• chomper

    A few months back, my husband uncovered a nest of turtle eggs at the job site. “What’s with all the ping-pong balls?” he asked. My older son identified them as turtle eggs and brought them home where the younger kids filled a bucket with dirt, put the eggs in and then covered them with more dirt. They parked the bucket in a sunny spot in my flower bed, but after a couple months of nothing happening, I ordered the bucket gone, so they moved it over by the tool shed.

    Last week, my younger son checked on the eggs. “They’re probably all rotten,” my husband said, so my son tore one of the eggs open. And inside was a baby turtle…ALIVE. It was all slimy and still attached to a large yolk sac.

    My son placed it on a damp paper towel in a box, positioned a lamp above, and ever since then he’s been obsessed.

    He wakes early to observe his premature pet, and he spends hours each day researching all things turtle. He’s identified it as a snapping turtle (oh joy) and spews all sorts of turtle-y facts to anyone who will listen. He’s relocated the rest of the eggs to a box of sand and set it under a heat lamp to speed the process (again, oh joy).

    for size comparison, a quarter

    We keep warning him that Chomper (ha) might not make it, but that hasn’t stopped him from building a very large (oh, so hopeful, that child!) home from cardboard, tinfoil, and tape for when Chomper is grown.

    And he’s made a survival chart. He proudly checks off each day the turtle stays alive.

    back when he still thought (hoped) it might be a box turtle

    And rather miraculously enough, it’s still alive! The yolk sac—its only food source for now—is shrinking daily, so I guess it’s getting the nourishment it needs.

    In the beginning, the turtle looked, and acted, mostly dead (every 15-30 seconds it’d take a giant breath and we’d all exhale, too), but now the turtle blinks, wiggles its very long tail, sticks out its head, and creeps about.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (8.29.16), peach crisp, it all adds up, they’re getting it!, grape parfaits, 2011 stats and notes, roasted tomato sauce, pasta with sauteed peppers and onions.

  • the quotidian (8.28.17)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Cooling.

    Grilled steak sandwiches: anniversary dinner for the husband who didn’t know what day it was.

    Stale bread resurrected.

    From one—ONE—sirloin steak.
    Swoon and feast.
    Those curls!
    Mud making.

    House.

    Drugged, plus the cone of shame: stuck. 
    Opposite corners.
    First day: the college student.

    Solar Eclipse 2017

    This same time, years previous: tomatoes in cream, don’t even get me started, Bezaleel scenes, pasta with lemon-salted grilled zucchini and onions, fresh tomato salad, chocolate malted milk frosting, classic pesto.

  • an unlikely tip for runners: don’t wear deodorant

    One day recently when my husband and I were stretching after our morning run, I marveled out loud at how badly I stank. “I’m even wearing deodorant and I still stink,” I grumbled.

    “Don’t wear deodorant,” my husband said. “You won’t stink as much, and you’ll feel cooler.”

    “Yeah, whatever,” I said. But the next time I ran, I skipped the deodorant and I didn’t stink! (I still felt hot, though.)

    Ever since, I’ve been skipping the deodorant when I run. There’s still odor—and it’s worse on hotter days—but it’s not nearly as rank. I certainly couldn’t get away without without wearing deodorant during the day like my father (he never wears the stuff, and even though he might work outside for hours on end and sweat profusely, he rarely stinks), but for whatever reason, skipping the deodorant when I run keeps me smelling sweet and fresh, or at least more so.

    Has anyone else discovered this? Are my husband and I completely off our rockers? Because it’s possible…

    Oh, and while we’re on the subject of odors and cleanliness: at our last family gathering, my sister-in-law divulged that she’s taken to using soap nuts instead of detergent when she washes her clothes. They look a little like small, unshelled walnuts and smell like absolutely nothing, but she (and the soap nut sellers) claims that a small pouch of them tossed into a load of dirty laundry will get the clothes clean. Has anyone else tried this?

    This same time, years previous: a big deal, on love and leftovers, the quotidian (8.25.14), atop the ruins, 16, tomato jam, basic oatmeal muffins, homemade butter.