So. I was packing another box of upstairs stuff that must go somewhere downstairs before the asbestos guys get here, and I thought, “Rats knuckles! I forgot to post about the barn party!”

It was wonderful. After going for so many years, summer wouldn’t feel right if we missed it. And we were blessed with warmth and sun and everyone in the family was there for the first time. No grandparents on vacation, Mr. MG wasn’t deployed or on duty. (Well… L – who is practically family - wasn’t there. She had the lame excuse of having just got in from driving up three states.)

Something about hay bales neatly stacked in the back of the barn calls the kids to climb and slide and throw strands everywhere.

 There was time to fool around with grandparents.

And visit.

This year there were a couple of new things. The first was a ventriloquist. The kids totally loved it, which goes to show you that Vaudeville is still alive.

The second new-fun-thing was a hay ride. I was as excited as the kids, so I heaved Moo and myself into the trailer. My mom sat with the Bigs.

My son is wearing a shirt that says, “My mother drinks because of me.” Because I like to be especially classy for church functions.

 Again, Moo had to get used to the strange bright ball in the sky.

There were cows.

It’s strange. We’re a pretty rural community, but most of these kids are not around farm animals a lot. You could tell by the way the children screamed, “They’re going to eat us!!” as the cows chased the wagon, hoping for a mouthful of hay.

When that was done, my mom-in-law took the kids out in the big field to run and explore.

Then it was time to wander back inside to scratch skeeter bites and hives. They passed out hymnals and my dad and friends led us all in a hymn sing.

The whole shindig lasted an hour longer than usual, and by then most of the food was gone and the kids were sticky and itchy and tired. Time to mosey home and hose everyone down before bed.

The Bear giggled about the ventriloquist act all the way home.

It’s blueberry season out here. Blueberry bushes grow with no help at all; they just flourish and get heavy with fruit and then turn a beautiful shade of scarlet in the fall. They are the perfect plant.

As the kids were eating berries for dessert the other day:

The Bear: (looking thoughtful) Mama, did you know that God is like a big, squishy blueberry?

Me: (interest officially piqued) Really? How is that?

The Bear: Well, you know how when you bite into a squishy blueberry, and it’s sweet juice flows all over in your mouth? That’s how God’s love flows all around in us.

(pause)

Me: You’ve got a point, there.

I’m sure that if I played a Tchaikovsky track over this, it would be breathtaking.

It’s tradition: whenever one of our kids turn three they get a new, official, big-kid bed. On the day of their birthday they are sent to someone else’s house, we furiously assemble it and when it’s time for the party, surprise!  It’s a nice way for me them to usher in a new phase of life.

This time around is is going to have to be a little different. There isn’t enough space in the girls’ room to have two beds, so we are planning on bunks. As you can imagine, the Princess is looking forward to Moo’s birthday in December more than anyone else. Probably more than her own birthday. Finally, she will have the lofty position she feels she deserves. At least while she’s sleeping.

But before that can happen, we needed to scrape down the acoustic ceiling. You know, that popcorn looking junk? We didn’t want the Princess to be right up next to it, constantly knocking it all over whenever she sat up. We planned on doing it ourselves. A squirt bottle of soapy water, a plastic scraper, a bucket, and you’re good to go. We figured it would take a solid day to move the girls out of the room and pack everything out, a couple of days to scrape and patch, another day or two to paint – and paint the walls a fresh color while we were at it – and we’d be done.

Just to be on the safe side, we got a kit that tests for asbestos. You wet down and scrape a sample, send it to the lab, and you get an e-mail with the results. We express mailed it and expedited the turnover time so we could get started sooner. Summer is the perfect time for these projects. Asbestos was banned in 1978 and our house was built in 1976, so we didn’t figure there was a big chance that there would be a problem.

Today I got the results. Asbestos city! Now, because we tested and got back a positive result, we must declare it if we sell the place. If we remove it (and we will – no way we will have the Princess sleeping up next to it now, nor can we take the hit in the house’s resale value) we have to have it done by a pro. There are permits involved. Hazardous waste disposal. The words “negative pressurization” and “post-removal air sampling” flew by. There will be people in puffy, white all-over jumpsuits. Washington state does not take their carcinogenic minerals lightly.

Now all of the upstairs is in the picture, because all of it has the dreaded texture. So we will be packing up all the bedrooms, the craft room, the closets, everything, and moving it downstairs so that the brave men who fight the dreaded fiber can seal off the top half of the house like something out of a plague movie. Since it’s already July, I imagine they won’t be able to get started until, say, September. Right in time for school, when chaos is most welcome.

And in December Moo can blow out her candles and we will cheer, “Happy Birthday, girly! You just got a four thousand dollar ceiling to go with your new bed!”

Being a student again is teaching me a lot.

I am having to learn priorities. Reading three different translations of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight for a short reaction paper is overdoing it. And spending a couple of months ruminating on how it compares to Beowulf  is not using my time wisely. I have to learn that college does not mean savoring literature – it means gut, process, and produce a result in a hurry. But, my, it is wonderful. Now I am delving into Chaucer and fighting to stay on task.

Of course, if literature was all I had to do college would be a snap. But there is this nasty thing called Finite Mathematics (aka The Devil’s Bottom) that I have to tackle as well. I haven’t even tried algebra for twenty years, and now I am having to deal with statistics and corollaries and least common squares lines and I want to die. It’s a good thing I have a year to complete the course, because a semester is not nearly long enough for me to wade through the material. It’s a 100-level course and I feel like a failure every time I open the book.

I forgot to get the mail today, so I wandered to the box around ten this evening. Inside was the return envelope with my first math assignment in it.

I got 100%.

!

I want to wake the Princess. I want to hug her for all the times she has hated her math book and hated me for making her do it. I want to wake the neighbors and show them my grade. I want to call the local radio station and request that they broadcast the news. I want to frame my assignment, hang it over the fireplace, and stand there with one elbow resting on the mantle as I gaze lovingly at it.

Most of all, I want to ignore the fact that I have to work on the next assignment tomorrow.

What an awesome Fourth of July. I honestly haven’t had one that fun since I was a kid.

We started with the parade. It was everything a small town parade should be: WWII veterans being applauded, firemen throwing candy, dogs in costume, politicians throwing candy, brass bands, floats, and pirates and Crab Queens throwing candy.

It was hot! (Which, for here, means low 80’s.) By the time the bicycling police that started the parade rode past, sweat was trickling down the small of my back and I was regretting not even owning any shorts.

When there were only a few floats left, we hightailed it to the park to get carnival ride tickets before the crowds came. Then, for the first time ever, both sets of grandparents joined us at the fair. It was a riotous five hours of rides, grease with some curly fries in it, sweat, and snocones. Finally, someone could watch the young ones while Mr. MG and I rode thrill rides together for the first time in over ten years instead of taking turns. Grandparents and kids got to ride. I even got to go with my dad! The Princess allowed herself to be talked into almost any ride, screamed her regrets the entire time, and then wanted more when it was done. And Moo discovered near weightlessness on the gigantic slide.

Even with repeated sunblock layers, we were crispy by the time we headed home and collapsing from the inferno inside the van. Mr. MG ordered everyone into swimming suits to run in the sprinklers until the grandparents got to the house for the barbeque.

After much food and a ton of Pop-its, we headed to the park again for the city’s fireworks. It was Moo’s and the Bear’s first, but they both handled it beautifully. The Bear loved it. He oohed and aahed and said it was magnificent. The noise didn’t bother Moo at all like I thought it might – but mostly because she was too tired to care about anything by then. It doesn’t get dark enough up here to start the show until 10:30, and she was done in.

Then a hike back to the car to get home and throw the kidlets in bed. Moo not only slept through getting changed, but through tooth brushing, too. That’s a tired baby.

It has taken all of today to nurse them back to full power. Us, too! But it was worth it for such a perfect day.