Saying yes...

Summer Blogging in One Post!

Garden. Garden. Flower. Butterfly. Fucking rain! Dog. Dog. Dog. Lake. Grizzled. Garden. Lamblet. Lamblet. Lamblet. Driver's Ed. AHHHHHHH! Lamblet. Hot! Too chilly! Wet! Where's the rain?!?! FUN!!! Woo-HOO!! Grrrr! WTF?? Still can't access any of ZRM's many blogs... 3B's! What contest?! Garden. Garden. Painting. Painting. Grrrr. Life is good. WTF??? Dick joke. Dick joke. Thought-provoking post. Dick joke. Garden. Animules. Painting! Grrrr... painting!!@!1 FRUSTRATION! In the zone. Fireflies!! Ah, summer smell. Butterflies! Orbs!!! Orbflies!! Thundra. Von. LOL! Garden. Dogs. Frustration. Satisfaction. Good. Bad. Love everyone. Hate everyone. Weeds. WEEDS! BG!! Lake. Reading. Thinking. Anniversary. Snag. Birthday. Cicadas. School? Already?

I wish we still had this...

... rediscovered while unearthing another post...repost from April, 2007... And I think I have even reposted before, but wtf...

We would have died

My eldest lamblet has always been interested in history. Since both Grizzled and I are as well, we've always been happy to help her explore the past. A number of years ago she was really curious about pioneers. I had a couple of good books, with lots of photos that showed the bizarre meshing of lifestyles that was part of the pioneer life. It was not uncommon to see men and women in full dress standing next to their sod house which may or may not have had something grazing on it.

My eldest lamblet was having a hard time grasping the concept of the sod house. Yes, she saw pictures, yes we explained, but it was apparent she was going to need more. It was just the beginning of the gardening season and we were enlarging a couple of beds so we figured we'd build a sod house replica! How hard could it be???

Oh. My. God.

Our little sod house (as you can see in progress) was only about 36 inches wide and 22 inches deep. I think it only reached a height of about 18-20 inches. The digging up and cutting of the sod, the hauling and arranging of the *bricks* was brutal and it wasn't like Grizzled or I were wimps.

And... this wasn't even virgin, prairie sod. When I had mentioned in passing to my father that we were going to build a mini-sod house, he went off on the lack of integrity of our root structure... blah, blah, blah. Yes, Dad, I know, but like I said, it's a MINI-sod house. Geeze!

We were lucky it wasn't virgin, prairie sod. We were lucky it wasn't a full-size house. It became glaringly apparent to Grizzled and me (eldest lamblet quit early in the day, I can't blame her) that had we had to build a true sod house, we would have died. Either the building of it would have killed us or the elements, whichever got to us first.

I have to say though, I loved that little sod house.We tossed a makeshift roof on it and it stayed with us through the season. I had had intentions of putting some oiled newsprint on the window frame that Grizzled and the eldest lamblet made and whitewashing the inside, but decided it was fabulous just the say it was. Besides, I was exhausted and didn't feel up to a lesson in crushing down lime...

All summer long, that house looked like it was waiting for someone. My eldest lamblet thought maybe some prairie fairies would show up. I kind of expected to see a little horse and wagon rig going across the backyard, but I never did. If I had, I don't think I would have owned up to it anyhow. Our neighbors were curious enough as to why we were wasting precious time making a sod house. It was fun, but I'm glad we didn't have to make a real one.

We would have died.

 

 

Looking at the World Through Ovulation Goggles

Oh nature, you demanding beast... you unrelenting taskmaster. No matter how evolved we may feel we are, we are still relatively at your mercy. At no time is this more apparent than during ovulation... a time when nearly all men look good... and even though you've got your very own prime specimen in your bed next to you... the rest still taunt you...

The interesting thing about ovulation goggles, and how they differ from beer goggles, is that they magnify the attractive while not causing you to lose control. There's no walk of shame the next day... just a few days of hyper-aware examination... your senses at their peak, your eyes, bionic in their ability to see the good, to see the capable, to see the manly... the world is full of viable donors and your egg is looking... but you can still laugh at yourself, knowing that on most other days, you wouldn't give these people a second glance. There's still a part of your brain that says a very loud and clear, "What are you thinking??? Look at him!!!"

One particular clue that I'm donning my ovulation goggles is a peculiar fondness for land surveyors.  Part of this relates back to a certain fondness in college... but the rest is just some ovulation mystery. Those orange jackets... those bronzed forearms... those tripods thingies or whatever it is they are... they scream something that only my eggs understand. 

White shirts with sleeves rolled up, top button unbuttoned, so just a glimpse of chest hair is poofing out... also a beacon to the needy egg...

Men doing anything effortlessly? Bingo!

Men doing anything that seems caring? Hello??!?

Humor? Egg magnet.

Intelligence? Ditto

That certain spot on the neck that is somehow both soft and rough. Dear. Lord. Every man seems to have one at this time. 

It is a time of both enjoyment and frustration... a time when the damn egg doesn't seem to understand that one donor is enough... better have a list of back ups just in case... While the burst of energy and clarity is welcome, the frenzy eventually becomes too much and the candle must burn out. No one... no one, but men I guess, can go along at that fevered pitch forever...

It is exasperation with that fevered pitch that allows us women to longingly and gladly enter the Eeyore phase... we welcome the snuffing of the flame, the numbing of the senses, the dropping of the mood. We know we will be soothed by chocolate and salt. We will seek refuge in bad movies. We will once again see men for what they really are... hairy, troublesome creatures...

And when this stage becomes too much? We think about taking out those ovulation goggles again... and the world will seem brighter and full of promise.

We interrupt this retro week with...

This.

Can't get enough.

I also love the Kia commercial. I'd pay good money to be driving on the expressway next to a sock monkey.