My post title might imply there was snow in the summertime. That's hilarious, just stinkin' funny. Unless you are my family and decide to go camping in the mountains in late June. Then, there's snow on said mountains.
But there are other types of flurries about, these days - the best kinds. There's the flurry of summertime activities, the flurry to pack and unpack swimsuits and sunscreen, the flurry of small, muddy feet in the backyard, the occasional flurry to get somewhere on time. It's all good.
In the midst of our summertime flurries, I've mentally noted to myself a few times, "You've got to blog about this." So, here I am, duly noted.
- I've learned something so deeply Bananagrams-ish this summer that I must share it. Apparently, when Gil and I slap steaks on the barbecue, we are not eating "barbecue." I have come to understand, we are eating "grilled steaks." I officially apologize to all of our southern friends, who have now clarified that my vernacular usage of the word has caused inconvenient drooling and angst when I throw the term around loosely, as in "Come over; we're gonna barbecue." When I slap a pre-made hamburger patty on a bun and call it "barbecue," their faces sag as low as their now-sagging paper plates. Evidently, in those far-distant lands of sweet tea and collard greens, the term "barbecue" is a noun and a verb, as in "Let's eat barbecue - the food I started cooking three days ago and is finally seasoned, smoked, chemically massaged to perfection." Here in the big-sky west, that sounds like you're going to stuff a Weber grill in a hoagie roll and call it dinner. Which is probably what my "barbecue" would taste like if I had to cook anything as long as they cook Southern barbecue. Anyways, enlighted. That's me. And so culturally aware, y'all. Because I've watched Larry the Cable Guy.
- One delightful flurry was an impromtu visit to see my only niece, the baby that sleeps and smiles. I'm not even sure she eliminates poop and pee; I think she just sleeps and smiles. Oh wait, I feel a picture-moment coming... Here she is...sleeping.
- There may be a little jealousy issue going on here, centered around the fact that this little darling sleeps through the night already... and that my children didn't do that until they were twelve months old and I almost lost my sanity and one time, I threw Tupperware cuz I was so tired and I've spent the last five years trying to make my little sister understand how hard the diaper years were and then she goes and has the perfect baby... Sheesh, that'd be so juvenile, to be jealous of my little sister.
- Anyways, I did something very, very bad. No use putting it off - here it is. In an intimate conversation - that I'm sharing with the world now - my little sister asked what type of birth control we used after having each of our babies. With sober face and perfect eye contact, I told her that the best method is to just breastfeed your baby. It's guaranteed to keep you from getting pregnant. (Sin, my friends.)
- While I'm at it, I might as well confess this month's full-fledged lie. In my defense, my jaw was forced open with some kind of wire scaffolding and there were two sets of fingers prodding, poking, and drilling inside my mouth. At one point, my dear dentist smiled around her face mask and said, "You look great for having three kids. Do you work out?" My options were slim - it was either a nod "yes" or a head-shake "no." Once a week, once a month, once when I lost a kid at the playground and had to sprint around the parking lot - these were not options. So, I nodded yes. And I've felt guilty ever since.
- Blueberry muffins are a great idea, unless you're in the midst of dinnertime, chaotic flurry. Then, you forget the blueberries on accident and serve blueberry muffins, sans the blueberries. The worst part was that I didn't realize it until after the meal, when Sugs referred to them as coffee cake muffins.
- My childrens' random acts of kindness continue to amaze us. We shake our heads and wonder, "How did we get such kind children?" Like when we visited some wonderfully hospitable people with a wonderfully beautiful pool. Our son vowed not to pee in their pool. I shake my head, even now, thinking of his amazing aptitude for kindness.
- Just tonight, I prepared three kids for an evening bike ride. While priding myself on the forethought to apply bug spray, one anonymous child accidentally let the dog leash go. Five minutes later, with bug spray so adequately applied, we realized Ginger Pye was missing. I threw bike helmets on kids, closed the yawning van door that revealed to the neighborhood how dirty my car interior was, and went hollering down the bike path. Thirty minutes and four sets of vocal chords later, I herded three almost-hysterical children back into our yard. (I was perfectly calm. Unflappable, really.) The two younger ones skipped away to the backyard (hysterical) while something in my eye had me all teared up - unflappable, really. I went to grab a box of Kleenex out of the my swagger wagon when a little, white head popped up in the backseat. I opened the van door to reveal a fifteen-pound ball of fur and quickly took back all the horrible things I had thought about our dear dog that "done run oft: r-u-n o-f-t." She was hot, but unharmed. I was able to calm down the kids, by this time playing in the backyard as I waved to them, "She's fine, I found her. Hiccup." Then, I had to track down the neighbor family that had been helping us search for Ginger Pye and sheepishly explain that I found her...in my hot car with the windows up... Dog owner of the year, thank you very much. I'm just praying she doesn't accidentally get in my dryer.
- Last in this flurrious stream of consciousness - do you like that? Like that? Flurrious-s-s-sss - I went to high-five a fellow outfielder during a summertime, co-ed softball game and I did something crazy (or is that cuh-razy, or craze-ayyyy, you cool cats out there?). I kissed him - right there in Centerfield during a church-sponsored softball game. Good thing it was Real Gil, and no one noticed except for the blushing left-fielder. When I realized what I had done, I tried to make a joke about it, saying I had never kissed a guy in the outfield; it was always the infield. Poor guy in left-field didn't seem to get the joke, good church man that he was. Real Gil seemed very unaffected by the whole thing...which makes me wonder if he had already been kissed before in the outfield. Oh well, it was flurries, nonetheless. Butterfly flurries, which is nice after thirteen years of marriage.
Anyways, as you can probably tell, the flurries of summer have left me a bit breathless. But not speechless.