Weekend Ramble

More from Leila's wardrobe of crazy pants!

Jon worked through the weekend, so this time it was just me and the kids.

Just me and the kids... All. Weekend. Long.

Actually, as grim as I tried to make our Daddy-less time sound just now, we did manage to get out and have a little bit of fun and interaction with the rest of the world on Saturday.

First, we had pizza at the Little Italy restaurant, in Colfax. It's a place on Main Street (not a chain, Mark!) with about eight tables and a fun series of murals on the walls, including a mural of the three guys from the mafia show The Sopranos. The guys are dressed in dark suits and look like they're seated at a table in the restaurant, casing the joint for anyone new walking through the door (this mural freaked me out, the first time I saw it).

While we were there, the only other customers were an elderly couple seated across from us. After a few minutes the lady of the couple came over to our table. As you can imagine, I was very curious as to what she had to say.

She told me that she had a problem, and wondered if I could help her figure it out. Her problem was that she could feel her car keys in the lining of her purse, but couldn't find the hole from which they had entered, so couldn't get at the keys. She thought maybe I could figure it out for her, so she wouldn't have to resort to cutting open her purse.

I felt around the purse for a minute (strange, sticking your hand in someone else's purse; its such a personal thing). I couldn't figure it out either, right away. Then I checked a small pocket in the very front, and bingo... there was the hole in the lining. Mystery solved.

We laughed about it, and she thanked me. A few minutes later, they left. Five minutes passed by, and she came back... quickly bestowing a dollar each on Michael and Emma, with instructions to get themselves an ice cream cone. Since I had just told them that no, we were not going to have dessert with our lunch, they were especially delighted. Following the serendipity of the moment, I relented and let them have their calorie splurge.

After that we went for a drive to our favorite cluster of apple orchards. It was a bit of a rat-race there... tons of city folk trying to get their kids a quick infusion of country life.

But we bought some apples, had some cider, and let Leila get her first look at a miniature donkey. They had goats and pot-belly pigs there, as well (that type of pig is SO cute). Michael informed me that pigs are highly intelligent mammals (I think I've heard that before).

Interesting little aside: this weekend Michael asked me what I thought about him becoming a vegetarian. I had to think about that for a minute... remember, I was a vegetarian for four of my college years (until I was exposed to all that interesting food at the Hurlburt potlucks, and my resolve started to erode).

I ended up telling him that he was too young to make that decision for himself; for now, he would have to eat what the rest of the family was eating. When he is older-- and better equipped to research a healthy vegetarian diet and help prepare his own food-- it's fine with me.

I did agree he could try eating less meat, if he would supplement the loss of protein with other good sources like beans and rice. He agreed. He suggested he keep eating fish (he loves fishsticks and ketchup), hamburger (no explanation needed there), and chicken (KFC, thank you)... but no more bacon or pig. As fishsticks, hamburger, and chicken are about the only types of meat we have on a regular basis, I had no problem with any of this.

I sure have a thinking boy, in Michael. I am constantly amazed at the worries he comes up with, and the subtleties he observes. Global warming. Cultural stereotypes. Mom in a bad mood. Not much gets past Michael.

But he also reminds me, all the time, that he's a little boy. All of a sudden he'll ask me something so fundamental, I'm caught off guard.

Kind of like that time this summer when I realized that David, despite his maturity, sensitivity, and interest in politics and philosophy, was still unsure how to operate a can opener.

Which reminds me of another random tangent to go off on: this summer David observed to me that one cultural difference that seems to hold true with southerners is that they can say anything they want to another person-- no matter how cutting or unflattering or outright rude the remark-- as long as the words "Bless his heart" or "Bless her heart" are added at the end.

Southerners... bless their hearts.

After the apple orchard, we followed winding highway K to Cornell. It's a nice drive and there was a lot of fall color along the way... though every time I try to get the kids to notice pretty fall color Michael squelches me with some kind of remark about "Why do you like death?" Sigh.

Anyway, we made our way to Grandma and Grandpa's big yellow house.

Once there, we took pictures of the kids by the big popple tree in their back yard, at Grandma's suggestion. The old tree's days are numbered.

This tree has been around ever since Grandpa Bud can remember (and that's awhile, since the house belonged to his parents first, before he and Jane bought it).

Some of its long, heavy limbs have been pruned over the years, for safety reasons, but Bud and Jane are still concerned that it (or some of its dying branches) may come down in a wind storm and damage their house or injure someone. So they've made an appointment for a person to come over, and take the tree down in pieces.

This tree has been a milestone over the years. Generations of Hurlburt kids have scaled it and flashed their toothy grins for the camera. It will be strange to see it gone.

Moment of silence for a fine old tree?

Tonight we have conferences with the kids' teachers. I'll also be signing Michael up for basketball.

Last week we signed Emma up for Girl Scouts. There will be 13 girls in her group this year, but that's fine because another parent has volunteered to be the leader (with two others as assistants).

Of course their year kicks off with a fundraiser... the annual nut, candy, and magazine sale. I mention this for no particular reason, though (ahem) some of you will be contacted.