I feel like I should apologize for writing about something that happened well over a month ago. But as my friend said, "I'm trying hard not to apologize for late-in-the game blogging....like in ten years will our kids care that we were two months late or just happy to have our perspective and images from a day/event. Jeesh."
So yeah. Jeesh. In the meantime, you can be sure that we have been digging up, digging in, cleaning out, cleaning up. We've had a week of Nana, a week of gardening, a week in Missoula, a May Day tea party and a day for the Mothers. Yesterday I tucked-in potatoes, broccoli, brussels sprouts and a first round of tomatoes and peppers. Juniper has one day of preschool left and Hazel can playground-climb like a big kid. And the world keeps on spinning round and round.
:: So. Last stop from Razor Clamming 2014. What we do in our spare time:
Clean clams of course! Every year we fall into a stereotypical division of labor along gender lines. The men folk sit around outside drinking beer, shelling and gutting clams. The womenfolk are inside drinking wine, hunched over the kitchen sink rinsing out every last tiny grain of sand, patting dry, vacuum-sealing, labeling and freezing. In the autumn when you open a bag of clams for, say, chowder you will know at what point in the evening you're clams were cleaned. Mostly, they're clean as a whistle. But sometimes, if it was a bit later on, say after a few glasses of wine, your clams will be a bit gritty.
:: Anyway. Besides cleaning clams:
Grandmas get tackled by four bony kids.
My eldest "tames" nearly everything "as a pet." She had a little fish (dead) "swimming" in a plastic champagne glass, and later tucked-in to bed under a sheet of toilet paper. She had a super tiny baby clam which we later found decomposed between two books. Also, she found this slug. Here she is feeding the slug a weed. Eventually the slug made the journey home with us in a small water bottle filled with grass and weeds, a little water and topped with a red ribbon. (See the last photo in this post.)
:: We paint the great metropolis of Longbeach red, hitting up the ancient carnival rides that seem to open just for us.
Juniper and cousin Sam lash-out on each other like wildcats, but Hazel and Sam are two peaceful peas. Kid dynamics are so funny.
The rusty old tilt-a-whirl. I know how to sit on the side to really get the thing flying. Afterwards Juniper called it "The Squash Ride." When I asked why she said, "because we were seeds rolling around inside a pumpkin." Obviously. It's her favorite ride, marking a third generation of thrill-seeking women.
^Grandma L with Owen and Sam.^
I think she rode it three times in a row before conceding to a bellyache.
Cheap thrills followed by ice-cream and the kite shop.
^Auntie M getting some one-on-one with Hazel.^
:: Wandering walks to the beach.
^Hazel getting some one-on-one with Aunt D.^
My handsome guy. Face scratch by Hazel."Ocean Waves" by Juniper.
Me: "Hazel and Juniper! Kiss me for the camera?"
:: Sadly, we always remember to take a group photo when we're about to hop in our respective cars and over half the family has already left. So bad about that. Next time?
I was about to comment on my Cyndi Lauper hair, but then I google-image searched Cyndi and man, that comment just wouldn't be doing her justice. Anyway. Note my finished sweater and the slug bottles.