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Weekend Report
Nov. 9th, 2009 11:39 amDeclaimer: anyone coming here after seeing this blog listed in the Pioneer Press article, please note this is my *journal*. I write about myself. Self-indulgently. And my kids. My cats. My fish. I am NOT INTERESTING. These posts have no point, no entertainment value. If you're looking for that, go elsewhere.
That being said, here's my blog:
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A full weekend, my friends. Friday, Shawn took the day off, and we had a date day, though it ended up mostly a drive around town kind of day.
We got her haircut in Edina, drove to Roseville for lunch at our guilty pleasure: Red Lobster. Then, I sat at a Borders Cafe and surfed while Shawn checked for cute shoes at DSW. (Sadly, not more than one pair of cute, and for work, not pleasure.) We picked up photos from Walgreen's and Mason from school and rushed home so he and Shawn could have diner, and then I took off back to Minneapolis to coordinate with Steve and family and trailer who'd agreed help haul home a dresser that friends gave us. There was much hauling and grunting and breaking (but Shawn was able to fix everything) that culminated in a well-deserved, albeit impromptu LEGO date back at ours.
On Saturday, Mason ran away from home. Again.
This time, he was affronted by the fact that his mother and I insisted he eat “growing food” before having more Halloween candy. When we were forced to put the candy bowl in an unreachable place, he decided he could no longer stand to live here. He packed several books, a blanket, and a pillow. As he's not allowed to cross the street, he stomped off until he was just out of sight around the corner and lay his blanket out on the sidewalk and started reading.
Mason runs away a lot. This is the first time he's thought to pack for it, however. Apparently, while packing, he and mama discussed how much food he should bring. She suggested there would be more room for books if he just came home when he was hungry, and Mason being who he is, decided this was an excellent solution.
So no longer mad but ready for adventure, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and found a sunny spot on the sidewalk to spend several hours “running away.” I had been doing the dishes during a lot of this, but then decided I could kind of keep an eye out for our little run away while finally finishing raking the leaves out front.
We have a huge Maple on our hill that traditionally waits until the last possible moment before dumping all its gigantic yellow leaves. I'm often the last person on the block who needs to rake. This year was no exception. I raked and put heaps of leaves into our red wheelbarrow, and then rolled it around the block to dump into our backyard for later bagging or composting. (Going around is much easier than trying to push it back up our steep hill, though I think my neighbors thought it quite queer to see me hauling leaves around and around the block.) What was striking to me, however, was the absence of said neighbors. Despite sun and warm temps, we were the only ones out doing yard work.
Anyway, while I was raking, one of the “geezers” stopped by to talk.
There are these two really ancient guys that always briskly walk through the neighborhood every single day. They're hunched over and shuffling. They always look grumpy as hell, and, often, when I attempt to wave hello or sing a cheery “good morning,” they glare at me out from under bushy, white eyebrows. Since we see them every day, Shawn and I have dubbed them “the geezers.”
That day, the younger of the two actually called out a hello and asked if we were the parents of the little girl up at the corner of the block. I didn't correct the geezer at first because, well, he was TALKING to me and SMILING and I wanted to encourage this. (Mason, however, doesn't *not* look at all like a girl. His hair is cut in a buzz, and he dresses relatively boyish. But, I suppose if you were blind as a bat, as I suspect these guys might be, his voice is high pitched and he's awfully articulate, a trait many people associate with girls rather than boys. ) Anyway, the younger geezer goes on to tell us (Shawn had come out by this time) how enchanted he was with Mason, who we've by now explained is a boy, because he was just so charming lying in the middle of the sidewalk. The geezer said, in fact, that in the sun, Mason looked just like an angel.
How nice!
It was both the longest and the most pleasant conversation we ever had with either of them, and, as I told Shawn, when he walked away that I wondered if this meant that they had finally forgiven us for moving into Old Man Windy's house (for years people in the neighborhood gave us the business for having gotten rid of Old Man Windy's rotten, but apparently legendary, couch off our porch.)
At lunch time, Mason came back with a report about his adventure. He'd seen a Slumberland delivery truck bring a new bed to someone, another neighbor out walking her dog, and had a nice old guy talk to him. He sat on our newly raked boulevard and kept reading for a while, while I finished up, and then we all went in for sandwiches.
He later said, “It's nice being on your own sometimes, isn't it?”
It is, indeed.
Sunday was the day of projects. Mason decided he wanted to start a quilt as well as work on the LEGO Millennium Falcon. Mama and I had decided Sunday would be our semi-regular roasted chicken with all the trimmings diner. So I made bread while they sewed and sorted.
All and all a good weekend.
That being said, here's my blog:
---------------
A full weekend, my friends. Friday, Shawn took the day off, and we had a date day, though it ended up mostly a drive around town kind of day.
We got her haircut in Edina, drove to Roseville for lunch at our guilty pleasure: Red Lobster. Then, I sat at a Borders Cafe and surfed while Shawn checked for cute shoes at DSW. (Sadly, not more than one pair of cute, and for work, not pleasure.) We picked up photos from Walgreen's and Mason from school and rushed home so he and Shawn could have diner, and then I took off back to Minneapolis to coordinate with Steve and family and trailer who'd agreed help haul home a dresser that friends gave us. There was much hauling and grunting and breaking (but Shawn was able to fix everything) that culminated in a well-deserved, albeit impromptu LEGO date back at ours.
On Saturday, Mason ran away from home. Again.
This time, he was affronted by the fact that his mother and I insisted he eat “growing food” before having more Halloween candy. When we were forced to put the candy bowl in an unreachable place, he decided he could no longer stand to live here. He packed several books, a blanket, and a pillow. As he's not allowed to cross the street, he stomped off until he was just out of sight around the corner and lay his blanket out on the sidewalk and started reading.
Mason runs away a lot. This is the first time he's thought to pack for it, however. Apparently, while packing, he and mama discussed how much food he should bring. She suggested there would be more room for books if he just came home when he was hungry, and Mason being who he is, decided this was an excellent solution.
So no longer mad but ready for adventure, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and found a sunny spot on the sidewalk to spend several hours “running away.” I had been doing the dishes during a lot of this, but then decided I could kind of keep an eye out for our little run away while finally finishing raking the leaves out front.
We have a huge Maple on our hill that traditionally waits until the last possible moment before dumping all its gigantic yellow leaves. I'm often the last person on the block who needs to rake. This year was no exception. I raked and put heaps of leaves into our red wheelbarrow, and then rolled it around the block to dump into our backyard for later bagging or composting. (Going around is much easier than trying to push it back up our steep hill, though I think my neighbors thought it quite queer to see me hauling leaves around and around the block.) What was striking to me, however, was the absence of said neighbors. Despite sun and warm temps, we were the only ones out doing yard work.
Anyway, while I was raking, one of the “geezers” stopped by to talk.
There are these two really ancient guys that always briskly walk through the neighborhood every single day. They're hunched over and shuffling. They always look grumpy as hell, and, often, when I attempt to wave hello or sing a cheery “good morning,” they glare at me out from under bushy, white eyebrows. Since we see them every day, Shawn and I have dubbed them “the geezers.”
That day, the younger of the two actually called out a hello and asked if we were the parents of the little girl up at the corner of the block. I didn't correct the geezer at first because, well, he was TALKING to me and SMILING and I wanted to encourage this. (Mason, however, doesn't *not* look at all like a girl. His hair is cut in a buzz, and he dresses relatively boyish. But, I suppose if you were blind as a bat, as I suspect these guys might be, his voice is high pitched and he's awfully articulate, a trait many people associate with girls rather than boys. ) Anyway, the younger geezer goes on to tell us (Shawn had come out by this time) how enchanted he was with Mason, who we've by now explained is a boy, because he was just so charming lying in the middle of the sidewalk. The geezer said, in fact, that in the sun, Mason looked just like an angel.
How nice!
It was both the longest and the most pleasant conversation we ever had with either of them, and, as I told Shawn, when he walked away that I wondered if this meant that they had finally forgiven us for moving into Old Man Windy's house (for years people in the neighborhood gave us the business for having gotten rid of Old Man Windy's rotten, but apparently legendary, couch off our porch.)
At lunch time, Mason came back with a report about his adventure. He'd seen a Slumberland delivery truck bring a new bed to someone, another neighbor out walking her dog, and had a nice old guy talk to him. He sat on our newly raked boulevard and kept reading for a while, while I finished up, and then we all went in for sandwiches.
He later said, “It's nice being on your own sometimes, isn't it?”
It is, indeed.
Sunday was the day of projects. Mason decided he wanted to start a quilt as well as work on the LEGO Millennium Falcon. Mama and I had decided Sunday would be our semi-regular roasted chicken with all the trimmings diner. So I made bread while they sewed and sorted.
All and all a good weekend.