Charlyn’s Web

TG has been calling our Pastor- “Master Bill”. I think she must have confused “Mister” and Pastor- blending the two to create “Master”. This has tickled us and provided some teasing fodder. But in this little exchange she got it all right.

I was saying night time prayers with the girls and said something along the lines of “Bless Pastor Bill and Ms. Bea. Amen.”

TG looked up at me with a tender look on her face and said “I love Pastor Bill!”

KJ, not to be out done, chirped “I love Pastor Bill too… and his husband!”

That will be news to him in more ways than one!

Gardening is a particular challenge in our part of the world. The combination of a western semi-arid climate, relatively high pH soils, and aggressive wildlife spell disaster for most crops.

Our typical last frost date here is May 10 – 14, when sensitive plants can be finally planted outdoors. Our first killing frost of the autumn usually comes around September 20 – 25. This leaves us a scant 4 months with which to grow most tender vegetation. Unfortunately this “growing season” is fraught with other difficulties, not the least of which is daily temperature extremes. It is fairly usual to have differences in temperature of 50° to 55° F (28° – 31° C) between the daytime high and the nighttime low. Thus, on a day reaching 100° F (38° C), an overnight low of 45° F (7° C) is not uncommon. For the last few years — including this one — we’ve had near-freezing temperatures occurring even in early August. Most plants will not thrive under such conditions, and blooms on plants such as tomatoes and peppers will not set fruit except for on those occasional nights with much warmer temperatures.

JustMe’s help in preparing, planting, weeding and watering the garden this year has been instrumental in making it look the best it ever has. As we receive almost no rain all summer long, just keeping things irrigated can be a big job on our acreage. The potatoes and onions were looking fantastic, leaf lettuce was growing nice and lush, zucchini doing great, and some other vegetables struggling along, but mostly surviving.

Now we expect deer to be destructive, so I put a motion-sensor “scarecrow” impact sprinkler in one corner of the garden to keep the deer moving along. Unfortunately, the scarecrow isn’t supposed to be out when it will freeze, so our early season crops were picked over until mid-May when the deterrent could be permanently placed. Since that time it has proven to be an expensive device that seems like a good idea, even if the current implementation has definite room for refinement and enhancement. In the end, I think our strategically placed dog (tied up in the vicinity of the garden) has proven to be more effective than the scarecrow.

We have gophers, too. They have destroyed some of our young trees in the past, so their presence was anticipated. I placed another modern technological marvel in the soil of the garden, a battery-operated “sonic” probe that is supposed to dissuade ground-dwelling rodents from burrowing in its proximity. Within a week after the gopher chaser went in the ground, we had new mounds appearing in the garden. …sigh…

But, to be honest, the deer and gopher problem has paled in comparison to a much greater menace. This menace has decimated all of our leaf lettuce, damaged radishes, zucchini, onions, and tomatoes (some of the few fruits that had actually appeared). It has stripped ears of corn, damaged a few canteloupe fruits that were barely growing, and — get this — dug up and destroyed many potatoes! What on earth could cause all of this devastation, and prevent us from enjoying the fruits of our labors?

Pheasants.

Yes, pheasants! Amazingly they sneak in, peck most anything they can, and they are *very* destructive. In all fairness, we think they are more after the moisture in the fruits and vegetables, particularly the potatoes, but the end result is the same.

We’ve tried being nice. We even spent some more money putting in a bird bath in another part of the yard where they could enjoy some water. Bird baths are not cheap, you know. Do they use it? No. Apparently the garden is much more attractive.

Of course you realize, this means war!

Patience is a virtue, so I am told. Motherhood will expand that virtue farther than you ever thought possible and in the strangest ways. One of my expanding (no puns intended) places is in public restrooms.

Public restrooms may seem an odd place to grow patience but they are a breeding ground for it. They are inherently disgusting, with the germs, lack of cleanliness and smells, to begin with; throw in my two heathens beautiful little girls and you have quite the breeding ground for the testing of Motherly Patience.

We usually use the handicapped stall because I insist that we all use the same one. Once, I let KJ go into a stall by herself and had to crawl under the door to get her out. Granted it was in an office building and fairly clean but the horror of that incident has left me with the heeby geebes. I anticipate that she will be 27 before I let her go in alone again. I herd them in and then listen to the argument about who is going first. It’s usually Miss Walnut Bladder, especially if she is doing the Pee-pee dance. She then stands in front of the toilet, waiting for me to pull her pants down. This is the child whose favorite thing to say is “Me Do It!” but for some reason when we are crammed in a stall, she can’t. Well, it is hard to get your pants down over those fast moving legs doing the complicated steps of her dance. Then it’s KJ’s turn. She always manages to drag her skirt (because she is almost always wearing a skirt) on the floor. While we wait for her, TG tries to look under the walls to see what is going on next door. By this time, my teeth are starting to grind together as she touches the floor which, according to people who study such things, is the dirtiest, most germ filled place in the restroom. If we are lucky enough to have company in the next stall, we get the loudly spoken questions about what she is doing. “Who is that? What is he doing? Oh! (giggle) Going pee!” I am loudly saying to never mind what that person is doing, it’s not polite to look under the wall and to please, get off the floor! I hope my stressed out voice is drowning out her comments. Then, lucky me, it’s my turn. By this time everyone else seems anxious to leave the confines of the stall and are actively trying to get the door open. “Don’t mess with the door….Don’t MESS with the DOOR!” I have a thing about exposing myself to the world. Then there is the trauma of flushing. It’s noisy and it’s been decided that it is unbearable. So I have to let them out before I flush so that they will be farther from the offending noise.

If, for some reason, we crowd into a “normal” sized stall it is much more thrilling. It’s almost like a clown car. Who are these “normal” sized people that can easily get into them? We crowd in and then have to orchestrate where everyone stands so we can get the door closed. Once one is done then we have to reshuffle. And getting out is an exercise in itself. They always seem to be in a hurry and not waiting to get everyone into a good position. One is getting squished behind the door while the other is getting stuck between the door and the toilet paper holder. I am pushed up against the toilet by the door, trying to help out.

Once we are free of the confines of the stall. Deep breath. We “get” to wash our hands. This is another test of patience as faucets get turned on and soap is reached for. Ever notice how high up the soap dispensers are? Of course not because you are an adult. They are always too high for kids but kids are the independent ones who insist on “doing it myself!” The things to push to get the soap out are also pretty stiff and hard for a kid to do one handed. I once had wet hands when I lifted TG up to get her soap and her shirt got wet. Now, I get to listen to her remind me EVERY TIME to not get her wet. She is such a nag. As I am telling KJ to not touch the faucet and leave the water running her little hand shoots out and pushes down the handle. I hand them towels- the hand blower is too noisy and we don’t like it- and say “don’t touch anything!” as I wash my hands. I look around to see TG playing with a stall door handle and KG touching the walls. We go to leave and before I can get there with a paper towel to open the door, their hands are all over the handle and the door itself. Why did I bother to wash their hands?

By this time, any patience I had in reserves is gone. I am stressed out. The only thing I have left to look forward to is getting to do it all over again in about an hour.

It’s a vegetable that grows proficiently in the garden. Everyone screams when they see you coming with some in your hands.

It’s KJ that can say it correctly but HP that has said it that way for many years but now he says it correctly.  TG hasn’t named it yet. But she’ll eat it- sometimes.

Guess who wanted to get them?

No other shoe would do. Once her dancing brown eyes spied them, that was it. No more looking.

They look like Dorothy’s Ruby Slippers but pink with a black bow on the toe.

Her feet will sparkle all over the place.

What do you wear when your clothes are picked out by a perky 4 year old who loves pink?

You guessed it. A pale pink button down short sleeved shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots.

She is exceptionally fond of the black cowboy boots. I don’t think Col. Panic’s feet are as fond of them.

I bet he was the best dressed guy in pink at the office that day. It’s a good thing he is secure in his masculinity.

Now honestly, see if don’t you think it would be pretty hard to be upset with this otter:

(Click thumbnail to see full-sized photo)

I’m allergic to it.

Every August I sneeze, get stuffy and watery and miserable over all.

I have a “thing” about taking medication.  I try to avoid it as much as possible.  Just slightly insane that way.  Therefore, I wait until I am truly feeling terrible before I start taking anything.   This year, however, I have taken a more proactive approach.  In July when I first noticed stuffiness and sneezing I started taking a generic allergy medicine.  I have kept it up plus following some allergy advice from my Cousin.  I washed the pillows and have been keeping the sheets washed better.  Overall I have been doing better this year.   I was thinking it was silly to say that as so much of August was left but then I realized it was the 23rd!  Which means we are on the down hill stretch.

I have still had a stuffy nose and a little sneezing but overall it’s been tolerable.

I don’t know if it is the more proactive approach or if something is different this year outside.   But I’ll take it!

Long string-like things, usually covered in red sauce. A favorite dinner dish. And it usually is messy, especially when a person insists on eating it with her fingers.

Col. Panic leaps out of bed each morning (not really but it sounds good) leaving me to rock in the waves of his departure. He enters the bathroom and shuts the door. I am prepared to quickly drop back to sleep. Sleep is important to me.

Then I hear it. The barely perceptable sound of feet on the carpet and the sounds of the bathroom door being opened.

“Hello Papa!” yells a little voice.

Groan.

Usually, I can go back to sleep, lulled by the sound of the shower but now my sleep is disturbed by an Otter singing.

Loudly.

Or talking.

Loudly.

Or laughing.

You get the point.

Then they emerge from the bathroom and she proceeds to help him pick out what he is going to wear that day. Sometimes she whispers.

Then they leave the bedroom and I am left in relative quiet, except for the occasional sound floating down the hallway. Then… they return!

One is inexcusably happy, cheery, even bright.

Disgusting. A Morning Otter.

Morning people. They are so…so….so peppy! How could this child be mine? And an Otter too? (here you thought she was a chipmunk). Otters are fun loving- as in not serious people. They laugh at many things. Apparently, they like MORNINGS and getting up early.

Groan. I don’t know where she got it. Not from me! It’s all the Col.’s fault.

Usually is anyway.