A Breath of Fresh Air

If my blog were an infant strapped inside a hot car while I ran into the grocery for a couple of things, I'd be arrested.

The rains have let loose, and there are ants inside my mailbox. I'll give them 48 hours to find new digs or they're going to have an unmemorable spring.

As I snack on green bean crisps (which Sam says are "totally gross") and sip wine, I reflect on recent happenings, spectacles and things that made me laugh really hard.

I'll begin with the latter. Matt used a jackhammer over the weekend to take out our front, God-awful-ugly sidewalk. Stomach-aching laughter....but cute, dat. I couldn't be near him, truth be told, due to the continuous giggling. Instead, I dug a new line around the house for the flower beds, ripping out grass and thick dirt with my bare, farm-raised hands. I love back-breaking work. Matt left a jagged pile of cement debris, and returned the jackhammer to the store. We both relaxed with a glass of water and a jar of Aleve.

Today, Sam and I started picking up the pile of rubble. We looked like a chain gang out there mindlessly tossing rocks into buckets. Some neighbors passed by with their dog, snickering in that we've-already-finished-our-work tone, "Having fun?" Sam responded by shouting, "We're picking up rocks. My dad isn't really a good worker." Oh my God, I laughed so damned hard.

As for spectacles, Matt and I saw Dwight Yoakam at the Palladium, one of the most fru-fru venues on the planet, and a fight broke out. In Carmel, Indiana. At the Palladium. Penny loafers and tassled leather shoes were flying everywhere. The Republican Party had never seen such nonsense in their lives! It was pretty brilliant. Well done, drunk assholes.

And, the haps. Sam began Little League, and he's doing quite well. Seems he's got a little 'Brooks' in his blood (my nephews are astonishingly good at baseball). He's sooooo into it, sleeps with his glove, wears his uniform day and night, and when other kids mess around on the field, Sam looks at them like, "Dude, we're in the middle of something here..."

He's a lefty, and the kid can hit. His team is the Boston Red Socks, unfortunately, but luckily he looks divine in red. The practices and games have been nothing short of hell frozen over here in the Midwest, due to erratic weather behavior, but it's fun to see him participating, fielding some grounders, twirling when he's bored.
And lastly, we adopted a 5-yr-old bloodhound/coonhound mix from the Indy Humane Society. It was that or a pitbull, but Matt said that all pitbulls should be eradicated from Earth, and I second that emotion. Our dog is awesome, and I love hearing Sam say, "Here boy...here good, good, good, good boy..." Aww. He came with the name Waylon, but I've taken to calling him Longfellow.

When we're away, Longfellow whines for us. Sam calls it squeaking. We pull into the garage and Sam says, "I'm sure my dog has been squeaking for me all day," and then begins calling "Here good, good boy..." This kid! This sweetheart kid. Always amazing me...

Until next time, little bloggey, rest well. I'll keep the window cracked for you.