Painting Wicker

Tonight is beautiful. The kind of night where I loved to pop on a headset and go for long walks when I lived in a more walkable area. After a few exceptionally hot and humid days, the ground still has that several-days-of-warmth-baked-into-it feel but the air has finally cooled and softened. I remember, back in those walkable days, passing parking lots and feeling the breeze turn toasty, and then blow cool again over grass.

Tonight I popped on my headset and, in lieu of walking, painted some wicker. Listening to my favorite band, I couldn't help but dance. Bopping around the chair with my paint brush in hand, I laughed as I was struck by the Mr. Blonde of it all. (It was probably the hack job of painting I was doing to the chair.) To remedy the vibe, I kicked off my shoes and danced barefoot. 'Cause Mr. Blonde never would have gone barefoot.

dance sweetpea

It was before dinner and Brett and Charlotte and I were all chilling out in the living room, enjoying the evening. Charlotte and I were dancing to one of the dreamy instrumental parts of Yes's "Awaken". While the song was still playing, it is a long one after all, I left Brett and Charlotte in the living room to go fix dinner in the kitchen. A few moments later, Charlotte follwed me in:

"Mama?"

"Yes, babygirl?"

"Dance, sweetpea!"

How could I turn down such a request? I didn't. We finished out the song and then fixed dinner.

Earlier that same day, another sublime parenting moment of a completely different sort: I was letting Charlotte have a bit of nudie time to run around upstairs. She found the tube of butt cream and, knowing it's not something she's allowed to have, she scurried off to the bathroom with it and closed the door. I followed right behind, and as I opened the door she looked at the floor and said, "Make a pee pee." Yup, a few yellow puddles on the floor. I walked over to the roll of tp and then back to the puddles to start mopping. Charlotte walked over to the tp roll, then back again to the half-mopped pee pee. A kid can't resist walking through any kind of puddle, even the yellow kind. But she cautioned herself as she walked through, "Swipperwee... swipperwee" just before she slipped in the swipperwee pee-pee and fell, nudie self and all, in the half-mopped puddle. So as I came back with more tp, I mopped up the rest of the floor, and my pee-pee sticky daughter.

life of pi

I adore the escape of an excellent book. I finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel over a month ago and keep looking back on it as a favorite journey. It's one of those books to heartily recommend and say nothing further.

in rainbows

Joyous day - the discbox arrived. Brett and I opened it this morning and then immediately played disc two. In the two months since disc one was released for download, it has already become entrenched in my heart of favorites. As is the case for all the other Radiohead CDs, disc two does not let itself be known on the first listen, but will take several, if not infinite listenings to fully explore. All is so busy this time of year, I can't wait for some free time when I can just ascend into the beauty and depth that is Radiohead.

harvest

Just about dusk this evening, a combine began harvesting the soy crop across the street. I was inside drawing the blinds for the night. Killing time waiting for Brett to get home so we could eat dinner, I took Charlotte outside for an unobstructed view. The night was classically Autumnal, and neither of us had coats on, so we cuddled close and watched the combine at work. We stood and watched as the night darkened. The powerful head and rear lights of the combine illuminated the dusty, smoky waste being flung from its rear. Soon, all we could see was the billowing smoke around the lights, and the revolving cutters gnashing their way through the field.

slaap lekker

Charlotte and I took a wonderful nap today. We snuggled all cozy under blankets and down, me curled on my side and she on her back with arms and legs sprawled. Her hot little feet pressed against my leg. I laid there for quite awhile marvelling at how sweet and pretty she is. And then I drifted off into blissful, cozy sleep.

once again

Every year, the beginning is the same. An adorable ladybug crawling along the bathroom windowsill. Perched atop my shoulder. Cuddled up next to the bathroom nightlight when in the morning I shuffle in. And every year, the ending is the same. Hoards of ladybugs taking shelter in our home. Finding their way inside in such numbers and with such speed, we risk our treehugger footing by escorting some of them back outside.

To our credit, we let most of them stay indoors. Brett does his daily "Five Minute Bug Cup" and we let the rest of them be. Well, except for the ones that melodramatically languish on the windowsills, turned on their backs with their legs ruffling the air. Countless times I've tried turning them right, only to have them immediately flip themselves over. So those miserable ones I brush off the sill and drop them in the trashcan.

Living with ladybugs has taught me quite a lot about, well, living with ladybugs. They love to investigate the toilet and can tread water all night long waiting for someone to rescue them come morning. Which, of course, we do. When ladybugs feel threatened, they emit a very strong earthy smell. A smell that is almost identical to the smell of astragalus. Earthy and and muddy and green at the same time. Very pungent. Sitting on the living room floor, I'll often move a leg or reposition my hand, and then I'll smell it. Oops, dead ladybug.