"Toot! Toot!"

"That's a steam engine" said B as he stood up from his chair where we were lounging poolside. I followed his gaze across the horizon to where the chugging sound originated. "Hmmm," he said, "I'll have to ask Jason about that."

After contacting our "train authority", it was established that it was indeed a steam engine. Locomotive 844, to be precise. The last of the steam locomotives built for Union Pacific Railroad, traveling from its base in Wyoming on a 32-day tour.

We went to see the specimen while it was stationed near our home. It is quite the monstrosity.

Papa was not about to let Edmond leave the train yard without a souvenier of some sort. This wooden train has become a new favorite in our household.

One Modification

The human body is truly a masterpiece. I often marvel at it's perfection and how our Maker thought of every needful thing.

I would make only one modification.

All women, after giving birth, should be granted a third arm. This arm should be allotted to the woman for two years after the birth of her child, after which it can fall off like a lizard's tail. (Which reminds me of another modification I've often wished for...all our limbs should grow back if we happen to loose them. If a lizard gets a new tail, the Mexican landscaper I met on my mission who was mourning the recent loss of two much beloved fingers, should most certainly have them back!)

Mostly I want my third arm after going to the grocery store. Now that Edmond can accompany me on foot, I often allow him to utilize his walking skills while I deftly try to maneuver all the plastic grocery bags to one finger per handle. In this manner we proceed to the front door.

The tricky part is trying to get Edmond to come inside.



After beckoning and coaxing in vain, I surrendered. I laid down my heavy burdens, which included my very heavy purse that holds all of my son's treasures.



"The sprinklers are on, Mom!" he would have said, if he could. Instead what I heard was "Wa..wa. Wa...wa".

And so we played with the sprinklers while our milk lost it's cool on the front porch. Now, these weren't your typical run-of-the-mill sprinklers. They were very tricky. While we were admiring the spray of the one in front of us, we suddenly got drenched by the one behind us.

They hunt in packs, like those creepy smart dinosaurs on Jurassic Park.

Finally, after the sprinklers who he thought were his friends betrayed him, Edmond allowed me to bring him inside. "Come on," I said, "the ice cream is melting."

Accomplished

Contrary to popular opinion and despite it's horrid reputation, I love Monday's. For me, they are a new beginning and an opportunity to impress myself with myself. Since I don't have a boss to satisfy anymore, I've settled for just trying to meet my own expectations. It rarely happens, with the exception of Monday. It is the one day of the week when I know I won't let myself down.

I thrive under deadlines, and have thus assigned Monday as my housewife day. On Monday's I awake with my checklist in mind and hurry to accomplish much. (By the way, there's something so satisfying and normal about feeling rushed in the AM.) I spend the morning doing laundry and making bread. The rest of the day is dedicated to vacuuming and bathrooms.

When B comes home from work, the house is in rare form. No mystery crumbs on the carpet, no evidence of our toddler's snack on the tile. Fresh bread. "Now this is more like it," I can almost hear him thinking. We sit down to enjoy a quiet evening of Edmond-watching, myself feeling accomplished, and B feeling grateful that I vacuumed. (The guy loves a freshly-vacuumed floor.)

Oh, that every day could be like Monday...but I only allow myself this one day where my checklist takes priority over time and experiences shared with my child. The rest of the week I allow my Edmond's agenda to take precedence over my own, resulting in half-a-dozen unfinished projects at the end of each day.

Although feeling accomplished is bliss, making car sounds with my toddler and his micro-machines is pure heaven. After all, I only have a small window of time to devote to this little person. This thought reminds me of the poem my mom cross-stitched and hung over her bed:

Cleaning and scrubbing

can wait until tomorrow

For babies grow up,

we've learned to our sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs,

Dust go to sleep,

I'm rocking my baby,

and babies don't keep.

-Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Up Through the Atmosphere

We have a reputation for impulse shopping. Usually it is with big items, such as cars, homes, and vacations. This is a habit that we have managed to squelch in recent years, although we are still guilty of indulging ourselves every now and then.

Our most recent exploit was at our friendly neighborhood Walmart.

"We'll need this," I said to B as I picked a kite off the shelf. He agreed, but switched the kite for one that he thought more cool. Edmond eyed it approvingly, then went back to petting the little horsy he had snatched out of a basket that he assumed had been placed there specifically for his benefit.

The kite was brought home and stashed in the closet for several weeks and nearly forgotten. Yesterday's blustery winds brought it to mind. I made the proposition to B, who immediately complied. As Daddy put on his shoes, Edmond and I pranced around the house singing kite songs, ode to Mary Poppins.

Let's go fly a kite

Up to the highest height

Let's go fly a kite

And send it soaring

Up through the atmosphere

Up where the air is clear

Oh, let's go fly a kite!

With the song goes the dance, a little jig that I do that is very much like Dick Van Dyke's. I really have mastered the kite dance, my husband said so...but I don't think he meant it as a compliment.

Enter: the Rhino

Ever since we saw the 4-wheeler that seats four, we knew we were meant to own one. We have been biding our time for years, knowing that it wasn't a matter of if, but when.

And so it happened last week that the stars were aligned just right, the dice rolled in our favor, our horoscopes foretold it, and fate finally had it's way with us. (Well, our tax return may or may not have had something to do with it.)

Since acquiring the Rhino, we have taken it on all sorts of excursions. It has been discovered that we can hit the speed bumps in our complex going 30 mph and hardly feel a thing. I especially enjoy driving Edmond (Britney Spears style) down to the play ground, where we dismount and entertain ourselves with the slide. We never stay long due to our anticipation of the return trip.

We have yet to obtain the rear seat and full roll cage, but these purchases are in the works and you can be sure to expect additional posts with additional pictures in the near future.

It's in Their Blood

It is logging season. That is, Papa's neighbor cut down a big tree and we have assumed ownership of the trunk and shall be using it to fuel the fireplace next winter. The task of moving said trunk to the back of the house required full usage of any and all outdoorsy tools.

It is no secret that B and his father wish themselves homesteaders living off the land on a 20 acre parcel somewhere in the Sierra Nevadas. They love the simple life, the quiet life, but mostly the opportunity to use all their toys daily. As it is, their guns, 4-wheelers, knives, boots, tents, saws, and rain gear sit dormant the majority of the time. It's a happy day when the opportunity arises to put these tools to good use.

Edmond and I watched as B and Papa attached a trailer to the 4-wheeler and began hauling the logs to the back of the house. Edmond is a Cooley Boy of the first order, and with each load I could sense his instinct to participate. I restrained him until the monstrous logs were no longer a threat to his little person.

After the last load had been disposed of and all that remained were the wood chips, I released the boy. As though he'd been the taskmaster of the entire project, he authoritatively began to load the chips into the wheelbarrow with Papa. He then stationed himself as navigator as they headed off to dump them in the playground.

It's nice to know that Edmond likes yard work. I may, however, need to remind him of this in a decade or so when the concept of laboring outside has lost it's charm.

Time Aint a Thang

The joke goes something like this:

A city dweller was going for a drive in the country. He was admiring the beautiful fields and pastures when he noticed a farmer standing under an apple tree with a herd of pigs. As he looked closer, he saw that the farmer was lifting each pig up over his head, one at a time, and allowing the pig to eat an apple off the tree.

The city dweller pulled over and approached the farmer.

"Excuse me, " said he, "Why are you lifting up those pigs to have them eat an apple off the tree?"

"Wuhhlll," said the farmer, "A pig's gotta eat!"

The city dweller raised his eyebrows and replied, "There must be one hundred pigs here! It has to take you all day to lift each pig one at a time to eat an apple off this tree!"

With a look of pity for this ignoramous city dweller, the farmer replied, "What's time to a pig?"

I remembered this joke and compared our circumstance to that of a pig as Edmond and I sat on the floor in the hallway eating cheerios.

Thirsty

It was laundry day. I loaded the dryer with my helper (or hinderer) by my side. As I put the clothes in, he took them out. He had a dialogue with each piece of clothing as he pulled it out, after which he thrust it on the floor, punishing it.

Fortunately, my handfuls had more girth and I ultimately managed to load the dryer more quickly than he was able to unload it.




The sun was beckoning us, so after our chores were done we re-aquainted ourselves with our swimsuits. To our dismay, the water was still too cold to plop Edmond in the pool. I compensated by letting him play with the shower on the pool deck.

Now, I didn't trick the poor child. I simply turned on the water and let him do as he pleased with it.

It pleased him to try to drink it.

After verifying that there were no tears and that he found this enjoyable, we carried on.

Cleansed

The outside steps which Edmond is fond of man-handling were spreading their filth all over our house. The air was so contaminated with allergens that I spent most my time trying not to breathe. The Jamba Juice I spilled in the driveway weeks ago was still there, my constant reminder of the time I could have used a third hand.

It needed to rain.

And rain it did.

Sporting hooded jackets and boots, Edmond and I went exploring.


I love the rain. The smell, the feel, the sound, the results. I went about my day with a bounce in my step.

We bounced our way on over to Papa's, where we are always welcome (bounce or not). Cousins Carly, Presley and Abigail were also present. We passed the time pushing the babies in the wagon.

That night we read "Are You My Mother?" to Edmond for the 20th time that day. It is his most recent fixation.

Some Outdoor Living Space, If You Please

Our balcony has always been a place that I avoid. At move-in, B stationed his three smokers there, all in a row. In the months that followed he proceeded to create his own little barbecue world out there, happily smoking any meat for anyone who asked him. The result was a well-fed "B the Smoker" fan club (myself included), and a greasy grimy balcony.

With the warm weather I noticed Edmond pressing his face against the glass balcony door with longing. Isn't it a shame, thought I, that we have a balcony that is too dirty for me to allow entrance for my toddler?

When it comes to Edmond, I am always quick to oblige any and all requests which he is able to communicate with me. And so I found it necessary one evening to don my rubber gloves and begin to detox the balcony. Two hours and a new patio rug later, I declared the balcony toddler-worthy.

Brazen

The day began like any other. I looked outside. It was windy. Overcast. Edmond and I spent the morning indoors.

When he woke up from his morning nap we headed down to the pool deck. We often go there to touch the water and play with the wood chips. This time he managed to find an ant hill amongst the chips. I rescued him before they had a chance to attack.






On the way back to the house we stopped to get the mail. Our neighbor "Bill" happened to walk into the mail room at the same time.

It's odd how we are constantly running into him.

He's a chatty guy. In his 40's. Very social. Too social. (For me.)

After a brief discussion about the weather and how much Edmond has grown, we part ways. Maybe it's my imagination, maybe it's paranoia, maybe it's the random compliments that he feels obliged to pay me, but I have often told B that "If I ever turn up missing, send the cops to "Bill's" place." (Kind of joking, kind of not.)

After all, Ted Bundy seemed like a nice guy, too.

To me, his attentions are reminiscent of a man I once knew when I taught swim lessons a decade ago. His wife typically brought their boys to the lesson, but on the final day of the session Daddy brought them. Shortly thereafter I began to notice Daddy in attendance as a lapswimmer during my 5AM lifeguarding shift. He would stop by my stand for a quick dialogue about his sons and life in general before entering the pool.

One morning there was only one old lady doing water aeobics in the corner of the deep end. I was half asleep as I listened to the rhythmic sound of her routine, when a presence on my right made me stiffen.

It was Daddy.

"So," he began, "can I ask you a personal question?"

"Uh, sure."

"Would you make love to me some time?"

In my shock, the only response I could think of was, "Ummmm....I better not."

"Oh." He replied. We both watched the lady in the deep end for a moment. Then he said, "I hope this doesn't make things awkward between us now."

"No, not at all" I said. I pointed my head at the pool and looked at him out of the corner of my eye.

After that, Daddy didn't come swim laps any more.

I pondered my perception of "chatty older gentlemen" as Edmond and I walked back to the house.

Once inside, I locked the door behind us.

All Things Easter

In typical Sunday fashion, we woke in a frenzy. B and I rushed to finish preparing our lessons while taking turns entertaining the boy. Then we tried to make ourselves presentable. He, in his new purple striped tie, and me in my purple cotton dress with a satin sash. Edmond was pimpin' in his pink dress shirt and blue tie. It's a shame I didn't get a picture of us.

The weather: springy.
The food: sugary.
The company: lov-ED.
The day: perfect.
The reason: Christ.