Cherries at night

Wow. I think I've eaten like . . . five pounds of cherries this evening. By myself. I wonder how that will translate on the scale . . . it's all water and fiber and antioxidants, right? No calories, surely. There are another five pounds in the fridge. Maybe I'll save them for tomorrow. The thing about cherries is you can eat them pretty hands free–pick them up by the stem, no matter how dirty your hands are. Most things aren't like that–you have to actually wash your hands and sit down and eat. Bananas, you can eat with dirty hands, but you have to actually hold it–you can't put the entire thing in your mouth, see. I can't think of anything else so gorge-friendly as perfectly ripe, perfectly picked bing cherries.

Took Jo in for glasses today. Turns out he's pretty blind. Who knew? I got mine in third grade–really nearsighted but unaware of it, until I got them–and he's in sixth grade. Which might explain the grades this year. My first conference with his teachers they were all praise–Wow! this is the most intelligent kid I've ever taught! Incredible! And then I get his final report card in the mail and he's got C's! I wanted to boot the kid in the butt. It was a good thing he wasn't home or I'd have said things we'd both regret. I was just so shocked. He is super smart, and I understand that he thinks the schoolwork he's given is totally lame–it is–but that is no excuse for a report card like that. But he is very reserved, and there is no way in Hades the kid would be asking for help if he wasn't seeing the board or the assignments. From how his prescription reads, I'm guessing he saw very little of anything. Better be–it's that or he was just plain lazy.

So.

Marty's working on the direct-access playground we've got planned out front. I think it's going to be very nice–spendy, but nice. Don't small business grants exist for this sort of thing? Anyway, it's been so hot, he's getting crispy–tomorrow is supposed to be 99 degrees.

AND he built a retaining wall around the pile of dirt that was supposed to be a garden in the back. It's been a pile of dirt for three summers. Now we have water piped out there, and a wall. I'm grinning. I don't know an emoticon for that, but I am. 

Why am I not in bed, again?

Oh, I was eating cherries. All by myself. In the dark. By the glow of the LCD monitor. Lingering over one last stone, sucked clean. That, and Emily keeps crying. Not waking up–not even able to wake up. Just crying for two or three minutes, then back to sleep for fifteen or twenty. So until her mom comes (at two or three a.m.) I'm probably going to be awake. Maybe I will eat the rest of the cherries . . .

 

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