Wherefore art thou?

I had a specific bandana in mind for today, a plain black one. As I rooted around in my bathroom cabinet where I keep them, I discovered they’ve migrated from one pile into many, hidden in with washcloths and hand towels, stray lipstick tubes in colors that don’t flatter me but are kept to write notes on mirrors, behind the rubbing alcohol, the tiny plastic treasure chests with the kids’ baby teeth, and so on.

As I pulled them out by handfuls and crowed with delight, “ohh, I forgot I had this one,” and “I didn’t even remember that I had a dark purple one,” I realized I have a whole bunch of bandanas. This is what happens when you work at camp. 

They’re so useful, beyond tamping down unruly hair. We’ve tied them around luggage handles when flying for faster baggage claim identification. Maybe that’s where my black one is hiding. I’m sure, God forbid, they make excellent tourniquets. I tied all of mine together, called it the Magic Snake, and had toddlers hold onto the knots to keep a group together. 

I seemed to remember that I also owned a white one at some point. Do you think I could find that one either? I think they’ve run off together to cause havoc in someone else’s bathroom cabinet.

I guess dark blue it is.

 

Oh, for the love of a slushee

 So this is all Mike’s fault. Or at least I blame him for the power of suggestion. That’s more accurate. He mentioned the word “slushee” the other day and because I haven’t had one in so very long, the suggestion became an irresistible itch. I don’t often sneak out and get myself a treat. It’s much more likely that I’ll “go be bad” with a partner in crime. But today I did a bunch of outside work and man, it’s hot. So I figured, “eh, I’ll grab a slushee from the gas station between here and the library.” 

I pull into the parking lot and reasoned that I may as well use the restroom first. Good thing my mother and my Nana had taught me to always check to see if there was toilet paper before doing my business, because sure enough, both rolls were empty. 

I wash my hands anyway, as I’d been working outside and was dirtier than I looked. No way to wash off my face unless I wanted to stick it under the knock-you-into-the-next-county hand dryers, which I love, by the way, so I figured I was as good as I could be. I headed out, reported the paucity of TP in the women’s room and was thanked by the cashier who promptly headed in with two humongous rolls, and I found the slushee contraptions.

After assessing the cups (small to trough sizes) and the price list, I figure a small Coke slushee should be just about right. I snag the smallest insulated cup I see, position it under the Coke spigot, turn the handle, and nothing happens. Hmm. I turn the handle the opposite direction. Still nothing. I lift the handle. Surely that will work. Nada. Have I mentioned it’s been a really long time since I’ve had a slushee? So long that I’m clearly inept.

Some poor innocent bystander comes out of the men’s restroom and I accost him. “Do you know how to work these things? Am I doing something wrong?” He looks surprised, assesses the situation and remarks, “usually they’re spinning. You should be able to just pull up on the handle.” I try it again and we both watch nothing pour into my cup. He lifts the handle of the pina colada kind next to the Coke and a jet immediately squirts into the tray.

By now the cashier is on her return trip to the register and I pivot to ask her. “Can you help me with this? Am I doing something wrong or are all of these not working?” She explains that they’d had a power outage and while power has been restored, they haven’t spun yet.

Drat! 

So off I go to the library, having had no potty break and no slushee. Alas.

After deleting a bajillion old emails and being too distracted by my lack of a cool treat (I have water in the car- that doesn’t count), I log out and walk a block to the gas station down the street from the library.

THEY have TP AND their slushee machines are spinning. Okay, select cup, select Coke (one of the few that looked like it was working, thank you, God, woohoo, a slushee!) Now a lid. Small looks about right. Nope. Okay, medium in a dome. Nope. Okay, let’s try this flat one. Not quite, but oh well. Slap it on there and none of the slushee squishes out so we’re good. Next, straw. Pocket says “spoon straws”, perfect. Grab, pay, out the door, lid blows off in the parking lot so I grab it and laugh, and my straw is just a regular long straw with no spoon on the end but is in my favorite color so I consider it a win.

Next time I’m getting a trough.

Camp Lambec 75th celebration

 The boys and I had the opportunity to visit Camp Lambec on Saturday, which is in northwest Pennsylvania. It's a little over three hours from where we are to there and while we did drive through some rain, camp was absolutely gorgeous. 

This is the camp where I grew up. I went for one week each summer to junior camp, starting in third grade. We'd arrive on Sunday and get picked up Saturday morning. It was never long enough. I always wanted to grow up and work there. It has such a special place in my heart from the friends I've made to the Lake Erie sunsets to the outstanding tuna noodle casserole to the Shenanigans pulled by both fellow campers and staff. It was here that I first really saw adults having fun with each other. I am eternally grateful to the volunteers who would give up a week of vacation to come pour love into gangly, bespectacled youngsters with the bad hair of the late 80's and early 90's. I am so thankful that they lent stability to my first sleepaway camp experience, so much so that when my parents showed up for a midweek visit I realized I hadn't missed them at all. My parents said, "now, don't tell your friend so-and-so, but her mom couldn't make it." I promptly told my friend anyway, and completely understood her vehement, "good, I don't want her here!" 

It was definitely a place of growth and inclusion and yet separation from the everyday being a daughter and sister and opened up so much more. It's hard to explain if camp isn't your thing. There's no way I could pour all those feels into words, and I've tried. I have a wonderful family. But camp proved to be a wonderful extended family. I never had time to miss home because I was so busy investing in the growth I was doing at camp. Of the four women who stood with me at my wedding, three were from camp. Every one of the men on Dada's side had spent at least a week there, and some served multiple summers. Of our family on Dada's side, only one sister in law hasn't worked there out of the three married couples of us.

 Well, I should clarify: here is where I started. Here is where I brought my bestie. Eventually, when we started to grow separately from each other (as every pair has to do, ridiculously painful as it is), she stayed here to work while I changed to the sister camp, Westminster Highlands, which is now parceled and sold off and an entirely other blog post which you could find by using that search bar in the upper left on a PC. Whole different ball of yarn, same connections, fierce love, more Shenanigans. I'm just trying to condense a story because my library computer time is almost up for the day, ack! 

So good news: Camp Lambec celebrated its 75th anniversary (which is why we were there on Saturday) and the Board and the director have some great ideas moving forward to make it more accessible. I see more camp in our future, which is always a good thing. Yay! Talk to me about more details in the near future. I am excited!

The playground has undergone some changes over the years, including the train's colorful paint job versus its more natural stain and the addition of a gaga ball arena. Even though the boys are clearly huge, they shimmied right into spots on the train as soon as we got there. That was the one feature Damon actually remembered about Lambec from previous visits. Iconic, I guess!

The side of the chapel boasted a canvas with a paint by number mural we were encouraged to work on. I can't wait to go back and see the finished product of Jesus with his lambs.

Above, the dining hall where I learned to mop and fell in love with Hobart dishwashers, haha. 

Below, the chimney remnant of Cabin 16 where my brother stayed as a camper and where our friends Jon, Tom, Mike and Jeremy stayed. We may or may not have TPed their bedroom on more than one occassion. It's not there anymore because the fence in the picture hovers at the edge of the cliff and the powers that be didn't want the cabin to start a quick slide down to the beach. Pieces of the cabin were sold as a fundraiser and I got a piece of plank for my brother.

We had an assignment to leave a fun beach rock by the flagpoles before we left. Well, the temptation to find skipping stones outweighed the memento rocks, and then when they got around to choosing those they wanted to keep them all anyway. I honestly couldn't tell you how many Lambec rocks have migrated to my various homes over the years, but it's not a few!

Leave it to my kid to find a rock that looks exactly like a potato. And his shirt reads, "Education is important, but saxophone is importanter," a Salvation Army find from my mother. 

I had planned to hit Peggy Gray's Candies first thing since they opened at 9 and the shindig at camp didn't start until 10:30, but A) we got a later start than I'd hoped and B) it looked pretty packed when we drove by, so I figured it could wait until the end of the day. One of these days when we stay for an extended amount of time, I'm going to let them buy chocolate treats to enjoy. They've outgrown the "let's pick the most gigantic lollipops we can find" stage and enjoyed perusing the wares to find the most unique, won't melt in the car, ridiculous items they could find.

Of course, no Lambec trip would be truly complete without a stop at the White Turkey in Conneaut, Ohio. Why do I never remember how humungous their irresistible root beer floats are? I had to grab three spoons so the boys could help me before it made a mess all over our tray...

And then we made it home in our respective one pieces. It's always hard to leave camp and this time was no exception. This time I had to drive, though, and couldn't blubber halfway home like I did as a camper. My bestie and I would cry pretty much from camp until we stopped at my Grammy and Gramps's house in Conneaut Lake, where she'd feed us and listen to our stories and we'd fall alseep with our heads right on the table. I'm glad Liam has had an opportunity to camp there and I'm very encouraged with the vision I feel the interim director believes in. I feel like good things are coming for camp, and that makes me ridiculously happy. Some of my very best friends in life have participated in Shenanigans with me at this very special place. 

So much for that

 So, far be it from me to declare anyone a liar, but I would like to talk to whoever writes for fashion and beauty magazines because I have a beef. Those satiny pillow cases that your luscious curls are supposed to slide across? Methinks maybe they’re not all they’re cracked up to be. Or perhaps my hair is defective. Or something. Send help.

A post of pretty things

Damon took the picture below while I was driving. The photo doesn't do the sky justice- it was definitely a beach sky. Above us were puffy white, cotton ballish clouds and further out in the sky the clouds looked blue and the sky looked white. It made me think of days at the ocean and now neither of us can wait to go to the beach, haha!

I know it's called Blue Weed, but they're so lovely.

How's our garden doing, you ask? Well, let's just say that this photo is supposed to be three rows of specific plants. One row is marigolds, one of spinach, and one of carrots. There is one marigold, not where I planted him. There is one spinach. There are no carrots. There is a lot of this stuff, which I forget the name of, and can be eaten (95% sure), not that we will unless it's the end of the world but... sheesh.

Tomatoes are something we do well. They and the basil are coming along pretty nicely.

This is me, so much of the time. Not that I'm literally a corn plant, more that I often feel I'm doing so well and being productive and pleased with myself and then I look around and realize, I'm not where I'm supposed to be at all. I'm achieving because I'm a CORN PLANT and I'm in the BEANS. *facepalm*

Damon also took this little guy's picture. This baby praying mantis was at the pool, supervising from Damon's deck chair. He'd watch the lazy river, then turn around and survey the shallow end, then turn back around to see the lazy river some more. He had us giggling because of his laps back and forth, and how he posed to get his picture taken!

He was actually the second one we'd seen while we were there. The first one was on my chair, happy to hang out on my hibiscus wrap. Then he hopped into my library book and I was worried he'd get squished. He made it onto my hand and then started to run up my arm so I took him out past the deep end and shooed him into the grass. I went back to my seat and a few minutes later we found the one lifeguarding!

Our shy doe came to visit again. The dogs went bananas and she looked so bewildered. She backed into the woods, I put the dogs in, and then she popped out of the woods in the neighbors' yard to watch me for awhile before meandering off. 

Yesterday a mama doe and her twin fawns crossed the street in front of me while I was on my walk, and then we saw them later in the afternoon while we were driving home. She was definitely watching for a good time to cross the street, so here's hoping her babies inherited her smarts! 

Our pepper patch. 

A pretty wildflower I spotted on my walk. I love identification apps on my phone. I have one for plants, one for bugs, and one for snakes!

This was awhile back, but lovely regardless. Enjoy your day!

 

All things baseball

So this kiddo finished an impressive season of baseball this summer. Sadly, they lost in the single elimination tournament but played with a lot of heart and the boys had some terrific personal triumphs. We got nice tans in the process, haha!

We also enjoyed another Mud Hens game, just We3. Damon was over the moon with delight that one of the players made not just one but two of his very first home runs for the Mud Hens and had a terrific catch in the outfield. It may have helped that this child had two cups of Pepsi, but he had a ball either way! Then we got to enjoy the fireworks for the 4th from our stadium seats. They were terrific!

The bleachers at the tournament were in full sun and therefore almost empty of people. Our big kids, of course, believe they are vampires and staked out a shady spot.  

Bittersweet that baseball is over for the year, but that's how life goes. I really enjoyed cheering on the boys and had a good time with their very nice (and quite entertaining) parents and siblings in the stands. Overall, it was a terrific season and another great team experience. 

Now let's see what Shenanigans we can get into next...

 

The Mama is...in?

 My coffeemaker shares common ground (haha) with a sign I often think of from camp. You remember in the Peanuts comics how Lucy would have a "the doctor is IN" sign? Our camp nurse's station had a similar sign that was roughly clock shaped. It featured an arrow in the middle which could point to a myriad of choices such as dining hall, camp store, and so forth. That way, back in the day before cell phones, staff and campers would know which way to start running for help. 

I scribble a lot of post-it notes for our family (or whoever cares) and leave them on glass topped stove. I have one that says, "Out for my run" which now has a line through it in pencil so that it reads, "Out for my run walk"; it's just been too hot.  Another one reads, "Off on our walk, BBS". A third says, "Napping (I hope) in the playhouse," which comes in handy during stormy seasons when I am catching up on sleep. Then I slap them on the sides of the coffeemaker until the sticky back wears off rather than write new ones each time. Sometimes I'll scrawl a funny quote from the kids and stick it on there- I know there's one featuring Dada right now but as I'm blogging from the library I can't run over and check it. The laptop, sadly, didn't appreciate its drink of water and is pouting, refusing to boot up. RIP.

Anyway, it makes me smile and think of camp, and of college where I'd first seen the idea of a quote board. The girls who had it used post-its to scrawl down the funnies and attached them to the wall. We college roomies decided we loved the idea but used a piece of posterboard instead. I carried that tradition into our home, but we haven't had one up since we repainted the hallway a few years ago, hence the drop in quotes posts. With the shape that the wall is in right now, a posterboard might be an improvement. *sigh*

I love the idea of millions of magnetic letters on the refrigerator and know that'd be a much more effective means of communication, but ours is a side-by-side and is covered in photographs, coupons, library book list receipts, grocery list papers, kid art, an invitation to a glow stick party by a small friend of ours last summer, and a myriad of other things probably classified generally as Mess. No, you can't see a picture. You'll just have to come over to view it in person.

How about you? Do you have a fun, non-texting way to leave messages? What's your favorite? Dry erase boards? Hotel notepads? Lipstick on a mirror? Do tell.

There’s a pterodactyl under our bed, and other stories

Liam, caught in the act of throwing a squishy foam orange at... someone. I forget now who the victim was. Probably his brother. Yes, that's Bos watching. And yes, Liam is in a winter sweater because the child has absolutely no body fat to speak of and is always freezing. May I remind everyone that it has been in the 90's often this summer? The house runs between 72-75 and yet he hunkers down in the basement and wonders why he's chilled...

There really is a pterodactyl under our bed. He'd been perched on our windowsill but at some point must have leapt off, unbeknownst to us. Wonder who or what he was trying to feast on... dust bunnies?

Ever have one of those mornings? That is not the proper way to get creamer into one's coffee, by the way. Would not recommend.

A quiet visitor. The dogs went bananas and gave her away.

A baby bunny steadfastly devouring his breakfast in the middle of our front walk.

 

Oh, I love a rainy night

 Apologies if this post is ramblier than usual. I’ve been awake since 4:30 or so when the lightning started. 

One, I don’t sleep well with flickering light. I discovered this fact in college with a night owl roommate who immensely enjoyed David Letterman. I did not. 

Two, this dog, this Honey Houdini who is such a sweet girl, is terrified of lightning, thunder, even precipitation alone. I kid you not; I’ve seen her go from sound asleep on the floor to a pacing, drooling, panting, frantic, going-to-lose-her-mind-and-drive-us-out-of-ours mess in a matter of seconds. If she weren’t ours, it might be funny.

We know there are among you other storm-crazed dogs. Our friends’ Sadie hides in the laundry room with her blanket. We wish Honey would hide. I don’t know if it’s because Great Pyrenees are herders and worker dogs, but she can’t stay in one place. She tries to climb over Bosley’s crate, which gets him agitated as well. She pulls stuff off the counters. (Yes, I heard that. “Well, keep your counters clear then.”) Then she might just breach them completely. Over the wall, men! So then there’s Stuff to pick up and lakes puddles of slippery drool all over the floor. And potentially a bashed over baby gate, which we use to keep both these ridiculous dogs out of the kitchen. It makes an almighty crash which ALSO scares her to death, but she never learns.

Sleeping for me during storms around here is an exercise in hilarity. I have the bedroom ceiling fan running and was graciously lent a sound machine from Thing One. My brain likes to play the Will We Let the Sound Distractions Work or Shall We Listen for Honey to Charge the Gate? Those of you with Mom Ears know exactly what I’m talking about. Was that a floorboard? That was a flush. That was a crinkle. That was a “what are you doing eating Wheat Things out of the box at 7 AM? And where did all these Oatmeal Crème Pie wrappers come from that weren’t here at bedtime?”

What? That only happens at our house? I know better. I know some of y’all tuck those kids in, go to get yourselves ready for bed, and then find a kid eating a waffle in your bed.

I digress.

I honestly dug a brand new, still wrapped, plastic Wendy’s spoon out of the picnic drawer rather than step over the dratted gate once more to reach the real silverware drawer. If that sounds strange, it’s because we put the silverware in the very last drawer of the bar counter (behind Honey in pics below) so that kitchen congestion is eased. That way people can exit the kitchen with their food, grab their silverware en route to the table, and nobody is underfoot. Except Bosley. Always. Hence the need for the baby gate in the first place. 

 I’ve tried going back to sleep, twice, but both times I’ve laid down after a period of calm, the thunder has rolled within 90 seconds, starting her back up again. I made my first attempt on the couch in the Old Lady Room, beside where my nomad, the Damonater, is sleeping in a recliner. Unreclined. My second attempt was back in bed. I actually moaned and did a face palm when I heard it, to which Dada’s response was to roll over, away from me. So here’s me at 4 something, 5 something, and now 6 something AM puttering about since by brain has to intention of waking fully yet. 

Pray for me. Supposed to be four days of storms this week. I should just go and sleep in the playhouse where I can’t hear the dogs, but then Dada would get lonely. Heh. 

At least I have my coffee…