Apparently, I stopped taking photos at this point. But these few made it onto the camera, and I send them forth into the crowded perpetuity that is Blogland. The first were taken while we were waiting for photographs, just goofing around under the tent. It stopped raining and the sun burst forth just as the ceremony began. Verklempt, I was.
So, you’re driving across town on a quiet Sunday morning when you come to a pesky “Road Closed” sign blocking the route you’d intended to take, and accompanied by various bright orange plastic barriers–fencing, pylons, easy to move, or, in a pinch, to drive over. You’re in a hurry. So, naturally, you keep right on going. Seriously, people, these “signs” are nothing but a ridiculous formality to keep out the sissies, the wimps, those who choose not to clothe themselves in an undershirt. See–it’s practically paved. Well, except for this section where you need to maneuver between two moutains of gravel, beyond which rest several massive bulldozers and earth movers in a lake of mud surrounded by piled chunks of concrete with large gas and sewage pipes poking out here and there. Hey, this is just like a video game! Like a real-life truck derby course! You just rev up the engine and go for … [insert expletive! here]. What? You’re stuck? There’s no way that could possibly be true. All you need to do is just rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine. Open the door, take a look down. There is seriously no way that your tires are completely sunk into the mud and water. Seriously. Come on! Just rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine. Umm, that’s not working? Impossible. You just need to keep revving. And look cool, look cool. Someone’s taking your photograph.
Apple-Apple is a fan of the domestic arts, and this weekend her Grandma Linda gifted her a sewing kit and fabric collection; immediately, the child got to work. First, she designed and sewed a skirt for her favourite doll, with a button at the side. Then, using material already cut out into a stocking shape, she sewed together a Christmas stocking for CJ. I have virtually no sewing skills, but can thread a needle when called upon. Her next project is to sew something for Albus’s Beary-Bear (on Albus’s request–he was very impressed by her handiwork). I love seeing her create and complete so independently. Next step … sewing machine?
Recipe for a happy after-school transition: pour any flavour of juice into molded plastic and freeze; meanwhile, raise the temperature outside and throw in plenty of sun with judicious sprinklings of shade; collapse on porch or yard or sidewalk with magical ingredient in hand; dig for ants, read a magazine, lounge, wander, bliss out. This too can be yours, if for ever so fleetingly (how long does it take a popsicle to melt?).
Imagine, if you will, trying to keep your little fellow in the house with THIS going on mere feet away. Imagine the noise this machine is creating. Imagine beep-beep-beep starting at six in the morning, continuing till after supper. Imagine an aboveground sewer pipe blocking your driveway. Imagine summer, windows open, heat. Imagine having to shout at your children not because you’re in a bad mood, and not occasionally, but because otherwise THEY WON’T BE ABLE TO HEAR YOU. Imagine yourself saying to your husband, “Uh, how soon can I lose my patience with this situation?” “Better not. Not yet.”