Why, Super Bush! You're Beautiful!

Y'know how in movies/videos/tv shows

the boy totally spends nine-tenths of the time oblivious to the fact 
that his girl friend who is not his girlfriend

is a total BABE?

(Yes, Taylor, the glasses obviously make you a hideous beast.)

But then in the last bit he realizes her complete and total HOTNESS?

(Can't you seee-eee-eee how gorgeous she is now?)

Anyhoo, I'm feeling that way about my Super Bush tomato plant.

I've been rhapsodizing about the sweetness of my SuperGolds,

the meatiness of my Black Krims,

the, ah,

weirdness of my Costolutos.

But I've overlooked my Super Bush tomatoes like they were Rachel Leigh Cook, 

pre-Fatboy Slim prom dance.

(Whoa!  Glasses AND overalls!  She's practically the Elephant Man!)

A second look made me realize that 

Super Bush has a lot going for it.

It's got nicely-sized tomatoes,

has a fair amount of tomatoes per bush,

has been drama-free this growing season,

(no wilting or root blossom rot or anything)

and,

most importantly, it's nicely compact.

It doesn't even really need a tomato cage.

It's the one tomato I've grown that actually looks really attractive in a pot,
and since my tomatoes are in the front yard, that's a real consideration.

Some of my other tomatoes might kick it up a notch, flavor-wise,

BUT...

... they look pretty sad, landscape-wise.

So, looking for a nice tomato to top your burger?

Plant a Super Bush or two!

My Talented Offspring

I bought some coloring sheets from the Etsy shop thaneeya...

... and look what The Girl turned one of them into!

She gave me the embroidered block for Mother's Day,

and I just added a simple border to make it a small wallhanging.

Pretty cool, eh?

The Girl has her own shop on Etsy;

check it out!

Timeline Of A Renovation, AKA The Descent Into Madness

I like to start the summer with a Post-It

listing the projects I'd like to get done before school starts.

Kitchen!

I wrote optimistically.

I planned  to take up the gross old tile,

put down new laminate tile,

paint the walls,

and install a pantry.

It was going to be great!!

But then...

summer ran down, and I looked hard at the kitchen.

Oy.

It was going to be a lot of work.

So I re-calibrated, and decided to...

That seemed doable.

It's hard to photograph the grossness of the entryway (and kitchen) tile.

It's porous, so it's literally never clean, no matter how much I scrub it.

And... let's be honest. I don't scrub it often.  

Why bother, when it won't look much different, anyway?

Soooooo...

Day One!

I swung my sledgehammer,

deployed my tile scraper,

and after a few hours it was all up.

Y'know the weird thing?

As per the internet's advice,

I covered the tile with an old towel while I whacked away at it.

The tile cut holes in the towel...

and the holes were actually burnt at the edges!

The friction or something melted my towel!  

Yikes!!

I pushed the tiles into piles, loaded them up in buckets and boxes,

and drug them out to the trash.

It was time for a break, so I took my grubby, sweaty self to the Bamboo Cafe

for a take-out boba tea and Vietnamese egg sandwich...

... and then I came home and applied the vinyl tiles.

I was a tad tired when I was done.

And holy moly, was I freaking DIRTY!

My poor beauty school pedicure!  It shone so bravely through the grime!

(Sidenote:  if you're getting a pedicure and want your legs

to be silky-smooth for the beautician?

Don't forget your feet.

It looked like I was resting hobbit feet in Carol's lap.)

After I scrapped myself from the floor

I finished the night with a Silkwood Shower.

I literally had to scrub my arms, legs and feet with a fingernail brush

to get all the sticky grime off.

.

.

.

Day Two!

From past experience, I know that days two and three can be the hardest part.

(I rarely do a job that takes longer than three days. 

It's just too stressful for the Sweet Man.)

The bulk of the job is often done,

but I need the extra oomph to put my sweaty work clothes back on,

get the tools out again,

and power on through and finish up.

And this time, I also had to deal with

THIS.

"What's the problem?" you ask.

"It's just a box of leftover tile, right?"

Yes, to you or me, it looks like a box of tile.

But to my kitty Jack?

Well, let's just say Jackie has

a drunken frat boy's casual definition of what constitutes a "toilet."

Wooooo!!!!  No Porta-Potty?  No problem!!!

Jack is the coolest cat I've ever owned (in a long line of cool cats);

he is in fact the Springsteen of kitties, BUT if it's a box?

He considers it a litter box.

So before I could grout, I grumpily had to take all the tiles out of the box

and clean them off with Lysol scrubby-wipes.

(I should buy stock in these dang things, I go through so many in my pet-filled household.)

But I can't stay mad at him, that sweet Jackie-cat.

He really is a love.

Aaaaanyway, I efficiently grouted up the area

and while the grout was drying, I tackled another job:

repainting the floorboards and walls near the floor.

Lady MacGyver tip!

I didn't want to use the big paint tray for such a little job,

so I just lined a small cardboard box with tinfoil.

After painting, I sealed the grout,

reattached the floorboards,

and picked up all the tools and trash that are the byproduct of a renovation.

My secret weapon to staying on task for this last slog?

An audiobook!

Listening to Ann Patchett's steady voice as she recounted her friendship

with sister writer Lucy Grealy tethered and focused me,

so I was less likely to noodle on the computer  work on another project.

By the time the Sweet Man and the Boy came home,

the floor was ready to walk on and dinner preparations were in progress.

Not so bad, right?

But let me tell you: renovations are like childbirth. 

It's easy to forget the sweating and screaming and only remember the results.

Awww, isn't a pwecious widdle entryway?

And they always, ALWAYS take longer than expected.

I can GUARANTEE that a floorboard will shatter, 

paint will run out,

or tiles will be just half an inch too big on one side,

 requiring laborious chipping of a dozen tiles to shave down to the right size.

But!

 Without my sweat equity and envelope of Etsy cash,

we'd still be living with smudged flat-white walls,

 eau de pet dingy carpeting,

and tile that is grosser than a bus station's bathroom.

So I say...

Costoluto, Are You Punking Me?

According to Renee's Garden, 

Costoluto tomatoes are supposed to be "lobed."

Got it!  I see what that means!

...ooookay, then...

All right, Costoluto, now you're just messing with me.

In the Dang It, Minnie Household,

Costolutos have now been nicknamed

The Butt Tomatoes.

Happy Birthday, Handsome Boy!

Twenty-one years ago...

... the Boy followed his sister into the world!

From the start, he was a sweet, easy-going baby.

A good sleeper, a good eater, and a good cuddler,

he explored the world around him and thoughtfully took note.

He was a funny-looking little manny; my ob/gyn said,

"He looks just like Mister Magoo!"

But he grew into a handsome boy and young man.

(Nope.  No trace of Mister Magoo here.)

While other mothers complained about their uncontrollable crazy-boys...

...I just replied, "I don't have one of those."

Oh, he liked his Legos and toy swords and wrestling with his buds,

but from an early age he loved to read, read, read.

We spent many happy afternoons at the bookstore,

reading and browsing and bringing home bags and bags of books.

(A boy in his natural habitat, on the couch with a dog and a book.)

His transition through puberty seemed to last about ten minutes,

because he went from being an thoughtful, kind, mature kid

to a thoughtful, kind, mature young adult

without making a stop at the exasperating out-of-control teen stage.

(Nope. Nothing familiar about this.)

He has a great sense of humor (which means we find the same things funny)

and he loves to find a video or story or turn of phrase to make the rest of the family laugh.

Although it's in his nature to be the designated driver,

on August eighth I plan to share a (legal) fruit-infused alcoholic drink

with my smoothie-lovin' boy.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy!

You are a delight.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

Twenty-one years ago...

...the Girl (and her twin brother) arrived on the scene!

She was feisty and determined from the beginning.

Once she learned to crawl, she was heading down the hall to roust me from the bathroom.

"Mooooommmy?"

When she began to talk, she decided I wasn't playing "Where's Your Nose?" to her abilities,

so she took it upon herself to expand her vocabulary.

"Nose?  Eyes?  Mouff?"

She was tiny and big-eyed, and reminded people of Little Cindy Lou Who
(who was no more than two.)

(This Cindy Lou, not the one from the awful live-action movie.)

She's been an animal lover from the beginning,

and has added greatly to the menagerie that is our house
by bringing in rats, birds, dogs and cats.

(The crazy thing?  We actually have more animals than this.)

She was whip-smart from the beginning at school,

at bobbed at the top of her class from kindergarten through twelfth.

She balances her brains with craftiness,

and taught herself sewing, knitting, spinning, and any other handcraft she set her mind to.

(Yeah, this is a pretty accurate representation of her room.)

She has a great science-math mind,

but doesn't fit the socially-inept stereotype of the proud geek; 

instead, she interacts quietly but well with adults, her peers,

and the kids she leads at summer camp.

"Hey, kids, after some s'mores, let's make lanyards!"

She's a great kid who grew into a terrific young woman

and I'll be a proud mama on August the eighth when I hoist a (legal) drink with my girl.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

You grew up good.