We lugged our first melons out of the sprawling jungle. All of the advice we found about when these would be ready to pluck came down to this: knock on ’em, do they sound hollow? Pick ’em. Is the bottom yellowed? Pick ’em. I’ll be damned. We picked ’em. We gave one away. The one we brought home we so excitedly cut open. Not. Ripe. It took all evening to shake the disappointment. My husband, Michael, took this photo of Oren and I, he was SO thrilled to touch the melon. This photo was snapped with a cell phone, forgive the blogging sin I have committed.
Pictured in my husband’s hand are our first few lima beans! We have decided to let them dry in pod, on the plant. When they rattle like maracas, they are ready to pluck. We at least got this part correct. In other disappointing gardening news, The Squash Beatles have killed killed killed our plant. We were yielding foot long zucchini, the envy of the garden. Then, after two days of rain and no visits to the garden, the lush, tall, proud, green, blossomy, squash plants were clinging to the ground, browned. Like, hungover on the bathroom floor near the toilet, clinging. I wept. Douggie stared at me. One week, one week and he will be a one year old. I am going to create the fattest (phattest?) post of all that I have created for this event.
I have a confession: Michael and I are going on our first real, actual date this weekend. This is a confession because it’s been a year and we’ve not gotten away for more than a quick lunch or some errands together. So. I may try to channel some sewing blog juju and whip up a dress in the next couple of days….because…nothing fits me, save a couple of wrap around skirts. Not a single dress I own, from before I birthed my baby (a year ago, I mentioned this, right?) fits my frame. Huzzah for breastfeeding weight loss, huzzah for first dates.
For some scope on the shedding of pounds: this photo is from this past November. The baby is tiny. I was embracing a fuller frame, not entirely content, but not miserable as a size 12 either. Just happy for a healthy baby doting husband. Refer to the above photo. The baby has transferred all of my extra juice to his own frame. Notice how large he is? He is nursing it off of me. I suppose that spending the entire spring/early summer walking for all of his naps (one hour each, three times a day) also aided this process. Perhaps I can get my life back into yoga gear and tighten up this new shape I am rocking.
Another rainy day in the Midwest. I swear, the sun may never appear again.