Inside Blooms

When it still looks like this outside

can you see me?

we focus on the spring happening inside

Regurgitated Backyard Science

Living in Boy Town, I have learned to accept some inevitable truths. Well, mostly one inevitable truth, which is that my children generally gravitate towards things that would turn the stomachs of most adults. The higher the gross factor, the better.

So over time, I have come to expect the unidentified goo on the kitchen table, the day old food remnants stuck in their chairs, the dirty, stinky socks on the couch. The boogers on their bedroom wall (yes, you read that right), the unflushed toilets, the pee on the seat - none of these things make me gag anymore.

Not much surprises me around here.

Until this past weekend.

When I arrived home on Saturday afternoon I found my husband and my sons and various other boys who didn't belong to me gathered around the picnic table in the backyard. They were all hunched over the table, some had magnifying glasses, some had gloves on their hands. They were all wide eyed and oohing and ahhing.

As every mother knows, anything that can hold the attention of that many boys at once is cause for immediate alarm.

As I approached the table I saw globs of mud laid out on paper towels, and lots of little hands picking through it all.

Mud. Not so bad, I thought.

And then I saw my husband pull out a tiny skull from one of the muddy globs.

What the...

He cleaned it off with a stick and placed it on another paper towel next to other tiny skulls.

Look, mom! one of them shouted. It's owl throw-up!

My children were dissecting owl pellets on my picnic table.

Let me say that again.

My children. Were dissecting owl pellets. On my picnic table.

The thing about living in Boy Town is that each day brings a surprise. And most likely, that surprise not only pushes the gross-factor to a new level, but also involves some variation of human or animal waste. So I have learned.


In case you are wondering, owls eat their food whole. The parts that they can't digest (bones, feathers, etc...) are regurgitated in the form of a pellet. And actually, this is kind of cool.

Shortcut

“Gimme a light?” she asked her friend as she opened the pack of Camels.

They leaned against the railing of the motel balcony outside of their room. The summer air was heavy and still, the boardwalk below deserted at this hour.  

“What'd we make tonight?” her friend asked.

Casey unrolled the wad of cash and counted.

“Just short of a grand. Not bad,” she said.

“Not bad if it was ours,” her friend snapped.  

“Shhh. Keep your voice down. You know how he gets if he’s woken up.” She glanced at the propped open door to the bedroom.

“We should get out of here. Like, now. Find a bus and go,” her friend said.

“You know we can’t,” Casey told her. “It’s too late. He’d find us.”

She stuffed the money back into her pocket and closed her eyes. Six months ago she would have agreed with her friend. Of course, six months ago, they wouldn’t have been granted this freedom on the balcony. Now, though, things didn’t seem so bad. They had food to eat, places to stay, clothes to wear. Just yesterday he brought her a pair of Jimmy Choo’s – stilettos (which bring in more business). Their world was small and he took care of everything in it.

“What do you think they’re doing? Right now, I mean?” her friend asked.

“I don’t know. Don’t think about it,” Casey told her. “This is who we are now.”

“I know. I can’t help it,” she sighed as a tear rolled down her cheek and plopped onto her bruised knee.

Casey lit another cigarette. She thought about them too, about their families, their friends - their old life. Sometimes, when she allowed herself, she thought about that night.

They had been out for Thursday night happy hour at their regular bar a few miles from campus. When the bartender saw them he had their first pitcher of Mich Light poured before they reached their bar stools. The first pitcher was always the most gratifying, a reward for enduring a long week of classes. The second pitcher made them giggly and flirty. The third pitcher turned their bones fluid and their heads fuzzy.

Usually, at the end of a drunken night, they’d leave their car in the garage and hitch a ride with a friend or call a cab to drive them back to campus. But by the time they stumbled out of the bar that night, way past closing, their pockets were empty and their friends were gone.

It had started to snow as they staggered and shivered their way home. Like every college co-ed out for a night, they were not appropriately dressed for the weather.

They saw the headlights first as the silver Pontiac slowed beside them. The driver leaned out the passenger side window and asked if they needed a lift. He was senior and heading back to campus, too. Don’t worry, he had said, I’m sober. They shrugged and got into the warm car - like they cared if he was sober or not.  

Despite their blurred heads, it wasn’t long before they noticed that the car had changed direction. Where are you going? This isn’t the way, they had hiccuped at the driver.

I know a shortcut, girls. Relax, he had told them.

So they did. They had even laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

They didn’t realize until later that the thing about taking a shortcut, is that you almost never get to where you want to go any faster. Sometimes you don’t get there at all.

Her friend stood over her, shaking her out of her memories, “Come on, he’s waking up.”

This week's Red Writing Hood assignment is to write - fiction or non-fiction - about a time when you took a detour. Where had you intended to go and where did you end up?

Your word limit is 600.

Report Card Day

When the Third Grader got into the car yesterday after school, he reminded me that it was report card day.

How did you do? I asked.

I did great in gym!

I have so much to say about him, his school and social experiences, but I find myself censoring what I put out there these days. He's getting older and, understandably, I need to respect his privacy.

But I will say this, he DID do great in gym.

Picture Book Giveaway

Do you love children's books as much as I do?

Enter to win Kristi Yamaguchi's new picture book, Dream Big Little Pig! over on my review page.

Don't Forget the Belly Rub

The dog is going on a mini-retreat this weekend. She's had a long, cold winter and needs a getaway. Who doesn't? She'll be spending several days irritating her elderly cousin, who is way past the playful puppy stage and wants very little to do with her. While she gets into down-dog play mode, he rolls his eyes and goes back to sleep. Though, secretly I think he likes it; we all need bouncy energy around us. It keeps us young. 

As we packed up her things, I wrote some brief instructions on her feeding schedule,

which my five year old deemed unacceptable.

So he wrote his own.

"At lunch time give her a treat. For breakfast and dinner give her one big cup. Please give her a belly rub. Please play with her."

I think his are much better. And so does the dog.

Saving the Landfills, One Puppet at a Time

My five year old bounded off the school bus with an uncharacteristic spring in his step last week. Usually, he slumps down the steps, hands me his backpack and complains about all the work he did in the 2.5 hours of half day Kindergarten. So when he got off the bus on Friday with a smile and a skip, I knew something special had happened.

His class had a presentation from a local artist who uses trash to make art - puppets, masks, clothes, sculptures. Wearing a tablecloth skirt ruffled with plastic bags, bottle cap pins and coffee cup earrings, she rode into their classroom on an old bike. She talked about hugging trees. She talked about garbage. She sang and acted and danced. She did everything one needs to do to grab and hold the attention of a five year old. 

How much of his attention did she grab? Enough that my do-good son spent the weekend digging through our recycling bin and lecturing us on the importance of 'going green'. We are a family that not only recycles cardboard and plastic, but toilets, too, so he was pretty much preaching to the choir of earthy composting goodness. Nonetheless, when my kids get excited about anything, and I mean anything, we go with it.

Here's what he accomplished this weekend.

Two puppets and a puppet holder made out of our trash (and a few pipe cleaners).

What's in your recycling bin?

How Does Your Garden Grow?

According to the gardening calendar hanging on my wall, I should start looking for signs of early bulbs this week.

I don't think the calendar knows that there is still three feet of snow on top of the slumbering daffodils in my backyard.

Still, the mountains of snow will eventually melt, the tulips and crocuses will find their way through the dark soil, and spring gardening - perennial and vegetable - will commence in earnest.

I don't know who is more excited about the upcoming growing season, my husband, who has crafted a spreadsheet

or my five year old, who has crafted a blueprint.

All I know is that there are serious vegetable related discussions going on around here lately. Plans are being made. Dog-eared seed catalogs are appearing on my kitchen table. And last year's garden is under review. What grew well? (zucchini, cucumbers, peas) What didn't?  (lettuce, peppers, pumpkins) What exceeded expectations? (turnips!) What will be axed? (green beans)

Like I said, it's serious.
 
Let's hope for an early thaw.