What's Been Happening

Two tragedies happened yesterday (Saturday, July 24th, 2010). The first happened when I took Miriam jogging with me and Mr Wilson Saturday morning. Miriam and Cowen have been begging to ride their bikes while I jog, so I took Miriam. There is a fairly steep hill at one point on the trail I normally jog. Miriam walked her bike down most of the way, and then rode the rest. She started going faster than she wanted to, hit the brakes, and hit the pavement shortly thereafter. Sad, sad. Her face was pretty scraped up, one of her eyes is a little bruised (she landed on her forehead, mostly), and her one arm was pretty well skinned.

Good news: no broken bones.

What I am about to say I say with appreciation for the two kind (clearly childless) bikers who saw Miriam's wreck and wanted to be helpful. They meant well. But . . . for those of you who have not yet acquired children, a small bit of advice. Do not ever make a fuss over a wounded child as it convinces said child that he/she is dying. Do not say things like, "shock" or "carry to the car" as it makes the child think he/she has broken legs, when in fact, that is not the case. Do not hover. It annoys children like Miriam who hate having people looking at them and encourages the children who revel in being the center of attention. That is all.

The second tragedy happened after supper. I had leftover cream from making roasted garlic mashed potatoes the other day, so I made up a batch of fudge. When I was cutting the first piece for dessert, I DROPPED THE PLATE, the plate SHATTERED, and little pieces of glass infiltrated the fudge. We ate the top layer (this if FUDGE we're talking about, after all), but had to throw half of it away. WAAAA.

I told Cowen I'd signed him up to ride a sheep and participate in a greased pig competition (doesn't that make you think of Derek and Trevor) and Cowen immediately had to put on his chaps, just to make sure they were ready for the junior rodeo.

Dancing. I think Eli looks like a barrel in a tutu.

Dog days of summer. It has been HOT.

Huckleberry Finn.

Miriam loves the dogs. She'll go lay under the tree with them--just content to be with them. She also, of course, thinks up a gazillion things she SHOULDN'T do with them every day. It's tiring. Good thing Patsy has doubled in size in the short time we've had her. I can't protect her forever.

Summertime, and the house is dirty. Dogs are playing, and supper's still not made. You know your kids are wet, and the house is 300 degrees. Hey pretty Mama, don't you cry.

(It's more fun if you sing it. Despite my brilliant lyrics (I should be a song writer), really, the last week has been fun and we're all enjoying the more laid back days of summer. Me and the heat just do not get along. In fact, I bought a Christmas present the other day just to remind myself that summer can't last forever and more humane temps will eventually return. That knowledge alone gets me through summer somewhat sane.)