And Chaos Ensues

Maybe, just maybe, my affection for Tasha Tudor and her 1840's lifestyle is borne of a desire to have an identified focus for my home life. A fairly restricted, focus, I'll grant you, but wildflower gardening and churning my own butter carries a certain appeal over negotiating the daily (hourly!) complexities of not messing up my kids. Who knew parenting would engender such nostalgia for a time I never knew? I didn't anticipate that not creating excessive fodder for later counseling sessions would be one of my personal standards for parenting excellence. But there you go, chalk another one up to unrealistic expectations. Now I know why grandparents seem so jolly. It's the kids' turn to be neurotic! In all honesty, it has to be pretty entertaining to watch your children evolve into parents.

I'll also freely admit that my interest in various mommy/lifestyle/parenting/crafty blogs (all excellent, no criticism implied here of any blogs I might have ever referenced) springs from the sanitized portrayals of happy and nurturing homes. Even sticky problems are (usually) solved by the end of the post, or if not there, at least in the comments. How clean and how reassuring, with all loose ends woven in and grubby faces gently swabbed into glowing wholesomeness. I think we all probably know that the truth is slightly less attractive, but it still provides hope. Or at least, when approached with appropriate caution, hope. Otherwise, I might be driven to concluding that I am actually an unfit mother.

So as any reasonable reader might have guessed, my dreams of a Tasha Tudor homage via gardening and reading wholesome books to my fresh-faced offspring (all viewed through a soft haze of mid-summer evening light) did not come to pass. The happy return of the Hubby brought with it the sweet (?) relief of childhood tears and tantrums, and my lovely Older Dog developed some troubling symptoms of ill-health, not the least of which is peeing all over the floor. (In a new and different way. She has always peed on the floor. We've had her for about seven years.) In between wailing and floor scrubbing, though, I did manage to get my hair cut, and thought the urchins didn't join me (much), I gardened like a fiend on Sunday. I almost couldn't stand that evening I was so sore, but my basil plants are no longer languishing in a near-death state on the front porch, and I've found that composted chicken litter really does work miracles on poor soils. So all is not lost, and I know where to find some great fishing worms if I'm willing to do in a few volunteer calendula plants.

I also started Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, by Ismail Kadare, and despite that slight hazy quality to a book in translation, I am enjoying it. It has a structure of chapters and counter-chapters, which works beautifully to tell competing (or complementary) stories. It has been a great place to start the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I don't think that he is an author I would have found on my own.

Oh, and least I forget, Happy Juhannaspaiva! Isn't my family lucky ... we're getting new potatoes in our CSA this week, and I think I'll make New Potatoes and Herring to celebrate. Nothing says summer like herring :o)

Maybe it's time to move the sauna up the list of home projects.