Civil War Re-enactment

Bright-eyed boy Troy was invited to participate in the Battle of 1st Manassas at Bull Run re-enactment July 23 and 24. Serious business! Troy and his buddy Bill were privates in Stribling's Battery. You can't tell from the photos that it's about 325 degrees. Their uniforms are cotton and wool, and are very authentic down to the hobnail boots.

Troy and Bill took turns as buglers and water-haulers. This is Troy as bugler.

Bill and his dad Ed (below) are regulars at this sort of thing. Ed even changes out his glasses for a style that is more period correct.

I like this last shot. Kind of shows how it probably was back in the day; hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. I can't imagine sending my 14-year old off to war though. It would break any mother's heart that their sons would want to, and so many did.

The boys had a great time, though, and came home sweaty, dirty, and hungry. But they came home.

Cotillion Spring Ball

It sure didn't fee like spring, but we had to make it look good. Cotillion is a once a month event that the Bright-eyed boy complains about but I think he secretly has a good time. The spring ball is the most formal event of the cotillion year, and like last year (here) we opted for a tuxedo over buying him a suit that he'll grow out of by next week. I don't know if you can tell by looking at last year's pictures or not, but he's grown more than six inches since then.

Turns out he's a pretty good dancer! I'm the one having to look at our feet.


He's thrilled that I have to look up at him. He's living for the day that he's taller than his brother. Won't be long at this rate.

I'm very proud of him. And I'm liking this dress, too. Who knew it would match the boutonnieres? Perfect.

Last stop? The Lost Dog to get the boy a chocolate malt and mom and dad a much deserved beer. Needless to say, we were the best dressed folks in the place.

Now back to the taxes. Ugh.

Weak in the Knees

I had an amazing haircut experience this past weekend. Bright-eyed boy and I both needed a haircut, but since we hadn't planned ahead, we landed at the local Hair Cuttery. You definitely take your chances, at least at this location, but on the 2011 austerity plan, I didn't want to pay $60 for my regular stylist. Anyway, I get the requisite shampoo and conditioner, nothing special there, but once she starts combing my hair, and separating my scalp into manageable quadrants, there's something about her touch that just started to hypnotize me. I closed my eyes and I think my mouth was hanging open. She was slow and methodical, but the little tugs as she separated a bit to snip, the whisper of the scissors, then moving on to the next little piece to trim. . . it all felt so good, it made me go all weak in the joints. It felt so good I didn't want it to end, so I uncharacteristically let her blow dry. I have curly hair and I don't fuss with it much and I NEVER blow it dry. Generally I don't want it blown dry when I get it cut because I need it to look good the way *I* style it, which is wash, towel dry, comb out, a little anti-frizz product, and call it done.

Too bad it turned out to be the worst cut ever, at least with it blow dried all poufy and old-lady-ish. It's better now that I'm au naturel. The boy hated his cut too, but I think his looks good.

Another Poem

Another entry in the occasional series of poetry from the bright-eyed boy. This was written on assignment after spending the day at The Outdoor Lab.

Snakes

Snakes like to slither
After a while they will wither
Hopefully they won't come hither
They aren't as bad as a chigger

Not Shakespeare, but he does make me smile.

The Halloween Post

The Burger King and his queen. This was fun, even as I realized the bright-eyed boy is now about two inches taller than me. Maybe you can tell by the mask in his left hand, he was the Burger King king. Best friend #1 was Ronald McDonald, and #2 best friend was Col. Sanders. They are too funny. My dad came for lunch on Sunday to see Troy dressed in his costume, so of course we had to go to the nearest Burger King (not nearby, by the way) to get lunch. You would have thought a gen-u-wine celebrity had landed in the restaurant. The little kids were clapping their hands together and pointing, "There's the KING!!" The manager and all the counter ladies came around front with their cameras to have their pictures taken with "the King." And to top it all off, they only charged me half for all but Troy's meal, and let Troy have whatever he wanted from the menu for free. McDonalds and KFC were not nearly so gracious later in the evening when their mascots visited.

Here are all four, I mean, three, amigos.
A good time was had by all, and there's enough candy in the house to take us through to Easter.

The First Sting

Very interesting article here about evidence of ancient beehives found in Israel (thanks Woo!).

In other hive news, I got my first sting Tuesday afternoon. They have been very active lately, and we've added a 3rd box to the busier hive, and will soon to the other one. We have to smoke them very carefully and work fast. My bee suit has a loop that hooks over my middle finger to hold the sleeve down. I'd forgotten to loop it, so my sleeve rode up and my glove rode down, exposing my wrist and that's where she got me. No big reaction. I never thought I was allergic, but I remember the last time I got stung (years and years ago) I had a big swelling. This just feels bruised, still, two days later. And my eyes have been really irritated and scratchy, but that could just be the outrageous pollen counts around here. Again, not allergic, but the amount of particulate matter in the air is irritating.

I'll get some pictures up here soon. I'm as busy as the bees, between end-of-school stuff at work, end-of-school stuff for the bright-eyed boy, the end of an UNDEFEATED soccer season (!) for him. . . it's always something. Troy is so full of himself, as he should be right now. He's not obnoxious (or not much-- ha!), but he's getting so tall, and his boy body is turning into a young man's, and he is inordinately pleased with himself. He's taller than me now, which he points out at every opportunity. He still wants to give me a hug now and then, for which I'm grateful, but he can't hug me without picking me up off my feet, just because he can. He laments that his cracking voice is hugely irritating, but I think this pleases him too. He's a funny boy.

Dressed to the Nines

Reference after reference failed to turn up a definitive origin for the expression "dressed to the nines," although they all seem to agree on its meaning. Describing someone as being "dressed to the nines" implies the donning of expensive clothing, jewelry and other fashionable accessories, most likely for a formal dance or theatrical performance.

Bright-eyed boy professed nonchalance at the whole production of dressing for the Cotillion Black and White Ball, but I think he got into the spirit of the event.

Dad had to help with the studs. . .


And the cummerbund. Troy thought the waistcoats look cool, especially some of the more colorful varieties, but our vendor didn't carry his size, so cummerbund it was.

Then the tie.

Joe Cool channeling James Bond doing a Fonzie move. Heyyyy. . .

And it's off to the dances. The boys had the option of a suit and tie or a tux. Renting the fancy duds was cheaper than buying a suit he's going to grow out of by next week. The girls had a little more leeway, though the theme being black and white narrowed the choices a bit. All the girls had their white gloves on and dance cards on a string around their wrists.

Troy was a sport about all the pictures, but then he started dodging me like I was paparazzi.

I did get one more good shot before he dodged me entirely. Too bad nobody got a picture of me all dressed up for the ball. Moms got a dance with their sons, and dads with their daughters. No glass slippers though.

Poetry

This may be the first in a series of poetry by the bright-eyed boy. What a funny boy. You'll see some pics of him soon all dressed up for cotillion, but here's a sampling of haiku from a recent assignment. He does make me laugh.

I love dumplings and
my mother makes a good soup
that makes me happy

and

I'll get my passport
then I will travel the world
but mom, I will write

That last one got a "cute!" comment from his teacher. He's just dying to get out of the eastern time zone. . . he's not quite to the twilight zone, puberty-wise, but not too far off. . .