We had a full weekend that reminded me with every last breath that moving away from DC was the best thing we ever did. Mind, I was a city person when I lived there and I liked city sorts of things. But now I am not. As RR says, “I’M A COUNTRY MOUSE, MAMA! I YAM!”
We did things that come with owning a house, like sand the rust off of and repaint our iron railings. This was actually the culmination of many weekends of preparation for the event, which went like this:
Weekends 1-5: Realize the paint for the railings requires 50 degree, dry weather. Lament not having scraped the rust off of the railings at any time during the other 30 dry, warm weekends this year.
Weekend 6: Use fancy spinning sander to create fountains of sparks. Stop. Buy protective glasses, ear plugs, and realize the weather does not plan to warm above 50. EVER.
Weekend 7 (and 8…and 9): Sand like a badass. Retreat inside when it begins to pour for the next two weeks.
Weekend 10: PAINT! Forget to wear gloves or pants while spray painting and end up covered in black rustoleum. Black thumbs are in, right?
D is in a music class and we joined her friends and their families for a…recital. Which. Well. It was more like a drum circle. There was a yurt. And lots of drums. Blankets spread on the lawn, kids running amok, guitars, bare feet, delicious food, a standup bass, and some excellent harmonizing on behalf of the singers. I thought RR would be fascinated by the singing (as usual) but instead she found a rusty bucket, a wiffle ball, and a pair of twigs and tucked herself behind a bush. Where she stayed to play by herself for the better part of an hour.
You know, there’s plenty about RR that would prompt me to say, “Huh. I wonder if there’s something I should know about this kid.” But then she wanders out from behind a bush, takes the twigs she’s been chewing on out of her mouth and proceeds brandish them in the air like some sort of rapid-fire alphabet magician, forming all the letters she can. “V, mama! T! X! I! L!” and, of course, “A!” which she manages by sliding her hand up and sticking her stubby thumb into the triangular void.
It’s fine, kid. Stay behind the bush if you like. Let me know if you need another twig.