The thirty year mustache came off this week! When I met Angus in college he had a full beard. Every autumn he and his 3 brothers grew their beards, every spring they shaved them off. He continued that tradition until he started working for UPS. Their drivers aren’t allowed to have beards. But the mustache always stayed.

Last week he shaved it off. I have no idea why he did. Funny though that I didn’t even notice it when he first came downstairs afterwards. I was busy in the kitchen and we talked a minute and I wasn’t really noticing him. A few minutes later we sat down together and I DID notice. I took a huge inhaled breath, totally shocked, and he just grinned.

The boys flomped into the house Saturday, after a week of counseling at church camp and they were full of fun and stories. I listened with joy as they unpacked and talked, then I suggested they go find their Dad and let him know they were home.

A few minutes later I heard hysterical laughing coming from upstairs. I wondered what was so funny. Down the stairs they tumbled, barely able to speak for their red-faced laughter. “Hey, Mom. Uncle Mike is upstairs!” I’d gotten somewhat used to seeing Angus without the ‘stache and had forgotten that the boys hadn’t seen it yet. They took one look at him and burst into laughter. He does look more like his brother Mike, now, than himself.

I’m a bunny killer. Last week when I was weeding in the asparagus I startled a baby bunny. I thought how bold that wascally wabbit mama was to nest right smack in my garden but I just kept pulling the tall grass and didn’t give them another thought. My garden is big enough that I can share. The deer are also frequent unwanted visitors volunteering to prune the tops of my tomato plants and beans.

A few days later when I was mowing in the paths between my raised beds it happened. I heard a big thud and knew I’d run over something, a dirt clod maybe? Until I saw the chunks of …well, I’ll spare the details. I instantly stopped the mower and went in the house. I went to the sink and got a drink of water and told Zeke what had happened.

Here’s the bad part. I made him go out and clean it up. He didn’t want to and we argued. I said it would gross me out and he said it would gross him out, too. I told him I just couldn’t do it and he said neither could he. I told him I knew he could and then, well, I basically guilted him into it. I didn’t say it, but I implied that this kind of task is one of those things that men must do for women. He said he was going to throw up… but he did it anyway. …I’m so ashamed.

Today when I was mowing again, I replayed this horrible scene in my mind again. I don’t think it was the hunks of bunny remains that I couldn’t deal with but the guilt of having done it that made me feel that I just could not go back out in my garden that day.

I let my stupid guilt over the killing, even this purely accidental thing, rule my behavior in the way I treated my son. It’s not that it hurt him to clean up the mess (nor would it have hurt me). I was selfish and threw away my values there for a minute. That scares me. I teach my sons about equality and that guys must carry their household load, too, and that women work in the world now and can do man-stuff, too. Then I revert to the weaker sex when it is easier to do so. It was one of those hypocritical, do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of things.

Guilt.

I hate it and I‘m not one that has much use for guilt generally. I let things go pretty easily …forgive myself and others, too, because I know God does. We are who we are. But now I’m thinking guilt can be a useful tool for change, can’t it? I learned a lesson here and it won’t happen again. Sometimes I think that is what life is about. The lessons.

We know a guy who took his own pins out. Zeke told me this as he was waiting for the surgery to have his taken out. The surgery took about a half an hour, although the waiting before hand was closer to an hour. He still has to wear the brace but is supposed to try to start moving his fingers and turning his wrist a bit.

He was at church camp all week, disappointed that he still couldn’t play the guitar but happy to in the process of winding this all up. The pix is Zeke pretending he was dead while being extremely bored waiting for the surgery. His way of keeping things light.

He and Beau returned yesterday giddy with the good experiences they’d had at Camp. It was wonderful to see them laughing and joking together. I had missed them …and also enjoyed them gone and glad to have them both back. Beau had only been home an hour from the Sonshine Fest before he had to leave for Camp Galilee so I hadn’t seen him for awhile.

One of the girls at Sonshine had dyed his hair red. Lordy! Photo is Beau before the hair went red. He and his buddies bought Spiderman suits at the local WalMart up there. Of course, they are child sizes so they were scrunched into them. They wore them to one of the concerts and as they were walking up to the venue a big guy spotted them and lifted Beau above his head, “Hey, Spiderman is here! Send him to the front!” then the crowd bodysurfed him right to the very front! They did the same to his buddy. He said it was AWESOME.

Zeke turned 21 today. He also got his cast off. It was a real gift but not as good a one as he'd hoped. They took the cast off and x-rayed the hand and the put a brace back on. He still can't move the dang thing... still no guitar playing. The brace limits as much as the cast did! (see the smiley face drawn on his fingers? he's been bored.)

He's handling the disappointment well. He has definitely learned patience and an appreciation for things taken for granted before. He'll have surgery tomorrow to get the pins out... thanks to a nurse who finagled an appointment at he Surgery Center because Zeke will be out of town next week and she didn't want him to have to wait another week.

We took him out to lunch on the way home. Not much of a birthday celebration. Most of his friends and his brother, Beau, are at the Sonshine Festival in Minnesota. He didn't go because of his appointment with the surgeon.

A couple of friends did stop by to wish him Happy Birthday this evening... just in time for birthday cheesecake!

Zeke stepped out of the house and called me out of the garden, holding the phone towards me. I stood up and asked “Does Beau need to go to the Emergency Room?“ I was joking... but Zeke paused and said ”…maybe.”

Working the Fireworks tent is like hosting a 3 week party. Beau and Zeke both worked it this year. Zeke stayed nights and days the first few days after the fireworks were delivered since both Beau and Ex were at church camp that week.

Beau was hired for days this summer. His friend, Ex, had the night gig but his mom put the big NIX on that. She didn’t want him staying there alone all night. I'd had similar concerns last year when Beau had the night shift but had let him do it. (Turned out he was seldom there alone anyway.) So Beau ended up staying, too, and they split the cash.

When there were no customers there was plenty of video games, movies, and the wireless internet from Carol’s house reached the tent so they could do that, too. Friends stopped by at all hours, often bringing them pizza or cookies. It became the local hang out. The kids are allowed to shoot off fireworks to see what they look like so they can tell the customers and if a customer asks about something they don’t know, they can just walk out back and give one a try for the customer to witness! A boy’s dream job… friends, games, food and explosives.

Fireworks are lucrative, as well. Carol’s only job is running the tent on the corner of their property and she makes enough for spending money for the whole year! There were no storms this year but in year’s past the tent’s blown down and all the fireworks got wet. The truck comes the next day, hauls off all fireworks and delivers dry stuff. They still make an incredible profit. Carol also gives the kids lots of free fireworks so they put on a lovely display here at our house every year.

They have a dirt bike, too. When there are no customers the kids take turns with it. Beau watched Hayden give it a go then took his turn. He had never been on a dirt bike before but, hey, looked like a blast. He rode off on the same route as his friend had but thought he was headed into the neighbor’s property so changed direction... but there was a tree ahead so he for sure did not want to hit that so veered to go between the tree and the privacy fence that separated their yard from the rest of the property. Only he didn’t quite make the turn. Somehow he slid right through the wooden fence! Luckily he wasn’t seriously injured and he had worn a helmet. He had a huge strawberry on his shoulder, a bruise on his thigh, but his pinkie finger was bleeding like crazy.

There were no adults around at the time so it was teen decision making time. They got the bleeding to stop but then did it need stitches? Hmmm? He called a friend’s mom who is studying to be a nurse (an LPN) but she wasn’t home. He called his friend, Brook, who kinda might want to be a doctor some day and she said, sure, come on over and I’ll look at it. He drove over there, she looked at it but didn’t know so they called the ER doctor that lives next to her. He looked at it and said , “Sheesh, YES, it needs stitches!” (a cellphone photo I saw later confirmed it.) He put in 6 and let Brook put in the last one. Seven stitches and they were oh-so-proud!

I got the phone call between Doc telling them he’d need stitches and then putting them in. As a mother of sons I’m always prepared for that phone call that may come saying he did something really stupid and the fear is always a bit deeper in July when fireworks abound in this rural community. Things get blown up… deer carcasses, sparkler bombs, stuffed animals, snapper bombs, bicycles, tomatoes, watermelons, etc.

So. A few non-fireworks stitches in a pinkie finger seemed pretty tame. Saturday, I gathered the alcohol, nail scissors and tweezers. I snipped the thread and Beau pulled out the stitch, one by one. It was gross a lot more difficult than I am making it sound but we both survived.

PS~ I wish I had a photo of their fence. Angus and I drove over one evening to assess the damage and it reminded me of a cartoon where someone has just run through and left a perfect bodyshaped hole in a very lovely fence.

“Guess what, Zekiel?” (pause) “You get your cast off in 10 days.”

These were the loud words I heard coming from a female voice in the dining room. I peaked in to see Zeke, his laptop in front of him. He’d been frustrated, pecking away trying to do his music stuff but was grinning now.

“What in the world?!!” I ventured “Where did that come from?”
“I am alive!” Laptop spoke.
“That’s not real.” said me.
“Don’t judge me” said she.
(Zeke still grinning as he poked away)

I have green feet today. I was mowing the area in front of the house with the push mower this morning. It has become my job because the males in the family conveniently can’t tell grass from the shoots of tulips, grape hyacinth, daffodils and other spring beauties so I just took over that chore years ago. I kind of like doing it anyway… a bit of sweaty work makes me feel tough and part of the “crew“ in this testosterone-heavy family.

It was only mid-morning but already humid and the grass was still wet from the morning dew in some places. As I pushed up an incline I had the feeling that my feet could slip right out from under me. I visualized klutzy-me slipping to the ground, and the mower rolling back over my hand. (yeah, I know, but I can’t help it) So I kicked off my flip-flops thinking I could get a better grip with my bare feet.

Suddenly everything changed. The grass was cool despite the heat in the air. It was a fresh, soft carpet under my feet even as I continued the effort. The chore suddenly became pleasant. I moved the mower along the coiled path and a memory came to me. I recalled my brothers and sister and I trailing, barefoot, behind my Daddy as he mowed our yard. Our goal was nothing other than to get green feet and spend precious time with Daddy on his day off. We were silly, giggling Green-footed Ducklings, happy with life, living in the small joys of the moment. We never grew tired of the green foot parade.

Sometimes we just need to put aside the work and weariness and, without a care, just follow our Father for a awhile. Notice only the joy of the moment before we move on to the pressing matters.

Thank you, God, for transporting me today to an old place of happiness and reminding me that, even in the tedious times, you are there waiting to lead me. Thank you for my green feet today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PS~
I was going to post a photo of my green feet... but they weren't as lovely as I remember thembeing as a child. ;) Pamela pointed me to this photo which will enlighten you who have never had the green-foot experience.

CJ was in town so I gathered the boys for a snapshot before he left.
Remember when the kids are little and you want to get a picture of them all together? One refuses to smile.

One looks in the wrong direction.




One grins like he ate dogdoo.
One does something dumb just as the photo is snapped (picks his nose, bunny ears, crosses his eyes, etc).

Well, it doesn't change when they get big enough to know better. After many goofy shots I finally got one where none were laughing or making a dumb face.

Turns out I like the funny ones better. Can you tell which son has his pants around his knees and which one is proud to have done it?

I'm glad they love each other!