the adolescent part of the summer

This is the adolescent part of the summer.

The time when all those cute little plants I put in the ground just over a month ago suddenly shoot up into lanky, gangly monsters that threaten to take over the garden in an angry coup. It is the time, too, when my garden tries to run wild beyond the boundaries to which I have confined it. And, it is the time when crabgrass, the acne of any lawn or garden, seems to sprout up overnight, forcing me to my hands and knees every morning.

Soon enough, though, the summer will come to a close and these "monsters" will begin to whither and fade. And, eventually, there will be fewer and fewer weeds until, they too, die out. And so, I tell myself, maybe this stage, like any adolescence, is something simply to be gotten through; something to be endured in order to reap the harvest at the end.

bed bugs!

It used to be as I tucked my children into bed I would say that little rhyme: "Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite." But, not any more. Because, guess what? We have bed bugs. And they do bite, no matter what you do.

Okay. I'm not 100 percent sure we have bed bugs, but it sure feels that way. Here's what happened: It seems that after we picked Daisy up from camp on Saturday the maintenance crew discovered a "few" live bed bugs in her cabin. We were notified that afternoon, but, for various reasons, we never got the message until late last night.

Fortunately, I had thrown all her clothes and bedding into the washing machine the minute she got home which should, according to some websites, eliminate any hangers-on. Unfortunately, I did not put her favorite stuffed animal (which I begged her to take) or her best pillow in the washing machine but instead, THREW THEM BACK ON HER BED.

So now her room is stripped down to the bare bones. She even picked up the clothes that seem to stay on the floor permanently no matter the season. And our driveway is littered with black trash bags full of camp gear baking in the hot summer sun. I have not seen a bug yet, nor do I think I want to. But, just in case, I have programed a twenty-four hour exterminator into my cell phone.

Tonight, and for the next several nights, I think I will aim my bed bug pleas not at my children but a little bit higher: Please, oh please, God, do not let the bed bugs bite!

SAT pain

Amelia is studying for the SATs this summer which, of course, means I am too.

The other day, her vocabulary words were all words having to do with softening pain: ameliorate, mitigate, pacify, assuage.

I asked her, "why do you think there are so many words for softening pain?"

"I have no idea," she said, looking rather pained herself.

"Maybe," I said, "there is a lot of pain in the world."

"Or, maybe," she said, looking right at me, "people just don't like to be in pain."

"True enough," I said. True enough.

ten again!

I have been spending a lot of time with Lilly lately which is a good thing. She has been teaching me how to be ten years old, again.

How to look at each day as an opportunity to have fun and not just a chance to get things done. How to dive into a swimming pool without worrying about my hair and eat ice cream without counting the calories. How to hold a live clam in the palm of my hand without getting too grossed out and how to laugh at things that are funny (like a good joke) as well as things that shouldn't be (like whoopie cushions and farts).

Sometimes, when I am with Lilly, I am reminded of myself at that age. Like when she asks to rearrange the furniture in her room. again. Or when she rails against the injustices of being the youngest child. Or when she talks and talks and talks when no one else is around.

Sometimes, too, when I think about Lilly, I think about the me that could be, full of life and laughter and imagination. The ten-year-old that still lives on inside of me, somewhere.