Linda's Daughter: August 2015

Amanda and Harli

Incontinence Made My Wildest Dreams Come True!

If Harli, the dog, could write an essay about her summer, I think that would be the title. Toward spring Amanda decided (after she’d already thrown out the dog beds and gotten tired of mopping up frequent accidents on the floor) Harli was getting too old to control her bladder, or else too old to care, and solved the situation by letting Harli roam the great outdoors while she (Amanda) was at work.

This arrangement suited Harli fine. She spent most of her time scouring the tall grass for duck eggs I tossed out when I was unsure of how old they were; gulping down the the cat food in the garage while the cats hissed and spat from the safety of the top of the refrigerator; slurping water out of the stock tank at the windmill (I’m sure she gave the goldfish in it heart attacks); and sprawling out on the front porch, grunting at the delivery people who occasionally had to push her paws out of their way to place a box near the door. The only time she objected was when Amanda was home and indoors, or there was a storm, in which case Harli would pace outside our living room windows and wail mournfully or bark incessantly, depending on how bad the storm was or whether or not anyone was trying to get some sleep in the house.

She did this last week, as Jim lay stretched out on the couch trying to relax. “Why does she want in?” I asked. “It’s not stormy and Amanda’s not here.” Jim, sighing heavily, said, “Maybe she needs to use the bathroom.”

It’s been a typical summer here. The pool got fixed and Lucy learned to swim after just two days of Jim dragging her into the pool without her floaties. The driveway got graded and graveled; the garden got planted, neglected, and overrun with weeds; the basement flooded (cracked water spigot, and the sump pump decided not to work), walls got ripped out and replaced; carpet got ripped out and the floor got new tile. Since it was already a mess down there, Jim replaced most of the doors downstairs. I got to strip, prime and paint the family room and kitchen upstairs. Thank goodness school starts soon, and we can take it easy.

The Dungeon (soon to be basement) in progress.

We get to paint! Again!

Tiles going down.

I’m not the only one to think that. Jack and Woody, by virtue of finally being big enough to help, also contributed. I’ll say this for them: they learned fast. Most importantly, they learned to offer to help before Dad had to “ask” them to help. One day as Jim walked by him, getting ready to start, I heard Jack call, “Do you need any help, Dad?” followed in a weary yet hopeful undertone, “Please say no, please say no, please say no.”

Against their better judgment, the boys got some experience in cutting and hanging drywall, cutting and installing trim, mixing grout and mastic, and painting. Well, sort of painting, if you don’t mind differing layers of paint thickness on walls, or patches of color on white where the rollers hit the ceiling. Note to self: must instruct boys to apply paint to the wall with rollers more like they’re using paint rollers, and less like they’re using jack hammers.

I didn’t realize how busy we were all the time until the day Lucy asked me to read her a book. “O.K.,” I said. And she said, “Can you read the words?”

Jim did try to make it up to the kids, mainly by taking them out for slushies (or shave ice, or whatever they call it where you are) as many times as possible. That’s right: most families have a slush fund. We have a slushie fund. If the little mom-and-pop joint was closed, they’d head over to Dairy Queen where, instead of ordering Rasberry or Wild Cherry, Jim would ask for “blue” or “red” because -- let’s face it -- slushies really do just taste like blue or red.

Jim is his usual self. Betsy complained of a canker sore and I told her to get something for it from Dad. She returned a moment later.

Betsy: “He said I should put stool softener on it.”

Me: “STOOL SOFTENER?” as Jim stood behind Betsy in the doorway, nodding and grinning in delighted anticipation.

And then, from Woody behind him: “What’s ‘tool sausages’?”

On the last day of Jim's vacation this week we drove 45 minutes away to a U-Pick orchard for peaches. Five minutes and $75 later we had 15 pounds of peaches in various stages of unripeness, all generously bruised by either a) the fact the girls pinched every peach before ripping it forcefully off the tree, or b) the boys, who carefully selected plump, promising peaches ... and tossed them into the bucket from a couple of feet away. I don't think either one should start off with a job as a bagger at a grocery store.

Betsy

It's really a lot hotter than it looks.

Woody might need some clarification ...

"What? I can't eat them yet?"

Lucy

Almost full!

My sorting system: it's crude, but concise.

I guess that’s about it for now. The following pictures are leftovers from our Colorado trip. We found the best little diner at the base of Pike's Peak: the saving grace of the day since we couldn't actually drive all the way to the top (too much snow) and it felt like a letdown since we didn't see the peak or Big Foot. We highly recommend Mildred's Cafe for its meatball subs, roast beef sandwiches, homemade (REALLY home made) cherry pie, and milk shakes. Just in case you're driving through!