotta get her act together. It worries me that she is a role model for young girls. Then again, this could all just be the cold medicine talking.
I suppose I should actually go do something with my day. This stream of consciousness diarrhea of the brain is probably boring you to sleep. If you made it this far, I’m really sorry. I think the snot pillow has grown to epic proportions, only to be beaten down by caffeine and lunch. Have a good weekend, don’t blow any fingers off.