the mark haley holler: Conversations

Last weekend was, of course, Independence Day. I won't go into my rant just now, but I often think of the parties that happen on this particular anniversary as Alcohol Dependence Day parties, because they so often end with everyone drinking a lot and then blowing stuff up.

Being part of a family with small kids, I wasn't around for the blowing up part, but as far as I know no one lost any valuable digits or even eyebrows at the party we went to. I have to give credit to the party throwers on this occasion. They thought of everything. They had two kiddie pools, hoola hoops, and bubble soap: excellent for keeping small children and the easily entertained (me) busy. They also had lawn games: good for creating blackmail videos of the severely inebriated. And, of course, the requisite food, music, and small boxes of percussives good for blowing your eardrums out. So my right ear is still ringing, but a good time was had by all.

This was an occasion which brought home to me in a gustatory way just how much of a factorial of the lowest common denominator I truly am. You can tell I was humbled by the fact that I am trying to pack as many ten dollar words into one sentence as possible there. But out of the spread of food available--and there was quite a spread: grilled pork loin and salmon, three different potato salads, beer bread, chocolate dipped strawberries, et cetera ad infinitum-- what thrilled me the most? These. I ate half the tray. Further proof I'm not meant to be a foodie blogger. We call that Kentucky Maki!

I took both boys to see their first ever fireworks that night. I was afraid Charlie wouldn't like it, being not a fan of loud noises unless he's the one that's making them, but in the end, it was a big hit. Charlie had a nice, long conversation with a couple sitting next to us who, it turned out, live in Norwood, which was where we lived before moving to 'Tucky. Not that any of that figured into the conversation on Charlie's end. The woman asked in a general address sort of way if fireworks must necessarily come with a "boom" or if it is put there for added effect, to which I answered that the "boom" is much like thunder and unavoidable. This prompted them to asked if I was a science teacher. I explained that when one's father is a physicist, one is bound to pick up a few things. This prompted the man to ask what my thoughts were on String Theory. I said, "I prefer the double bunny ears method, don't you? And double knots as long as they're not too tight." Abraham was wowed by the first three or four explosions, and then tried to run off to the police car that was blocking the road with lights flashing. In the end, I don't know if the actual fireworks impressed either of them, but if they're happy, I'm happy.

The actual 4th was the next day, when we all sat around recovering from having so much "fun." We tried going out to play in the sand box together, but in the sweltering heat, you get strange results, and possibly even hallucinations, vis-a-vis:

I have found that the best thing to do in ridiculous heat is go walk in the creek. Unfortunately, both Joe and Abe had recent wounds on feet and knees (see reference to "fun") and we concluded that they might get gangrene from the creek, so Charlie and I went alone. That was good, though. It gave me some time alone with my Number 1 Guy, and an opportunity to take a lot of pictures with which to annoy you. Charlie was a little annoyed too. He's pretending he likes me here, but in fact he's thinking The next chance I get, that camera is going in the water...

Female and Male Ebony Jewelwing D

amselflies

Blue Damselfly, Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly

Tiger Swallowtail in a tree, Swallowtail convention

A brave crayfish and a mottled rock.

Some sort of milkweed, and no, that isn't fishing line tangled in a bush. That plant actually grew that orange stuff.

Charlie is building a dam.

This really was a banner week for us. After we had all this fun over the weekend, I gave in to the pressure of annoyingly high temperatures and humidity and decided to go to the pool. If you know me well, you know that the heat has to be bordering on nuclear for me actually to want to swim. The boys are quite amphibious, but I'm not a water person, partially because of my awesome farmerette tan and sweet poolside fashion sense, and partially just because I'd rather have bamboo chutes shoved under my thumbnails than water in my ears. At any rate, we went to the pool on Wednesday. We took a friend along, but I doubt his mom will let him go ever again once she hears how I parked facing the wrong way on the side of the road to take pictures of bugs and flowers.

Here the boys are showing me just what they think of my photography obsession:

Charlie does a poolside catwalk to avoid burning his... one bare foot? Where did the other flip-flop go?

Abraham the Water Monkey gives me a heart attack hanging from the pool ladder in the eight foot dive section...

On the way home from the pool, Charlie and I had one of the many great conversations we have, wherein he asks obvious questions, and I answer him as absurdly as possible.

Charlie, out of the blue: Mom, is that our house? (We are 11.683 miles from home. He knows this.)

Me: Yes. Get out.

Charlie likes this game: Mom, is that our house?

Me: No. The president lives there.

Charlie: Is that our house?

Me: Yes. Get out.

Charlie: Is that our house?

Me: No. That's where the Queen of England lives.

Charlie: Is that our house?

Me: No. It's a gopher hole.

Charlie: Are you teasin' me?

Me: No. Giant gophers.