Okay, I'll start here.
That's Goober-Dude #2 in the shower last night. When I took this picture, he was singing, "I am washin' my body! I am washin' my BODY!"
And so he was.
Owen had showered earlier. He also applied deodorant and blew dry his hair. Gibson doesn't play that game.
So I took them home this morning and kissed the Magster who was as pink and plump and precious as Our Dear Lord Baby Jesus in an Italian Renaissance painting and then I went back to Costco (the boys ate all my cheese) and then to Publix where I meant to buy everything I need for my husband's Father's Day Special Desert.
I forgot the fucking cream cheese.
I did remember the toilet paper.
I came home and got the kitchen all cleared away and set up and ready to begin the pickling process once more and rinsed and drained the cucumbers and onions and peppers which had been laying in their salty spa in the refrigerator all night and sterilized jars and lids and made syrup and packed the hot, sterile jars and poured the syrup over them and put them in the canning kettle where they bubbled and boiled and they ended up looking like this.
A different recipe for Bread and Butter pickles. We shall see how they turn out when I open a pint.
Oh. I forgot to mention that while this pickle-making was going on, the skies had opened up and the rain was pouring down.
It was so cozy on the porch and in the house where I was happy to indulge in the magic of boiling water and glass and vegetables and sugar and vinegar and spices.
And then I absolutely had to book us a place in Asheville which meant deciding on dates and so forth because...August.
And because I need to see my baby girl and get my hands on her belly and kiss her face and maybe make my yearly Asheville tomato pie and hang out with Vergil and we need to all go to the river where we went last year and let the water rush over us as we laid on the rocky bed.
And so forth.
And by golly, by god, by sheer force of will and okay, maybe my first Ativan of the month (I have no idea why but things like trying to book a place to stay makes me so anxious that I go into a sort of angry hysteria which is not pleasant either to observe or experience) I DID!
My reservation is confirmed. I am going to Asheville. And it will be, as all of my trips to Asheville over the years have been, amazing.
I will take pickles and I will take shelled peas. I will take Boppy. Or, he will take me.
And he just hung this
Which May gave me and which I adore and it is two feet away from my eyes as I write.
A Saturday where the universe had a lot to say and I just tagged along, doing my part in what needed to be done.
Or something like that.