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Tuesday, October 04, 2016

Rutabagels and other randomness


It is 11:56 AM and I've already logged 8,528 steps on my Fitbit for today. So it shouldn't surprise you to read that I've taken the trash and recyclables to the curb, walked Carrie to the bus stop after her two hour fog delay, walked the boys to the bus stop after their two hour fog delay, hung out two loads of kid laundry, started to bake bread from scratch, remade the guest bed after Pap's visit over the weekend, drank half a mug of yesterday's coffee, picked up sticks in the yard, aired out the bedrooms, fed the dog and had her in and out several times, made two lunches, and even checked Facebook. I'm pooped! It's not even quite lunch time!

But my dough is supposedly rising in a warm place (there it sits, stubbornly, in the sunshine, not doing a darn thing) and I don't have the stamina just yet to begin on either the applesauce or the tomato basil soup which are both on the list of today's goals, so why not blog?

Yesterday I was reading to Damon while the big kids had their karate class. The books were Beekle, There's a Wocket in my Pocket, and Chicken Soup with Rice. Being the natural instigator that I am (although environs definitely played a part there as PaPa is and my Gramps was a world-class instigator as well), I inserted every possible food for the word "rice" just to drive Damon bananas. I especially liked to add "rutabagas" as it is an underused word and since it starts with an r he might have thought for a second that I'd actually get "rice" right. He was exclaiming to me that it was "rice, RICE, not rutabagels" which I thought was too hilarious to keep to myself. I didn't even bother to correct him. 

Liam is already beside himself as it is his birthday month. He can't wait for his birthday, he can't wait for Halloween, he can't wait for Trick or Treat, or the party at school, or the gifts he'll receive, or the books he wants. This kid might possibly combust before he turns eleven. 

Carrie is 110% teenager, right down to the biological clock turning her into some nocturnal creature of darkness and a zombie in the early morning light. She alternates between wildly funny with nonstop giggle fits and the other side that gives adolescents everywhere a bad name with the slouching, eye rolling, grunted single-syllable answers with no consonants whatsoever and selective deafness when called by one's own name. Repeatedly. 

She remains our resident debugger in that she is a friend to any insect anywhere who is being threatened with flushing burial at sea or stompage. She scurries to the scene to whisk said offending creature back to the Great Outdoors where they belong. I'm forever grateful, though the exploding stinkbug population isn't smart enough to be thankful. It's possibly the same dozen getting into the house over and over and over again. 

Dada is doing time with the Bigwigs who are back in town again for the second half of their training all week. This means he gets dinners out and possibly lunches in and we won't see much of him. Bummer. It's supposed to be the last beautiful okay, hot week of the year, too. If you run into him, tell him to come home so he can get his garlic in the ground on time. 

And come eat tomatoes!


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