July 14, 2008

Blooming Season

I read that summer didn't start here until July 4th, but I didn't really think it was true. Sure enough, the rain has slowed (although it poured last night and into the morning) and all of the flowers are abloom. The picture is of a lily from the planter in front of the house. My poppies have sprouted, but they're struggling with the rain and shade. No blooms yet.
In the background you might be able to see a blur of the plethora of rocks surrounding our house. If I ever feel the need to join a gym I can just go outside and start raking rocks. We've raked a little patch of them for Buckaroo's play area. They'll never be completely gone because they are imbedded in the dirt, but R bought some redwood mulch to throw on top so Buckaroo won't hurt his tushie when he zips down the slide.
Sweet Potato had her first playdate today with Girl Scout, who lives down the road. Girl Scout says she doesn't like to read, but Sweet Potato doesn't really believe anyone can feel that way about reading. Girl Scout did ask Sweet Potato if she knew anyone famous because she's from Cali. I said, "Did you tell her that your mom is a famous writer?" Har har. Dare to dream!
So Obo is all sad and lonely today because he didn't have his own playdate. I imagine they don't call them playdates anymore when they get to highschool. He's also bummed out because his passport was denied, so it's going to be at least another two weeks before he visits Jolly Ol' England.
and here's a funny little conversational tidbit with which to end:
R's dad, looking through the phone book: "Here's a guy named Schmuck. Could you imagine having that name?"
R: "Dad, you named me Dick"
R's Dad: "I know"
R: "Do you know what it was like going through junior high with the name Dick?"
R's Dad: "I know"
R: "That's why I changed it, you know"
R's Dad: "I know" with a shrug and a smile and the shake of his head.
R's mom, though, doesn't know. She still calls him Dick or Dickie. Plus, sometimes she calls me Julie (that's Obo's mom's name). The poor neighbors can't figure out who we are.

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