We made a beach trip with some of our best buddies. We brought brownies, they brought their new $5 boogie boards. Hours passed in a moment and then, when we were sand-covered and the ocean had laced salt onto our limbs and we had piled into our hot car that still smelled of chocolate and turned north to head home, J said, “Can we get boogie boards?” Continue reading
The day before the solstice, we went to the beach. We were sweatshirted up, expecting June Gloom, but there was not a cloud in sight when we pulled into the parking lot. The Pacific was sparkling green-blue over gray, celebrating the sun with us. We peeled off the layers, and the kids raced on the sand, and our hands were sticky with peach juice and it felt like summer was starting. Continue reading
With the springtime falling of rain, our yard washed over with dandelions. As each came into its own puffy fluffy fullness, Lucas would find it. Each newly-found dandelion was a discovery, a delight, a cause for celebration. And after each celebration there was a pause, while he considered to what use he should put this particular wish. Then his lips would pucker like a kiss, and with a whoosh the seeds would sail into the air, off on their own adventures and (I suspect) eventually coming back round to our own weed-riddled grass, to sprout and to grow and to flower again. Continue reading
The boys have been intent on reminding me this week that THOSE ARE NOT WEEDS! They are FLOWERS! Their insistence comes after I went on a bit of a rampage clearing out a flower bed and into the green bin went a heap of their beloved sour grass. But they are not alone in their enthusiasm; at our market this past Saturday I met a farmer whose entire acreage is given over to what grows there of its own volition. She had strawberries for sale, tiny red ones. In big buckets were curvy-stemmed, three-foot-tall gaggles of weeds. Or flowers, if you’d like. With thoughts of my guys, I brought home a bunch. Continue reading
There are many brands of maternal guilt that can swamp us. The version I’m currently swimming through involves failing to notice, despite three days worth of complaints about “itchy” hands, that my son was having a life-threatening allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I did notice, eventually – right around the moment he woke up covered in head-to-toe, blistering welts, his eyes swollen to bloodshot slits. Continue reading
Today was my co-op day for Jacob’s class. I was working outside, at the round brown table under the big juniper tree, helping the kids make flowers out of enormous coffee filters and green pipe cleaners. They painted them with liquid water colors – vibrant springtime greens and pinks and oranges, yellows and purples, bright turquoise. Jacob and a handful of other kids concentrated on their blooms as his teacher and I watched. “I love the colors,” I said.
“I picked them for spring,” she said. Continue reading