I was recently reading a memoir in which the author references the troubles of bishop's weed. She spoke of how difficult it is to get rid of, its root structure, how very weed-like it is. Being unfamiliar with this chlorophyllic pest, I googled it. What stared back at me on the screen was my beloved snow-in-the-mountain.
How dare she? I was flabbergasted and flummoxed and furious in a way that you only get over something that matters not even a little bit. But then I saw a map. For someone with such a tenuous grasp on geography, I seem to love maps in an unreasonable amount.
[Side note: I am currently attempting to complete my bishop's week/ snow-in-the-mountain thoughts while one child butchers the lyrics to The Star Spangled Banner, the other asks me to play "the chainsaw video" for the umpteenth time, and the other hollers to me from the laundry room that I should maybe wash the sleeping bag today as she's pretty sure a close-knit family of insects took up residency while she had it at camp. If another person asks me why I've been such an absentee blogger as of late, I'm going to station all three children around said person and have them interrogate at will, because that is a fairly accurate picture of summer break.]
Maps. Bishop's weed. Right.
Also, it just dawned on me that perhaps I enjoy maps so much because I have such a poor grasp on world geography. They are truly useful to me and my reaction is often one of delighted wonder. I know my North, Central, and South American geography quite well; the rest of the world, I mean, it's really far away. (Why, yes, I have used this as an excuse in the past.) This means I more or less shackle Derek to me when we are going to play any sort of trivia game, as his knowledge of all things geographical and really anything involving spatial relationships is excellent. I excel in the Harry Potter categories, which come up more often than you think.
[And now Caedmon is upstairs yelling things out his bedroom window at his brother in the backyard. Something about listening to the Eragon audiobook without Atticus, a grave sin indeed in the context of their relationship. Adelaide is snuffling over the fact that her brothers already know who their teachers are but she doesn't and how could the United States Postal Service fail her and why is life so unfair? It would appear that I am expected to answer these questions to her satisfaction. Spoiler alert: Even those newspaper advice columnists could not generate a reply that satisfied Daughter when she is in this state.]
Speaking of newspaper advice columnists (why, yes, forced and clumsy segues are kind of my thing), the book that provoked this plant-based inner turmoil? It's fantastic.
Also, because our children have altered my brain in such a way that it hops back and forth more than ever, here is "the chainsaw video" that was incomprehensibly introduced to our daughter at church camp and that all three of our offspring are more or less now obsessed with.
Adelaide spends half the time this video is playing staring at my face, as it wears an expression of apparently hilarious bewilderment. Really, though, this is supposed to be farcical, right? These people aren't doing this with any degree of seriousness... right? (See also: "Signs you are getting old.") And now, to round out this meandering and increasingly digressive post, a multiple choice question: How many of our children can currently be found doing "The Chainsaw," a dance move seemingly engineered to make Christian kids look as profoundly not-cool as possible?
d) I don't know because they are in the backyard and under no circumstances am I upsetting a climate in which I get to think my own thoughts for five straight seconds.