Browsing Archives for The best of Rechelle Unplugged

1.  The hugs…

2.  The dance routines…

3.  My son’s  insistence that these are not dance routines… they are warm-ups.

4. The pep band…

(That plays the awesome dance music to which the baskeball players perform their carefully choreographed warm-up routines.)

5. The introduction of the starting line-up.

6. The cheering section…

7. The signs…

Who are “The Nachos”?

And why can’t they come into the gym???

8. Number 40

9. Keeping it low, low, low, low….

Low, low…

Low, low.

10. More hugs.

Maybe someday I will figure out how to take good sports photos inside of a gym.

Until then, I’ve got plenty of blurry hugging for everyone!

Picnic

June 28th, 2011

This is Ethan.  He is my second son.  Under normal circumstances he is a peace loving teenager with a penchant for books, a love for soccer and a beautiful (according to his mother) singing voice.  But these are not normal circumstance.  Nay.  These are very trying times.  For we are sitting on the dock that the CD is currently building (story to follow) eating a simple meal of pizza and Pepsi and enjoying a short break between ballgames and other summer spasms when along comes…

Drew.

Drew is my third son.

He is known for his deep and passionate love of baseball, his wizardry with a movie camera and his (according to his mother) striking good looks.  Unfortunately Drew is also a pest.  He’s that little brother.  The one that likes to keep his siblings in a state of near constant aggravation.  It’s hard to explain, because as an onlooker, I frequently fail to see exactly how Drew is being so maddening to his siblings.  But he is.  He drives them crazy.

And that is why Drew is looking back over his shoulder.  Ethan has just left the picnic area.  He’s headed back to the house because he’d had enough of Drew and his abilities to aggravate, but Drew couldn’t stand the site of his brother’s back walking away from him.  He needed Ethan. He needed Ethan bad.  He had to get him back.

Here’s Drew getting Ethan back.

And here’s Ethan coming back.

And giving Drew exactly what he was hoping for?

Here’s Drew begging for help from his mom.

But his mom’s not going to give him any help.

Why?

Because she’s old.

And tired.

And she just wants to eat her pizza and drink her Pepsi in peace.

So maybe if Ethan silences Drew – she will finally get some peace.

And also because she know that on some primal level that she can’t really understand, Drew wants this to happen to him.

He wants his brother to beat on him a little.

It must mean something to him.

Because Drew provokes this response over and over and over and over and over and over and over AGAIN!

This is Jack watching Drew get pummelled by Ethan.

And this is me.

Watching Jack watching Drew get pummelled by Ethan.

When the screams reach a fever pitch I will tell Ethan to stop.

To keep the neighbors from calling the cops and because I can only take the screaming so long.

And Drew will raise his bruised body off the grass and turn towards the departing figure of his brother…

And the cycle will start all over again.

Summer.

Such an idyllic time.

I struggle with paying the water bill. I used to write about these struggles on a semi-annual basis, but sometimes in life it really is best to move on.  However, a few short months ago, I received yet another letter from my Rural Water Department, chastising me for once again not sending them the proper funds. Evidently I had miscalculated and wound up under-paying my bill by quite a significant amount.  This oversight resulted in the usual letter written in angry red ink with lots of arrows and exclamation points and circles and double underlines emphasizing my error, from the person at the Rural Water Department whom I refer to as ‘the red ink lady at the RWD’.

Why do I struggle so with paying the water bill?   It’s a long story, but let’s just say that our local RWD places far too much responsibility of the monitoring and reporting of household water usage on the actual inhabitants of said households. Also – in order to get the correct numbers to send to the RWD (along with the proper remittance) a long uphill hike is involved followed by reaching into a spidery hole, followed by trying to read numbers inside of a spidery hole, followed by writing down those numbers in a shaky spidery hole panic, and since none of those things are particularly pleasant, I usually opt to guess the amount of water we have used for the month.  Turns out – I am not a very good guesser.  And then I get another letter from the ‘red ink lady at the RWD’.

In protest of the latest red-inked letter  I received from the red ink lady at the RWD, I actually included a note with my delinquent payment and asked why the corrective letters are always written in red ink? Why not the more calming blue… or the more understated black? Even a peppy purple or a soothing mint green would be better than the caustic red that makes one feel like one has miserably failed an essay exam.

To this she replied in our next bill – “Red ink is the color typically used by accountants.”

Typical!

Accountants!

Maybe I will send her one of those fancy pens with all the different colors of ink for Christmas. Then she can quickly switch from ‘angry accounting red’ to ‘not at all antagonizing blue’ when she scratches out the next letter of reprimand to me.

Which brings me to my latest chapter in my personal RWD wrestling match.

I sat down to pay bills on Monday, but I ran out of 44 cent stamps before I got to the water bill. Fortunately I had a huge collection of one, two and three cent stamps accumulated over years and years of stamp price raising. I decided to use them all up on the water bill. I wonder what the ‘red ink lady’ will think? Maybe I should have drawn a smiley face somewhere to make sure she knew I meant no harm?  But as you can see… there really wasn’t room for a smiley face.

The Country Doctor was horrified that I sent this letter.

But the Country Doctor has never reached his hand into a spidery hole after an uphill climb has he?

So his horror is somewhat pale in comparison to mine.