At the Beach

bubbles, water balloons and birthdays -- cousins

my sister-in-law's watermelon, greek yogurt, and berries layer cake. genius.

s'mores pie -- the gooiest most labor-intensive pie I've ever made

(marshmallow whipped cream, graham crackers dipped in hot fudge, vanilla marshmallow cream...) Kaia Joye's vision and my mom's heaven-dessert.

The Hair

now that I have my camera hook-up, the hair post-haircuts:

The Garden of Eden

A few hours ago, I would have written this:

Last night after Ben checked on the kids, he walked through the bathroom and found curved clippings of brown hair all over the floor. Needless to say that's not usually how I, one of the two brown haired people in the family, leave the bathroom. I tried to feel Eden's hair in the dark and found a few short pieces, but nothing drastic, and there hadn't been too much hair on the floor, so I went to bed without much thought -- most kids try it once, right? and I've always known Eden would be one of those kids. This morning, I saw that the hair on half her head was cut to the jaw bone, some strands a little shorter, though the very front pieces were still up in a rubber band. Perhaps not horrible, just a gap in the curtain of her hair?

She, who rarely lets her regret show, told us later in the day that she likes having short hair on one side and long on the other. And that she does not want it all short because then she can't have braids. And she loves braids. So all day I entertained keeping the gap.

Them came tonight, Eden's Garden:

Despite Silas's early rising and the number of miles the kids trudged over the mountain today, Silas and Eden are jet-lagged and despite exhaustion, had a hard time calming down tonight (much like their mother who is alone on the couch in a dark living room at this very moment). After tucking them in, we could hear Eden's animated voice bouncing behind the door and not long after heard footsteps which sounded like running between our room and theirs. But we were reading happily and knew they'd fall asleep eventually. The sounds continued in a somewhat inexplicable way -- were they jumping? stomping? still running? We ignored it. Then at one point, my mom commented on the fact that there wasn't noise anymore, hadn't been for a while, except hushed murmuring -- dangerous. So we voted for Pops to go up and sternly shoo them to bed. He walked into their room,

Where is everyone?

Then he tried the bathroom door. Locked. We listened to him walk to the opposite bathroom door. Also Locked. He knocked. And (with prompting) knocked harder. The sound of scurrying from the hidden people. I walked up and arrived at the other door just as Silas opened it. Nothing registered.

What are you doing?

Silas's big guilty eyes looked at my face, We're cutting our hair.

I saw it as the words left his mouth -- Eden's hair was now up to the jaw bone on both sides (minus the pony tail still on top) with several pieces almost to the top of her ear. And Silas's hair -- my favorite right now, coarse-soft and bleached nearly white from the sun -- was cut to the skin right on top. I just stood there looking back and forth and a laugh blasted out of my mouth as I turned to my dad. But I knew that wouldn't do, so as it was leaving my mouth, I also said, this is NOT funny. Very effective.

But Mom! It isn't my fault, Eden told me to do it.

(Several conversations followed up this statement).

Eden, tomorrow we're going to have to cut your hair.

I don't want my hair cut!!!

But you cut it.

I want it long.

But you cut it short. Yes, I stopped there. The reasoning was getting us no where.

As they finally climbed into bed sheepishly, a little itchy from hair, Ben rifled through the bathroom for the scissors.

Where are the scissors?

They're behind the sink.

Where? I don't see them.

Behind the sink. On the floor.

I'm pretty sure an angel with a flaming sword will be guarding the bathroom doors tomorrow night.

(at least they put a lot of it in the trashcan)

Asgard

More than the spattering sound against the porch and railings, the rain rushes and blows through the trees and beats against the windows and sides of the house. Thunder rumbles low and grumbling in the background, through the mountains that we can no longer see.

We arrived yesterday to the woods I've come to for thirty years. In recent years, they seem more towering and brighter than ever as their huge bodies sway in the wind, so unlike the low flat land where I live.

This morning when my mom got up -- she was the first of us -- she walked into the living room to find Silas fully dressed with binoculars around his neck gazing out the door (in his west coast brain it was 4AM). Each time I've spotted his little white-blonde head today, he's been moving and armed with some kind of equipment -- binoculars, walking sticks, telescope, shovel, machete, bear whistle. I think heaven for him, like Nana, will be this exact setting.

The rain has quieted enough now that it's changed to pattering and trickling drops, still with that low thunder behind it. The trees stand perfectly still. My hands are scratched from the rope swing and my hair soft from pond water -- a water so cold it sucked the breath out of me each time I dove in. Jesh, my one year old nephew, is bouncing on the rug next to Silas behind me-- cousins.

On the trail today Eden collected handfuls of treasures that she jammed into my jean short pockets: acorns and two "rainbow leaves"-- the august woods already lean toward fall -- crumpled green leaves Eden was "making play dough" from, rocks flecked with mica.

This summer the hills have been wild with black bears -- a newer development since I was a girl -- bears so bold they've climbed onto neighbors' porches and ambled under their apple trees. Last night at dusk, a neighbor spotted a mama and four cubs right down near the gate digging out a bee hive. We clustered on the porch but couldn't seen them, despite Eli's work with the binoculars, Silas's with the telescope, and Eden's the with magnifying glass. Instead we saw fire flies flecking the dark woods.

In a few minutes we'll walk through the thundery air and drive down to Asheville for bar-b-que, faces to the glass watching for bears as we go.

From the Other Room

It's Sunday afternoon at 4. A giant enchilada casserole is in the neighbor's oven for the park tonight (our rental-house-oven-from-the-olden-days is too small to fit most everything standard, much less a giant aluminum pan -- a little ironic for this time of life -- so I cook down the street nearly every weekend. Thank you, neighbors). A breeze is drifting through the front door and from the playroom I hear Silas's little voice singing "cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudel" against the sound of blocks going up.

**

In the two minutes I've been sitting here trying to capture this sweet pause, a battle has erupted in the playroom and Eden, in a deep scratchy voice is screaming NOOOOOO!! NOOOOOO!! NOOOOOOOO!! And Silas, who from the sound of it is still slapping up blocks (and probably pushing her away at the same time) just said, "Eden, laughter is gift."

Dentist and the Sneaky Girl

Last week while the kids sang and acted the Sound of Music at camp, I sat in the dentist chair and got fillings. A few days later I had to bring the kids with me for a final visit to have one of the filling checked.

As we were walking out of the exam room, I caught Eden quickly rubbing her lips -- I looked at the tray, elbow-height beside her, the pink glossy glob of numbing gel at the edge, and realized this was, indeed, the "lip glass" she'd been sneaking.

Our initial stern talk about putting random substances on one's lips without asking must have been effective because I didn't hear much about how tingly those little lips felt.

Dolls

A few weeks ago in the library, Eden walked over to me with a glossy pink craft book and said, with her hip cocked, "mom? I want to make some cute things." Where she comes from, I often ask myself, but there she was with her big bright book and I couldn't say no.

I am not a big crafter. Though cooking with recipes satisfies my urge to create with my hands, following step-by-step instructions to paint/sew/decorate feels more vapid. And so the book sat. On Monday, the email notification arrived that the book was due in three days. My goal had been to make ONE thing and time was nearly up. So that morning, Eden and I sat down to pick the craft and decided on the doll.

The first doll (yes, there were a few) we made was for Eden and Silas's cousin. It's a slightly scary duck-man with a felt beak that's a little cute -- it's the thought that counts (right?), and Silas loved it so much that he wanted one just like it. So we made a second duck-man dolly. Eden's doll was more involved, not the doll, herself, but the dress (dress!), which was simple enough in the book. But Eden, who has had strong clothing preferences since she was tiny, predictably had strong opinions. Four alterations later, the dress was done and Nonnie was complete with checkered tights:

We then left for the beach, and as every beloved new toy does, Nonnie came with us. Long story short, Eden left Nonnie on a patch of sand and before we knew it, Nonnie was gone, only her dress remained on the sand. I was ready to throw myself down on the sand in wild defeat. Eden was upset, too, but not heart-wrenchingly so. We retraced and retraced our steps, but, indeed, Nonnie was gone. On the drive home, I waffled between teaching the lesson -- don't leave your beloved toy abandoned on the sand -- and wanting to make her a new one. Since we still had the dress, I plunged into the world of sewing one more time and recreated Nonnie, who inexplicably is now named Nutie (pronounced Nudie, yes).