Watermellon

Yesterday was a Cabbage. A rotten, fermented cabbage. I vowed that TODAY Brooklyn, Brighton, and I would go OUTSIDE. We would NOT watch Diego. We would NOT read Care Bears. I would NOT clean. (Well... much). And we would have a Watermellon day... a juicy, sweet day. SO, after we all had brunch, OUT I hauled us. FIRST, I strolled them down our street in the little red wagon. Then I plopped two kiddies into swings and swung them. (AFTER I poured water on the swings so that my children did not receive third degree BURNS from the melting plastic). Brighton passed out... I checked to make sure he hadn't passed ON from a heat stroke, and when I was satisfied that he was still breathing, I put him inside in the air conditioning. Brooklyn and I swung a little longer and then I asked her if she wanted to help me build a nest.

You see... three days ago our back yard was a jungle. And I mean that in all literal terms. The grass was so long I'm certain monkeys could have lived in it undetected. WELL I mowed. It was no easy feat, mind you, and not without me running over a yellow WIRE that Starling had looped partly above ground, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. (I would have mowed it sooner if a tsunami hadn't landed on my house EVERY afternoon for two weeks). And NOW my yard is a pile of hay... a giant pile of hay. And it occurred to me that my grass is all going to DIE. I almost lost this thought of horror to thoughts of relief, but I clung to the horror with all my might in an attempt to motivate myself to do the unthinkable. RAKE. THIS is where the NEST comes in. Brooklyn would NEVER want to stop swinging to RAKE... but I figured she MIGHT if she thought we were building a nest. And I was right. (That's why I'm the MOM. BC I'm RIGHT. ALWAYS RIGHT... except for the FEW times when I'm wrong... but I don't admit those times so its kind of like they don't exist).

I raked up the brown grass and put it in Brooklyn's wagon. "Do you want to help me?" I asked her. "SURE!!" she said... but then paused. "What's wrong? Just grab a handful and throw it into the wagon." She tilted her head uncertain. "I don't WANT to touch the NE-EST... its very yucky."

"Its not yucky... its grass. See? Mommy is touching it." Famous last words. A spider climbed out of the grass onto my hand as I choked on a SCREAM. Literally. Not figuratively. I was in the middle of swallowing and my scream got stuck in the wrong pipe or something and I thought I was going to have to Heimlich Maneuver my scream out of my throat. That cinched it for Brooklyn. She wanted NOTHING to do with the grass.

When I was finally able to BREATHE, I brainstormed for places to PUT all the dead grass. There is the BURN pile... but who the heck wants to stand next to a FIRE when it is a million and fourteen degrees outside?? THEN I thought of the perfect place. Around the palm trees Starling just planted. I hauled each tiny load and dumped it in the bed. "Oh you are making a really BIG nest, Mommy!" Uh huh. "All the birds can sleep here."

I hope the mess kills the grass so we don't have to weed eat the four foot tall sprigs that shoot up every time a drop of water makes contact with the ground. The hay is not very beautiful. I coin it the Poor (wo)Man's Mulch. But it'll do the trick until we put in real mulch.

I only did ONE bed... there are still at LEAST three to do... but Brooklyn's head looked like an apple which made me thirsty for apple juice and so we had to take a break... a break that is going to last the rest of the night, I believe. (My USUAL style... HALF done).

But I must get back to entertaining Brooklyn. She's caught on that I'm blogging instead of making her penguin dance while she's playing the piano. NOW we are making a band out of tinker toys. The LOUDER they CLANK the BETTER! WHEN will Starling be HOME???