Gnomes, Girls and Knit Night

G. (Garden) Gnome continues to make the scene around Long Island. Dude is hip and happening. Here he is going to Michael's with the girls and me:

This picture was taken right after my beloved children had a pitched battle right there in the parking lot while we were holding up traffic to get the photo over who got to hold the Gnome this time and who had held him more over the course of the Gnome Project. My head may have spun around like that woman in The Exorcist.

I am SO. Tired. Of. The. Fighting.

You know how some people refer to the Summer of Love?

Well, if anyone does that in my presence, I am going to KILL THEM. Because we are having the Summer of...not HATE, exactly (because we Southerners do not use the word "hate" which is a terribly strong and, well, HATEFUL word) but the Summer of Bicker. The Summer of Nag. The Summer of Whine.

The Summer of Incessant, Panties In a Wad, Milk Curdling, Joy Sapping, Soul Sucking PICKING AT EACH OTHER UNTIL MOMMY GOES SMACK OUT OF HER MIND AND STARTS DRINKING AT 9:00 AM FIGHTING.

This morning, on the last morning of camp, after the initial slings and arrows of who wrote in whose book and messed up whose iron bead...thing, Ana told me that she would really rather just stay home. My voice dropped into that register that Sigourney Weaver uses in Ghostbusters when her body is inhabited by a ghost and Bill Murray says, "My, what a lovely singing voice you must have."

"Oh, MISSY, you are SO going TO CAMP. You CANNOT stay home. Because. BeCAUSE. Because I CANNOT TAKE YOU staying home with me."

There's some good parenting right there.

Anyway, by last night at 6:00? I was standing on my front porch step, showered and packed up for Knit Night and waiting for my husband to get home.

I took G. with me. Naturally, because these are SO my people, they didn't even hesitate. Immediately, G. was decorated with the knitting he so richly deserved --very few questions asked. In fact, the few questions that were forthcoming were accompanied by this excited and admiring look --like I was the most clever woman in the world to even take such a thing on.

And dudes, some of my new knitting friends? Are totally into the blog. I'm so flattered that I actually BLUSHED when I figured out that there was at least one avid reader at the table.

She asked me about my foot and I got really sad.

I have really been trying to keep my glass-half-full outlook right out in front but I don't know, maybe it's the kids and the fighting but I was just sort of worn down. I got sort of teary.

So we had quite a long discussion of what I could try and what I have tried and I talked a little bit about how my life is utterly transformed by this one thing and how disconcerting it is. They really listened. They didn't judge.

And when we were leaving and I was apologizing for having talked about myself so much, one of them said, "Oh, cut that Southern crap."

I laughed.

They love me.