We've come a long way

Eight years ago today was a pretty good day.

The Undefeated

Just got back from an exclusive (as in, playing in only ten cities across the U.S.) showing of The Undefeated, a documentary of the career of Sarah Palin. Y'all had to know that I liked her, but this - WOW! She is the real deal. For sure.

Technical gripe: I thought some of the emotionally-charged nature scenes (ravening wolves, jaws) were a bit gratuitous and hyperbolic. However, the political commentary was spot-on and the raw footage of real events and speeches was spectacularly inspiring. Sarah Palin's record of accomplishments is truly astounding. If she runs for president, I suspect it would take an act of God (or maybe George Soros) to stop her.

Mad as a hornet

My little garden has been doing so well this year, since I actually plugged in the sprinkler and left the hose draped across the lawn all day, thus ensuring that things got watered on a regular basis. (Somehow unwinding and putting away the hose is an insurmountable obstacle, mentally.) I was so delighted to be given several more plants last week, including dill, parsley, rosemary, and several basil, not to mention a few tomatoes. I planted them with sweat and toil, and looked forward to the prospect of a rich harvest. And every day thereafter, the rabbits came and systematically munched their way through it.

Our garden, let it be noted, was already enclosed with a chain link fence. Michael wrapped chicken wire along the lower portion a few years ago, and secured it tightly to the fence with tie straps last year, because rabbits still wriggled through. Now we think they must have begun to burrow under the chain link fencing, enticed by the fragrance of the herbs. It's very disappointing, to say the least.

I went out there the other day with a shovel to pound clay along the fence line and build up an earthen dike sufficient to deter the little beasts. Red Georgia clay we have in profusion, and I was excavating a deep hole nearby and pounding it around the fence with great ferocity when I noticed a flurry of yellow jackets coalescing with astonishing rapidity. Four of them got to me as I beat a hasty retreat. The internet informed me that I had up to 20 hours to die of anaphylactic shock, so when that didn't happen, I concluded happily that I am not allergic to hornets.

Meanwhile the rabbits continue to devour my hard-earned produce, and I seethe with Wile E. Coyote-like rage. Each morning when I survey the desolation, I can practically feel my eyeballs swirl with red indignation as I contemplate lining the garden with mousetraps, poison, venus fly-traps, and TNT. First we have to vanquish the hornets. Why can't the hornets sting the rabbits?

Longest day of the year

And shortest time to post, apparently.

Look who's two!

Futility

I've been thinking about priorities lately. Reading books like Organized Simplicity inspires me to start up another round of un-stuff-ing, freeing my mind from the mental clutter as well as the physical tripping points. Increasing demands upon my time require* that something must go, and it's always a balancing act to keep my perspective grounded.

I want to spend more time with my children. Time invested in their lives is really the best spent, whereas all the busy-work of running the household has a peculiarly fatalistic quality to it: catch-up vacuuming and laundry is only marginally more time-consuming than the everyday variety. So I tell myself, and yet I really can't let the dishes and laundry slide too much. And ultimately, it just doesn't matter.

Ha! No, I'm not just being calm and accepting of less than perfection. It literally doesn't matter whether I think I'm caught up or not, because before the dishwasher or washing machine finishes the cycle, there will be more dirty dishes and soiled laundry. Just like Almanzo's fleece from Farmer Boy, I can never really keep up. And yet I keep trying.

The little incident that sparked all this introspection? While lately feeding the baby, I felt a suspicious warmth seep across my lap. I had just settled another load in the washer and graduated the last batch of soaking stains from the bin, and there was the momentary adrenaline rush to consider whether I should make a mad dash for the laundry room, strip all affected articles and stuff them in the washer in time to join the last cycle. And then I decided that it just didn't matter.

The leak was of the clear variety, not the yellow kind. It won't show. It doesn't stink. It will dry and the clothes will be good for another wearing.

People keep asking how life is with four children. I think this will be my new equilibrium - not waving the white flag of Surrender, but clutching the pragmatic handkerchief of Enough.

* Or is it requires? Is it the demands themselves (and therefore plural), or the increasing-ness of them (and therefore singular), at work here? I think there's an exchange in a play somewhere or other (Gilbert and Sullivan comes to mind, but that's not it) where this dilemma comes up, and a character deftly turns the matter aside by winding up with something like, 'Why, what a singular quandary,' and that's that.

Overheard this morning

Jane: There are only twelve letters left on the fridge! What words can I make?

(Later)

Jane: Look, Mama, I spelled Jane [using the Z sideways as an N] and Flup!

Me: Flup is not a word.

Jane: Well, we'll just call it Flap.