Steve took Caroline and Patrick down to the ffarm this weekend to hang out with his co-ffarmer...
[I told you that Steve and his college friend bought the farm together - yes? For the record I thought this was the worst idea that anyone had ever had, ever, and I was completely wrong. It's been terrific. All of the joys of farmship with half the responsibilities. I suppose at some point the heirs might come to fisticuffs over whether or not to turn it into a morel themed space camp but, like the British and Hong Kong, I prefer to believe that the future might never happen.]
So Steve and two-thirds of our children went to meet Friend with one-third of his children. I mentioned this plan to my mother on Thursday and she instantly got a little defensive, like, what about Edward? Why not Edward? Doesn't Edward want to come?
Ackshuwee, no. Edward wanted to go to his friend's birthday party and ever since the chuck e cheese birthday party catastrophe I have been anxious (ha! see what I did there?) to accommodate him anytime he feels like being social outside of his classroom comfort zone. Besides, an entire weekend of me and Edward punctuated only by a Saturday afternoon party? The mind boggled at all of the cuddlerific possibilities.
We went out for sushi. We slept in until nine. We spent an hour and a half in my bed playing Machinarium on my laptop. We went to Target to get the birthday present and I let him pick out a little something for himself because, hell, why not. We went to the party. We went on a forced mile-long death march through the woods behind our house. We spent a couple of hours playing a Wii mystery game.
Oooh! Speaking of mysteries, can you match the photos to the activities mentioned above (technically one is in the laundry room in anticipation of the party but close enough):
And speaking of nature.
You know that stretch of Rock Creek Parkway, just below the point where Georgetown squeezes into Foggy Bottom and the hillside in March is blanketed in daffodils? Yeah, well, our backyard is a hill and I thought how nice it would look now (DC March is Minnesota May) if I were able to naturalize a bunch of daffodils there. A carpet of sunshine, you know, to refresh the eye as cruel cold Winter yields to cruel buggy Summer.
To that end, over the past two autumns I have planted upwards of a dozen dozen bulbs in the rootiest, hardest soil upon which it has ever been my misfortune to bend a trowel. It was tedious, back-aching work but... wow.
Oh, sorry. Is this better?
I know, I know. And it's a pity you aren't sitting here because not only would I be silencing you with a gentle touch to your lips but I would also be about to dazzle you with the fact that I am doing this from memory:
I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw... unbowed, a single fucking daffodil.
With apologies to Mr Wordsworth and thanks to Mrs Miles who made me memorize the poem in the eighth grade. I can walk five feet into the laundry room and have no idea what I am doing in there but the words 'now oft when on my couch I lie' shall follow me to the grave. On the plus side, whenever anybody mentions daffodils (and I do mean whenever. seriously. just bring the flower up in front of Steve and then watch him wince as he glances in my direction, waiting for me to inflate my lungs) I am able to declaim.
Anyway, wherever you are and whatever you did today I hope that you had as pleasant a Saturday as Edward and I. We even had Fruit Loops (Froot Loops?) for breakfast.