Watermelon: the Ultimate Binge Food

It starts around December. You think about watermelon. Watermelon means summer. Summer means warm. You know what's not warm?

A polar vortex.

Suddenly you must have watermelon, for that means summer. But watermelon means summer because it is completely unavailable anytime but then, and so you spend the winter huddling under blankets and wishing it were watermelon season. Why, you wonder, did you not eat more watermelon last summer? Why did you take that valuable resource for granted??

Then the watermelon hits the stores. It is not actually summer yet, but since there is watermelon it might as well be summer. You hold out for a week, but then one day you walk to the grocery store and you simply must (must!) pick up a watermelon. Your choice is between a watermelon the size of two of your heads or a watermelon the size of three of your heads, but you have been waiting for watermelon all year so you pick the 3-head size.  You make your husband carry it home. It is then that he reminds you that he doesn't even really like watermelon.  "More for me!" you chirp.

That night you carve up one half, lovingly slurping up the juice and scraping every last bit of pink from the rind. Must not waste that previous watermelon!

The two-year-old is your enthusiastic watermelon binge partner. He is free from the winter tyranny of bananas and apples!  With juice running down his chin and both elbows, he gnaws all the way through the pink AND the white on each piece. Then you have to stop him before he swallows the rind.

The second day you eat watermelon at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You eat it in cubes. You eat it in slices. You blend it up and drink it as juice.

And that is when you start to remember why you didn't eat much watermelon last summer: because watermelon IS summer. And summer is perfectly wonderful for about a month, and then you wish for nothing more than a pumpkin spice latte and a good snowfall.

There is still half a watermelon, untouched, in your fridge.

On the third day it pours rain. It is NOT actually summer, it is NOT actually warm, and the watermelon is NOT actually refreshing. As the watermelon melts to water in your mouth, you feel just as water-logged on the inside as you are on the outside. You make 15 million bathroom trips due to the high water content (you might also be pregnant).

You have friends over and prepare a giant platter of watermelon. One of your friends comes with...a plate of watermelon. Everyone politely takes one slice (from HER plate!) - they too have been on watermelon binges.

As they walk out the door, you realize she has left her plate behind. "Wait! You forgot your watermelon!"

"Oh you keep it, we have plenty left at home." And she practically runs the rest of the way down the stairs before you can say anything more. You strongly suspect that when she reaches her car, she wipes her brow with an air of self-congratulatory relief.

So now you have more watermelon than before. You blend and freeze it in ice cube trays for future smoothies and mini-popsicles, but you have run out of freezer space and you still have two containers of watermelon in your fridge.

The 2-year-old still joins you in eating your watermelon, but he starts to hand his rinds back with lots of pink still on them. There was a time when you would salvage the remnants, but you turn a blind eye. And then the fateful moment: you offer him a slice of watermelon. He shakes his head no and utters one word:

Banana.

Finally, with a superhuman effort, you finish up the now-overripe and soupy watermelon from your fridge. You despise watermelon. You don't want any more watermelon (but you know what you could go for? Limeade.)

~~~

Two weeks later, you work up a sweat exercising. It's a warm, sunny day. You love summer!

And you know what sounds really good? Watermelon.

Maybe you'll pick one up on the way home.

Jelly Rolls

We got a very nice piece of mail from my SIL the other day, the very first one received by a certain member of our family.

It made me feel all warm and fuzzy and nest-y inside and I promptly started throwing things out left and right to make room for baby clothes.

John Steinbeck once wrote that “when a man says he does not want to speak of something he usually means he can think of nothing else.”  And that, my friends, is why I have approximately 49 blog post drafts and approximately 5 actual posts from the last five months. I had absolutely nothing to say about anything other than the one topic I wasn't ready to talk about.

Baby girl (affectionately known as "Jelly" in our house) is due mid-summer, and we are thrilled. So far, she has inherited two things from me: her pointy nose and a penchant for causing trouble. So. Much. Trouble. I have gone back and forth on posting about the last five months.  On one hand, we really have a lot to be thankful for, and I don't want to forget that. On the other hand, I don't want to focus unduly on past difficulties (and as of yesterday, they truly do all seem to be past!). I find that when I linger too long on them, I allow the cumulative stress to influence the present - but we only need grace to get through today, not grace to get through yesterday.

In the meantime, while I make up my mind (or at least try to find the right words), the Little Pants in our house is doing well and learning new tricks every day. He calls his baby sister "Elwie" but has absolutely no concept of what this "Elwie" figure is and why Mom and Dad keep talking about it.

This morning I walked into the kitchen while he was eating breakfast, and he said, "Heeey Sweetie!"  The other night I caught him slurping up the dregs of his tomato soup with a trick I can only assume he learned from one of the adults in our household.....

Meh. We have years ahead of us to work on table manners, right?

How to Track the Wild Kekoa Monster

If you want to track the Wild Kekoa Monster, the first thing you will want to do is find the trail of dried oatmeal.  This favorite food of the Kekoa Monster sticks to his pants, sloughing off throughout the day and rendering vacuuming pointless.  This is the surest way to find the Kekoa Monster.

But you will know that you are getting close when:

You find the shape sorter shapes, balls, or cars and trucks lined up in a single file line.



The animal puzzle is put together, but the zebra and rhino are invariably upside-down.



All the Pooh Bear books are pulled from the bookshelf.



Your PlayDoh containers are full of of tiny Play Doh balls.



You hear the sound of dice from another room.



You may also be able to smell the Kekoa Monster, but tracking him at this time is not recommended.  Find a caretaker of the Kekoa Monster and come back later.

The Kekoa Monster may disguise himself in a variety of ways.  He may appear as a cowboy.

Or a mysterious shepherd boy.

Do not be fooled by these disguises. Focus on the oatmeal trail.  IT'S ALWAYS THE OATMEAL TRAIL.

However, ye trackers beware.  Caretakers and observers of the Kekoa Monster often find themselves inexplicably tired and irresistibly lulled into a deep sleep.

So should you decide to continue tracking this strange and wonderful beast....at least bring your own blanket.

Changes

Last Sunday, I kissed a little boy who looked something like this:

I laid down for an hour and slept, unaware and unsuspecting.  When I awoke, I came out to find something like this:

Perk of haircuts: you get to watch Pooh Bear.  While snuggling Pooh Bear.

My thoughts exactly, Kekoa:

(Just to be clear, he needed a haircut. I said he needed a haircut.  I'm very grateful to Josh for giving him a haircut.  But.......my blondie!)

Precious

Were you denied the privilege of knowing my eight-year-old self?

If so, then I am sorry.  But I am also delighted to share this little gem with you as evidence of what you missed.

While at my parents' house over the holidays, I was dismayed to find a very important piece of my history shoved away in the back of my brother's closet.

Meet Precious:

Precious was a handy little friend because his (her?) clothes fastened with Velcro, making a handy little hiding spot.

The first of these secret documents was merely a testament to my undying love for Precious.  The validity of this document may have come into question under the circumstances which led to a 7-year confinement in my brother's closet.

The second document was of a more legal nature, reproduced below:

To the person who finds this.

My ballet diary is locked. The key is hidden in one of my glass figurines. It's in the one that swims.

You just inherited Precious, the doll this was hidden in and my ballet diary. Do not let anyone else see my diary.

[reverse side]

You may also have the glass figurine you find the key in but you may only claim this stuff after my death.

[signed] Full Name       [printed] Full Name

Clearly, I figured that if someone was distraught enough after my death to disrobe Precious in a desperate search for relics by which they could remember me, then they deserved to read about whether I loved or detested my brother on any particular day.

Sadly, my budding legal mind failed to date it.  Sorry to disappoint you hopeful seekers, but Precious and company will probably end up in the attic of one of my descendants, unappreciated and undiscovered. 

First Try at Chopsticks

Normally Kekoa is happy to use his primitive chopsticks (fingers) while Mom and Dad do the real thing, but last night he wanted to give them a try.

After a long battle, he put one chopstick down, popped the sashimi in his mouth with his fingers, and smiled proudly at his accomplishment.

In Which I Retire from Housekeeping

Some friends from church gifted Kekoa with a child-size vacuum cleaner, same brand as our big one.  ("We have to be quite undercover about the pick-up," my friend said, "because my kids don't know."  Somehow I don't think we'll be their favorite guests to dinner anytime soon.)

As you can see, toy vacuums require crumbled-up chips so as to be more realistic.

Fortunately, the vacuum's capacity to make actual vacuuming noises has been disabled.  Whether this is by natural causes or ruthless destruction at the hand of an annoyed parent, I cannot say.  It does, however, make a satisfying clicking sound when pushed, just loud enough to seem real and just quiet enough for me to ignore completely.

It is a rather precious thing to pull out the big vacuum cleaner and see those little legs run as fast as they can to get the little vacuum cleaner, and be followed every step of the way.  No carpet left behind.  I don't even mind the constant nipping at my heels.

I do, however, feel like a lazy slob when I stop and he looks at me disdainfully as if to say, "Sure, you may be done working, but I'm not a quitter!"  Carry on, son.  Carry on.

People are always talking about how much work kids are.  How expensive they are.  Not so, my friends. One look at my blog history tells you that I not only have someone to do my vacuuming, but someone to do my dishes,

my laundry,

my sweeping,

my dusting,

my baking,

and even my secretarial work.

'

Clearly, kids totally make sense if you're looking to retire from the housekeeping world.  No work required! So...you wanna borrow my kid for the afternoon while I get some work done?  ;)