We were gone at a cottage for the last week, and I didn’t mention it here; maybe because I’m paranoid, or maybe because having the stroller stolen made me really really want never to experience that again; in any case, it seemed unwise to advertise our absence on a public forum. We thought there was no internet access at this cottage, so I happily went cold turkey. It was easy. (It turned out there was internet access, but I chose to pretend otherwise). Now I’m not sure how to catch up, or even whether that’s possible in this fast-moving always-present-tense blogland. Right now, I have the more pressing issue of an empty fridge and hungry family (and somewhat ill husband), so shall set out to hunt and gather at the local grocery store. We missed last week’s CSA offering, and Nina’s buying club, and I’m feeling the effects. Where is the wall of greenery to greet me when I open the fridge door? It isn’t summer if I don’t need a machete to fight my way to the soy milk.
Would you guess the temperature is 18 degrees Celsius, and the water in Lake Huron approximately two degrees above freezing? But our afternoon on the beach was entirely summery, with awkward sunburns to prove it (under one eye? backs of knees? the exact spot where Kev applied sunscreen to my spine?), and included burying each other in sand, searching for fossils in tiny stones, building a castle/moat, eating ice cream and french fries, and ending the day at my brother and sister-in-law-to-be’s nearby farm. The surrounding fields of canola are stunning, fluourescently yellow, glowing in the dusk. We finished the day with a campfire.
Now it’s Monday morning and I feel Monday morning all over … the kids are outside in the hammocks having the following conversation: “What’s Mommy doing?” “She’s inside.” “Do you know what she’s doing?” “She’s playing on the computer.” “No, she’s working on the computer.” “No, she’s playing.” “Grownups don’t play on the computer.” “I think she’s checking her me-mail.” Now that’s a good word for it.
Can anyone see CJ?