I mean, who's complaining?

Seriously, there aren't enough words to describe the evilness of edging a lawn. I edged one very long stretch of ours today and I was cussing, bitching and calling all of our neighbors racial slurs (ok, that part is untrue). Matt and Sam came outside to check on my progress, and I said, "Probably not a good time to talk to me." Matt knows exactly what this means.

Because we live on a corner we have one freaking big yard, which, God knows why, I happily claimed as "mine" when we moved in. I'm minutes away from calling a lawn service. The only bright spot of this torture was 1) The fact that Sam did help me early on, before the name-calling, and he was so darn cute about it, and 2) Sam got bored with helping pretty quickly and 3) Sam hosed the middle of the street and said, "Mom, I'm being evil (this was preliminary, way before I'd decided that edging was the devil's work)." I asked why. He replied, "Because I'm making the street slippery for cars that pass." I said, "Ooooh, good one, honey."

But how can I really complain? Matt has spent the last 3 Saturdays putting together Sam's new totally-awesome playset that I picked out. Matt is far less dramatic or bitchy than I, and he--this will blow you away--never really complains.

DAMN IT. That pisses me off!

Our neighbors were over last night, and the wife (my friend) of the family said, "Jill's a work horse." Oh, man, I love her. FINALLY someone recognizes my efforts! I am a work horse. It's a Brooks thing. I take after my dad, who took after his dad, who took after my great-grandfather, who could apparently put a fence post in the ground without ever first digging a hole. We have brut strength, it's weird, and I love physical labor, even when I'm complaining.

Our old-guy next door neighbor told me a few weeks ago: Let me know if you ever want to get rid of your husband. Hahaha. He's a strange chap with a mysterious motorcycle alter-ego, which wouldn't interest me on any playing field. He wants free labor.

Sidebar: Sam dunked his first Oreo in milk this week. I think that's a rite of passage in the South.

Redbuds of summer

There's a redbud tree in our front yard-a giant, well-nutured, mature one-that's my favorite, next to the weeping cherry we got Matt last Father's Day. The redbud, though, is growing low, touching the ground in places. It's difficult to mow around.

Tonight I sacrificed a few branches, hated cutting them off, but it's really a giant sacrifice for our family. Every branch that goes into the trash opens up a little window into our lives for our nosey neighbors, the Kravitz family. Gladys Kravitz inspects everything we do, who comes and goes, what time of day we're coming and going, and if she can't figure it out she asks us.

It was a field day for her when I came home early from California; my brother picked me up at the airport and spent the night at our house. I worked in the yard everyday, and kept driving back and forth to my dad's house, helping out with Kate.

Gladys marched over-literally marched-and said, "Where have you been???" I told her and she continued, "Well, where were Matt and Sam???" (always three question marks after her sentences.) I explained the situation. "Well, whose car was in your driveway???????" (big question.) Damn it. It would have been the perfect chance to say, "My boyfriend's," but I'm weak, and she scares me. I explained further, wimping out completely.

Gladys said, "Well, I had Mr. Kravitz look over your fence one day to see what was going on!!!"

When my mouth finally closed, I slowly walked away from her, saying under my girl-who-got-her-ass-kicked-in-dodgeball voice, "You can think those things, Gladys, but please don't ever say them outloud."

There's a kind of hush

It's incredibly quiet. I've been home alone for nearly 24 hours, with nary a sound in the house. I am so loving this. I miss Sam and Matt, and we talk so frequently that it seems they could be watching Spiderman in the other room, allowing me some time to think and write. I'm drinking wine, eating olives, and baking bread. It's a Little Women moment. I'm smiling. Did I mention that it's quiet?

I had to leave them in California behind my airport tears, but they'll be home in two more days. I was "randomly selected" for a hand-check (a sexual term, actually, that our neighbor claims his parents used on him often, as a teenager watching television on the couch with a girlfriend) at John Wayne airport. My sad emotion quelled, and became rage.

My brother, Jason, picked me up at the airport. He took my picture as I walked off the concourse, and said, loudly, "Jill, how was China???" He then whispered, "I wanted to make it seem big." He's a funny guy. I told him my hand-check story and he said, "You were crying...and about to board a plane? I would have checked you, too!" He and I stayed up drinking wine and talking until 2 a.m. He was leaving for...California this morning to, crazy guy, participate in the "Escape to Alcatraz and Try Getting Back Amongst Those Sharks and the Cold Water Triathlon."

I mean, really, he's a machine.

And now I'm home. I'm going to soak this in while I can. No TV: heaven. Lauren and I are picking Kate up at camp tomorrow morning, and we're going to find the little Southern Indiana breakfast nook of which my dad spoke, and turn up the dial on fried eggs and bacon. My step-mom has ostensibly asked be to "kid sit" while they are on vacation in Long Boat Key, although she's completely allowing me to shirk responsibility, for the most part.

We had a wonderful trip to California. My mother-in-law and I are two peas sharing one pod. We are both a little about the gossip, but she generally wins if she's talking about anyone in Hollywood. I just...don't care. We laugh a lot, though, both free-spirits.

We drove back to Santa Barbara County, where Matt and I honeymooned over three years ago (Sam's age math quiz!). This time we took Matt's parents and Sam, but it was still quite lovely. We hit a few good wineries, bought some killer wines, and Matt's dad ordered a case of the 2007 (Sam's year) Alma Rosa pinot and shipped it to us! YEEEAH! We ate at the "Sideways" (our favorite movie) restaurant we'd missed the first time, the Los Olivos Cafe & Wine Merchant. My god, but the Californians know how to cook. We walked around a million shops, bought fudge and fridge magnets.

We hung out on Newport Beach a couple of times, Matt and Sam surfed, and we saw the "bearded lady" hanging out at Perry's Pizza. Later, we drove down to Dana Point. Matt asked if I'd like to see "the scene of the crime," and I replied, "Of course!" Beautiful place. I thought maybe it would be a little weird for Matt, but he neither hesitated nor hurried, because now it's just another place. Beautiful place.

Did I mention that it's quiet here?

We rented a camp site at Doheny Beach, and Sam and Matt surfed some more. Matt and Sam hung out on the beach at sunset, playing "Tell me another truth about you." Sam is the most darling, dear-hearted child in the world. He and I were standing on the beach watching Matt surf, and he said, "Thank you for buying that hot chocolate for me this morning, Mom." I knelt down and gave him a huge hug, he touches my heart so easily. I said, "Sam, you're the best person I know." He said, "Yeah, and I'd really like the Buzz Lightyear bike for my birthday." Perfect.

The three of us built a fire and sat around until well past dusk. Sam fell asleep in the car in about 15 seconds. Matt and I kept smiling at each other. There are not always perfect days.

The final day, I wrote out my "Sam list" (eye drop (he's had pink eye), brush teeth, don't forget his DVDs on the plane), and they took me to the airport. It was crushing. Sam called me later and said, "Mom, you must come up to the "coozie" (jacuzzi)!" I explained how I was in Minneapolis now, and that my toilet at the airport, while I was organizing my suitcase, flushed 5 times. Sam said, "Mom, I'm really serious. You must come up to the the coozie." Heartbreak.

I noted four types of people now on planes: The workers (Matt-types, always on their laptops), the game players (also on laptops, but mindlessly), the book readers (me, and a handful of others left out there who read actual books), and the parents flying with children (staring off into the distance).

I miss my boys. I cannot believe they haven't called during the construction of this blog.

It's too quiet.