Of course, I don’t care about the summer break anymore because I don’t get a summer break. My kids are too young for summer breaks yet, thank god. You know, daycare doesn’t close in the summer. What do working parents do with their kids when June hits? Pack them in a purse?
So this weather is strange, and people across Ohio are aghast because seasons aren’t seasons until you are distinctly uncomfortable. I think we are afraid that we won’t be able to store up enough heat to last us through the winter.
Speaking of storing things up for the winter, the acorns have returned.
This is our fourth year in the house. I don’t remember the first fall, but the second fall I was still at home with our first-born and that was when I realized that the giant tree in our backyard is an oak tree.
In other words, it was raining head injuries.
Oh, the acorns. The many, many acorns falling from the heavens.
It is impossible to express in words what it is like to be outside, in the shade of your giant oak tree, and realize that your backyard is now a war zone and you, my friend, are losing. I know it is impossible to describe because I called Chris up at work to let him know the baby was going to need a helmet for outdoor play, and he was all, “Why are you calling me at work to talk about nuts?” And I was all, “Because they are not nuts, they are teeny missiles dropped on us by nature.” And he was all, “You need a hobby.”
But oh, the joys of I-told-you-so. Chris decided to barbecue that evening for dinner. I tried to warn him. “You don’t know what it’s LIKE out there!” I cried. But he went, heedlessly, recklessly, out into the line of fire. As the grill is right outside the living room windows, Sam and I had a front row seat to the carnage. It wasn’t long before I heard the familiar,
“peuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuooooooooooooooo . . .
“JESUS,” Chris mutters. There is another “peuuuuuu” and another, and Chris is getting slightly more emphatic in his exclamations. And then there is a “peuuuuoooo” that ends in a hollow “BLOOK” rather than a BAM and I know he’s hit. He does not mutter this “JESUS!”
When he comes inside, my husband has learned a lesson about ignoring his wife.
Last year, we had the tree trimmed and it really seemed to help the acorn volume. But this year they are back with a vengeance. I was in a minor fender-bender recently and when I took the car into the body shop the guy was perplexed about the small dents that cover the top of the car. "Acorns, dude," I said. "You gotta watch out for 'em." He looked at me all confused and disbelieving and do the rest of you not HAVE oak trees? Why does nobody understand this phenomenon. Or is our tree particularly violent? Are the acorns cute when they fall from 20 feet instead of 100?
All the squirrels, they are joyous. Fat, fat, squirrels. Now I have to worry about the legions of fat and rabid squirrels ready to eat the toes of my children in ADDITION to the nutty pellets of distruction falling on their tiny heads. The tiny heads of my children, not the squirrels. You know, Sam used to call squirrels, "Squirr-la-las." I thought it was really cute. But he doesn't do it anymore. He doesn't make as many pronunciation mistakes as he used to. So now I can totally understand his sass. Excellent.
Children - Cute + Attitude = Totally not irritating at all