Every Thursday night after I read stories about tractors and Ms. Wishy-Washy and reading with your eyes shut, I descend the stairs and face my #1 menace: The Kitchen. Thursday night was tofu-stir-fry night until I boycotted two weeks ago and changed the ritual. Now it’s tofu and stir-fry with turnip greens from the garden night. Which is A LOT different, I’ll have you know. I used to come down and sort of sigh with regret about how my life has turned out. But then I discovered DELILAH. I bet you can find her too … just tune in to your local “Lite Rock” radio station. People: She’s. On. Every. Night. Folks call in and confess the awfullest things (yes, that is the superlative of “awful”). I used to really enjoy listening critically to the "101.1 The Beat" station which plays R&B and rap ... until I discovered DELILAH. I really think that rappers, despite their vulgarity, often have some fascinating lyrics. For example:

Watch out for my diamonds
They’re getting kinda reckless.
I feel like I got a midget
Hanging off my necklace.

That, to me, is very articulate in terms of explaining how one feel about gaudy jewelry. I myself think the same thing all the time about various pieces I have collected over the years. I have no idea who wrote or performed those lyrics.

Anywho …

The Paternal GPs are in Alaska for 12 days and from all the email and phone reports it’s going well. I have wanted to go to Alaska since 4th grade, because my teacher, Mrs. Lidell, had, at the beginning of the school year, just returned from her honeymoon there, and had brought back an amazing slideshow which we viewed on the first day of fourth grade. Nevermind that I puked up cafeteria hot dogs outside the classroom door just after the show was over. I still remember the glacier shots and moose and how she said, “Well goshlee, I didn’t know you were feeling sick.”

Right now, on Delilah, “If Ever Your in my Arms Again” is playing … requested by a man who called in to explain that in the past he worked too much and as a result lost his fiancée to a gambling problem. While she was in rehab, she met another man and he blames himself. So before the song played, Delilah explained to the caller the three Cs of addiction … you didn’t Cause it, you can’t Control it, and you can’t Cure it. Did I mention that she’s on every night?

We don’t have Cable.

Hmmm … let’s see … what else?

Oh! Our family! Yes. Well. There have been three major events to mark this past week:

First, the emergence of The Scooter from The Closet in the Foyer, which was given to him last September but by Auntie Amy, but hidden for over half a year until we were so desperate to entertain him that we would’ve let him use steak knives to carve out shapes in his play-doh. Luckily, there was a hidden toy! My advice to all new parents: Hide at least half of the birthday gifts (every year) and whip them out when you’re hard up.



The second important thing is that he got a haircut.


The Dad has got a sweet setup for hair cuts. He bought an entire barber kit and thank goodness for "Dora Meets Diego at the Animal Rescue Center" because otherwise, he would just have to be shabby.

Finally, there was the Tuesday Canoe Float, which was our first float since last summer and was quite a success:


First, he had to check out his throne, which Brian rigged up from an old highchair seat. It was tied down with ropes and cushioned and even had arm rests.


The put-in location is about half a mile from the take-out (how does that work???), so while The Dad drove Suzie Q to the parking lot, I had to entertain him with other floaters inflating their kayaks with foot pumps and by allowing him to play with one Fishing Worm. It ended up becoming two worms, if you know what I mean.


We rowed and he fished and clocked me in the head with that stupid Sponge Bob thing on the end of his pole, and thank goodness for kid's fishing poles with no hooks. We forgot to bring the hotpink net that he picked out.


He and The Dad did some other fishing as well, in the fly style.


Then he and the other one sacked out for an hour on top of a quilt, on top of rocks, on the riverbank.


After the nap, the mood was so dark and low that we had to use cookies.


After the nap, we attempted to paddle the last 2.5 miles, but ended up swimming most of it, at The Goose's request.

Eventually we coaxed him back into the boat with the promise of paddling privileges. Nevermind the white legs at the stern. The Dad came home from Wild Oats yesterday with a bottle of organic, paraben-free self tanner and now the problem is solved.

Currently, Phil Collins is singing his heart out and Delilah is talking over the track ... "relax, unwind, slow down and LOVE with me."

I'm hooked.

Tomorrow I have been invited to a former student's house for brunch. She has a son John's age, and two other former students with young children are coming as well. They asked me to bring pasta, so I'm gonna. Even though there are no pasta recipes in the BRUNCH section of my Best of Southern Living cookbook, I am improvising and bringing Capellini Pomodoro with a side of Oatmeal-Bran Muffins. Ah, the joys of international relations.

Otherwise, there's not much news except for my continued addiction to selling household items on Craig's List. School starts back next week, so hopefully I can return to normal and stop cleaning ridiculous things in my spare time (like using a 10% bleach solution on the skid-preventing leg covers of our dish rack and the grooves of all of our spice container tops). (Unrelated note: if you are trying to remove mold, you should not use more bleach than 10% because more than that destroys the natural Ph balance and causes the mold to grow back more voraciously -- things you learn while trying to earn money in graduate school by working for a company whose primary focus is measuring the potency of shower-stall mold and the lead content in housepaint). Additionally, I have spent the week with NUDE toenails in preparation for my 6th anniversary this weekend. I felt that they needed some vitamin D from the sunlight before the Big Night. We've got a babysitter and it was just payday. That is not a good combination from Dave Ramsey's perspective.

Finally, I should leave you with a few Goosequotes:

• The only option is to eat first and then wash hands.
• Look right, look left, no cars or trucks! It's safe!
• I'm up! I almost slept all day! I want a popsicle! Howbout that choice?
• Hey! Look at that royal blue New Holland tractor with the attachment! Is a harrowing tool! Is a seed drill? I think it maybe just be a bush-hog. Mom, do you know about Grandaddy's orange Kubota tractor with the bush-hog? Dad hook up the bush-hog and hadda sneeze.
• You're a sweet girl Mom. I love you too.

Who EVER would call this age "terrible"? I think it's lovely. I really do. Call me crazy, but I love the tantrums where he slaps his own legs and screams "NO, WE DON'T WANNA WASH HAIR! MAYBE ANNUNNA NIGHT!" or how about those precious moments when he accuses me of pushing him down? Yeah. Haven't figured that out yet, but how disconcerting when your child accuses you of hurting him on purpose and then demands that you sit in time out. Any advice on that would be greatly appreciated.

Happy Summer ... it's here!

See you next week,
Kimmy