Of Late

I have very little to write about. I mean, I could write about nothing and then I could write about everything.

The Professor is supposed to bomb the crawl space to kill the bugs before I enter in, but that has not happened yet. The cars need to get washed and we need the water turned on. These robins keep perching on the rear view mirrors and pooping on the side of the car. It is pretty gross looking---long streams of white and black poop. The man keeps saying that if he had a gun he would "shoot that thing."

But other than that not too much is going on. Our mailbox that got annihilated a couple years ago has still never gotten fixed by the culprits, our grill has taken to catching on fire (apparently there was a recall we had no clue about) and only works half way, and the Prof. and I killed another pot of herbs I tried to buy again. We set them by the window and watered them but they still biffed it. When I found that there was still a little life yet in each plant, I put it outside once it got warm and what do you know, the next day, the whole pot was upturned.
"Guess I'm not supposed to have herbs," I mumbled to the Prof.

I made an amazing Oreo pie yesterday. I worked hard on it. I imagined exactly what I wanted. An oreo crust, a chocolate ganache layer, Oreo infused ice cream, another thin layer of ganache, and then more ice cream. I drizzled it with chocolate. As we ate it with our guests I heartily complimented myself after I took a bite. "This is awesome!" I yelped. I guess it is not proper to compliment your own pie, but it was the first time I had ever tried it. And I thought it up in Costco. The Prof. looked at me in surprise (I suppose he could not imagine his own mother hollering her own praise) and kept eating. Everyone else ignored me and kept eating---and no one talked about how incredibly wicked it was because I had already crowned myself queen.

But Eraser Eater, who was with me when I was audibly imagining my pie at Costco, said as he was chomping on a piece, "Gee Mom, is this the pie you were envisioning at Costco? It is AWESOME! Thanks! You're the best! You were right, it really WOULD be good!"

I give up on adults who insist on propriety.


Me and the Oldest

I've been hacking a lot due to the pollen here. I had a word of wisdom from my dear friend Laura about allergies/moving to new areas/honeymoon periods, etc and this spring has been an asthmatic mess. Breathing is an issue. The Oldest has been hacking up a lung too (we call it our TB). He asked me stupidly this spring if he had tuberculosis.

The Prof. and I looked at each other. Of course, the man always jumps at the chance to kid the poor gullible wretch. "Yes. You have it. And you are going to die soon."

The crew and I took a field trip to a local estate with huge grounds to hike and whatnot, and the Oldest and I both were hacking up a lung the whole time. He has been pocketing his inhaler and sometimes I bum it off him when I need to breathe.

"Hey, my mucus, it tastes metal-lick." He coughed again and swallowed it.

"You CAN'T DO THAT! Look. You swallow the junk and then it slides down into your throat again and all you can do is just hack it up---again. It's gross. It's like you're eating your snot. And the word is metallic, dude."

"Oh. But it tastes metal-lick, I mean, metal---how do you say it? It tastes like metal---like blood. Do you think I am coughing up blood? I have to have tumercolasis. This isn't good. Here--" {violent coughing spasm}"...mook," he stuck out his tongue.

"No blood, pal. Just snot. Now don't swallow it."

"But I have been doing that the whole time! I wish I would have known that sooner!"

"Well now you know." I handed him the inhaler, he coughed into his elbow pit and then ran off into the bamboo.

Eventually we reached a place where there was a huge hedge and on the other side of the huge hedge there was a building. The problem with this hedge was that it was some sort of flowering one and there was no way to get around it to the other side except to go through it. I forget the woes of spring and summer just about every year until it hits me for the very first time again. The Oldest did not want to walk through. The reason being: huge bumble bees soaring around the towering hedge and all over in a sort of canopy. He stood at the foot of it.

"I can't do it," he whimpered, "it is not possible. I am going to die, we are never going to get out of here, and there is no way out!" He was steadily backing away and petrified.

I immediately donned my spring/summer coping skills with freshness. My mind was clear even though I was hungry. But I was hungry. We were with friends. The pressure increases for good ideas to get out of the next panic mess. My ulterior motive: to get to food. The only way to get to food was to get through that bee infested canopy. The bee infested canopy was between me and fainting.

He started to cry. Yes, I do admit, my eyes began to roll. I just don't have time for this madness. "I just can't do it...." he was saying over and over in a soft shrill whisper, hands to mouth, eyes wide behind his glasses, looking to and fro from one side of the bee infested canopy to the other. I quickly imagined myself with a huge roll of duct tape. Really, I did. I ripped off a piece and blinded his eyes and then I suddenly got a great idea.

"Close your eyes," I said. I pulled out a stick of gum from my purse.

"What? Gum? Close my eyes? Are you nuts?" he wailed faintly, Mickey Mouse fashion.

"Please just close your eyes. Then when you are done closing your eyes, you can have this gum. But you have to keep them closed. We are going to walk through that walkway and you are going to hold my hand. But you can't open your eyes. And the bees won't get you because I will guard you. I am best at it. And when we are through walking, you can open your eyes and have the gum. Let's go. No choice."

He very reluctantly obeyed. Half way across, he stopped with his eyes shut tight and said, "I can't do it! They are going to get me!" I jerked his hand slightly and said, "You are half way there, man, and then it's over."

With eyes tight shut, he floated his head around like he could see in all that blackness. He timidly went forward, shaking. When over the threshold of bee-less air, he popped open his eyes, hastily grabbed the gum, threw it in his mouth, chewed it with violent relish and ran like the dickens to the field beyond.