Aug 30, 2014
That afternoon was somehow suspended in a bubble in that gentle breeze. A bubble that refuses to pop as it glides about giggling at itself. Everywhere Fiona and I strolled, people were outside stealing that moment of unseasonably perfect August weather. The town’s senses was sharpened. It’s breath was held.
Killing Summer time
Women had conversations on phones and on porches in hushed tones slightly heard still over the din of bug wings rubbing their Summer wings together. It was up to the passerby to just not listen. The wind rustled leaves and shoved clouds across the sky. Those few moments in that day felt unreal and exhilarating and forbidden.
I made Eamon climb a tree
We were all somehow complicit in enjoying that illegal Summer weather. We were each other’s witnesses to feeling decadent and guilty that this loveliness may come at a price. Because it’s never this nice in Maryland at this time of the year. Ever. Our souls sold, we silently agreed to just not much mind. And enjoy this bath-like weather while we could.
Aug 29, 2014
Every year, we are lucky enough to have the Summerfest family festival explode in our front yard. This year’s theme was Cruisin’ Back to the 50’s. Booth owners (non-prof) all try to outdo each other with their themed decorations.
Vintage Chuck Berry poster
Vintage concert poster collection
Mark installing vintage poster collection
This is where the sand got dumped
Mark’s sign from when he sponsored the main stage music
Swanky bathroom sign
My husband and I were asked by the lady running the show to help hang ten original concert posters in a storefront window. And he to stage manage Friday night at the main stage. We’d do anything for Sue.
Ah the funnel cakes
The funnel cake head man cracked me up.
The Oberline train man set up a train garden!
The Navy band played the William Tell Overture for the fireworks.
Fireworks art shot.
My favorite fountain fireworks.
Fiona was hanging out with Daddy the stage manager.
Fiona loose on the Green.
There’s fire engine rides and bouncy rides and pony rides. Three different stages, a sand sculpture and play area, and plenty of food and political parties hawking their candidates. Plus cool old cars and fireworks to cap off the end of the festivities Saturday night. All of which I can hear and see from my house here on the Green.
A fabulous homemade jukebox.
Pony rides across the street.
Bob and Sue, important people we know.
Horses behinds were there too.
Fiona and Eamon played in the Folly.
The weather was so incredibly mild this year that the attendance was actually down. And on Sunday, Ms. Sue comes knocking on our door for a cup of Joe and retrieves my child. It’s his yearly job to destroy the sand sculpture before the backhoe gets there. And we got fresh free sand for the sandbox.
Fiona crawls through the tunnel in Boxtown.
Eamon is the official destroyer of the sand sculpture on Sunday.
And we all get fresh sand for our sandboxes.
A little sidewalk chalkin’.
I made Eamon climb a tree
Killing time the day after Summerfest.
So on Sunday, Fiona and Eamon and I hung out on the now emptied Green and played with sidewalk chalk and climbed trees. It was a lovely weekend in the neighborhood. It was Summerfestive.
Aug 28, 2014
It suddenly occurred to me what me and two other women bloggers I know have in common. Each of us strives to care-take and feed our families with passion and creativity. We love our role and these goals yet we do not feel the love for the term or fit the recognized role of “housewife”. We are a new breed of Mom.
Valuing our care of ourselves and our families, we don’t fit the cookie cutter mold of the minivan crowd catering snacks to sporting events and home-good selling parties. And that makes us a little weird. A bit like “those other people”.
But we will also be the first ones to hold our judgement and offer our support to anyone who is having a bad parenting day. Because this is a tough ungrateful job. And there’s no meritorious awards or service reviews. There’s just more unrelenting heartache, poop, and trouble. Housewifery ain’t what it used to be. Or what the media made it out to be.And doing it with humor and heart is all we’ve got.
And yet, deep down, without all the worry about what others may think and keeping up with the Jones’, it’s still exactly what it always really was : an unsung unglamorous heroine’s job to creatively take care of the future of the world and keep ourselves happy too. I am what I am.