That's right, it's gone! It included a whirlwind trip back East to NJ, NY and Boston; crazy 8th grade projects and crazy 8th graders at school; Eric's new part-time Follow the Dream job, which keeps him working all day Saturday and Sunday; the news that I am teaching 6th grade history next year (!), monster birthday preparations for the world's lowest-keyed birthday; and mad hula. Crazy!
So, Ainsley's birthday party was last weekend, scheduled for our neighborhood park. The Bay Area reported variable weather, but here in SJ it rained. It teased a bit, but then it really rained. This is about how the day went down:
7:30 AM: Amity at park, claiming three tables. Last year there were four separate parties happening at the same time. Cloudy but dry.
8:00 AM: Mother-in-law takes over waiting at tables. A&A go to diddams for balloons
8:30 AM: Skies open on MIL.
9:00 AM: Balloons acquired. MIL soaked.
9:30 AM: Park wet. MIL wet. Balloons wet. Mood damp.
10:00 AM: Decision made to move inside. Sad plastic-sealed note with sad little map left at park with sodden ballons. But wait! Entire party is based around rainbow parachute games! Where to do parachute in tiny tiny house?
10:15 AM: Garage!
10:20 AM: Oh no! Car with dead battery cocooned in garage! No room for parachute.
10:25 AM: Push car out of garage with help of neighbor (weekend stand-in husband, for tasks of this nature)
10:26 AM: Oh no! Car windows rolled down, rain pouring in!
10:28 AM: Jump-start stupid pre-rolled vehicle to roll up windows.
10:30 AM: Panic! 14 kids * 1.5 adults per kid + rain / tiny house = bad idea!
After all this, the party was actually lots of fun. Parachute worked great in the garage (preschoolers were TOTAL SUCKERS for the parachute -- I was like Jesus Christ for hooking that up), we all ate food on (quick thinking!) "picnic blankets" spread over the carpet on the living room floor, and the completely lowered expectations worked in our favor (no one could judge me for a crappy party when it was supposed to be AT THE PARK. You know, with the pony and the bounce house and all. Or maybe not any of that last stuff).
Our garden is growing, despite the snails. For a while I was mastering them by sneaking out at midnight and six AM and hucking them into the neighbors' yard, but they had six long hours to eat every vine veggie we had planted, so I had to go non-orgo and encircle the garden with a ring of toxic snail death. Now in the morning, there are piles of dead snails littering the garden battlements and we huck them into the yard without a fight.
And on the hula front, my halau is preparing for ho'ike, this big hula extravaganza that is happening on June 6th. I am in two short simple hulas that defy my every attempt to master them. I anticipate bringing shame and dishonor to the sacred art of the hula and to my hula brothers and sisters in just four short weeks.
Not tons of time for reading. Plus I think I'm getting old. I just love me the Genre Novels and the Nonfiction now, just like granddads the world over. Behold:
Nonfiction, trash fiction, nonfiction and some weird mystery/literary hybrid which was CREEPY AS HELL and which I highly recommend. Plus my Obama-hating dad is all on my case to read the Federalist Papers and document the liberties I'm forgoing in the name of collectivization. Well, hell. First I need to get some money before I can be mad at the government for not letting me keep it.