School is about to begin, just a few precious days of summer left. The kids head back on the 20th, but Meghan is moving into her dorm on the 16th.
It’s so hard to believe that we have finally reached this point in our lives, being parents of a college freshman.
I remember crying my eyes out the week before her first birthday, convinced that I would walk into her room on her birthday morning and find that it had all been a dream, that she had never existed, that the entire previous year had been empty of her.
She has always been my other “me”, but this summer she has not only spread her wings but she is soaring away from me, creating her own little family from her friends, making her own decisions and grappling with current issues of the day.
Dave and I can only stand back and let her be.
It’s wonderful to watch unfold, to see her grow into herself.
We will be having music fill our house once more this fall.
Originally Joey wanted to play percussion, but he needed keyboard experience as part of the criteria.
At the band open house at his school, he picked up the trumpet, and changed his mind about drums and cymbals, and decided that a trumpet needed to live at our house.
Personally, I was gunning for the tuba simply because I was hoping to pick up a few lessons from him, always being told in school that I was too small for tuba, thus playing flute instead.
You really can’t get away with any mischief sitting on the front row under the conductor’s eye.
Although the flutes certainly did try.
I took the kids hiking again yesterday, reasoning that it’s much like falling off a bike—gotta get back up and go again.
Surprisingly, this time they really had a good time, probably because the “hike” was along a nature trail that encircled a golf course and you could glimpse houses through the trees.
Also, I know how to pick kid-friendly hiking trails.
There was water and shade and plenty of rocks to climb around, me warning the kids to look out for snakes.
Does it ever get too hot for snakes?
I explained “noodling” to Joey, who had never heard of it and he was duly repulsed.
For those of you who don’t live in the South and have never heard of such sport (?!), noodling is (according to Urban Dictionary):
A form of fishing in which a crazy person runs into a lake and searches for holes on the bottom with his foot. Then he inserts his finger into the hole and lets something bite it. Hopefully, it’s a catfish. If so, he wrestles the catfish to the surface and drags it to shore. If its not a catfish, he may lose his finger to a snapping turtle or his life to a water moccasin.
Except here, these “crazy people” noodle in rivers.
The South has never been called dull.
Have you all been keeping up with the Olympics?
We’ve all been gathering in the living room in the evenings to watch Michael Phelps, Ryan Lotke (oh MY!!) and the teeny tiny gymnasts swim and tumble their way to medals.
I consider myself somewhat in shape and fit, but those kids (because at my age anyone under the age of 30 is a kid) make me feel like a massive out of shape couch potato.
The Games are a lot of fun to watch, but I always resolve to run further the next day and bike harder on the weekends so I can look like Phelps and one of the Fab Five.
Maybe I’ve been out in the sun too long.
Hope you all have a happy last month of summer.
Keep your fingers, toes and everything else crossed that this infernal drought and heat will break soon for everyone suffering from it.
If it does, I will be out dancing in the rain with my arms wide open and a smile on my face.