"Go into the light, Carol Anne." - That Creepy Short Lady, Poltergeist

Yes, it snowed a week before I took this picture. Ain't Fairbanks grand?

Last night was the night I just gave up and gave in to summer. The way I did that was give in to the light. Let me explain . . .

I came home last night about usual. The Mrs. was preparing for going out to teach at the NRA’s local “Karate with a .45 Semiauto” class (class motto: “Chuck Norris is scary. Chuck Norris with a gun is really, really scary.”). She does this on a nightly basis. It’s one of those quaint things we Alaskans call a “job.”

Anyhow, she left me in charge of the brood, which was probably her first mistake. The Boy and I decided to harvest mow the lawn. The snow hasn’t been gone for all that long from our lawn, but it’s growing in earnest already. I have a theory that as it warms up enough light begins to drift down through the snow to make the grass green. In some spots, as it was melting the green grass was poking through.

The lawn grows quickly up here. 24 hour daylight encourages that a bit. The Mrs. decided last year that we should replace dearly departed Christine (explanation here) with a new mower (explanation here). There are several nice things about the John Deere:

• The Boy can ride with me when I mow if he wants,
• it has a cupholder for beer,
• it turns a three-hour push-mower task into about an hour, and,
• it’s green.

When we bought the John Deere, I sent in the product registration. That was the only way to get the free Sun Cover. In addition to getting the free Sun Cover, I got a box from John Deere about a month later. In the box was a John Deere green hat, with the embroidered words “Owner Edition” on the bill. I’m willing to bet that this was pretty much the same one that Ted Turner got when he bought a $500,000 combine for his albino-alpaca ranch in Montana, yet I only paid a fraction of that, and never had to spend time with Jane Fonda. Yet, I have the same hat.

It’s like being in a club. I see other guys in John Deere Owner Edition hats, and we wink at each other. We’re in. You’re not.

Alas, there was no beer as I mowed the lawn last night being “beer-free Tuesday” (not nearly as fun as free-beer Friday). The Boy got bored with riding after the first thirty minutes, and I thought I had lost him to the swing set for the night. Instead, he started running behind the mower as I mowed. I have no idea why. Since the lawn is really, really, really big (300’ by 100’ – football field size) I figure he ran about a mile. He kept up with the John Deere when it was in fifth gear (yes, it has a fifth gear) without much problem.

After mowing, I proceeded to cut up and stack a half a cord of wood, and then decided to take the sledgehammer and wedge and crack a few pieces of spruce in half. Nothing makes you feel more like Thor than having the big hammer.

That’s when The Mrs. drove up.

“Hi,” I innocently say.

“John, did you know that it’s almost 10:30?”

I shake my head, and The Mrs. continues, “It’s past his,” she jerks her thumb at The Boy, “bedtime by about two hours.”

I become sheepish. Okay, I messed this up.

Between the extra two hours of up time and the sixteen miles he ran behind the tractor, The Boy indicated that he had a great desire to become part of the food chain, preferably as a consumer, but if no food was coming, he wouldn’t mind being fed to wolves.

I fixed soup. Mmm, mmm, good™.

The New Boy, who can hear a mosquito change it’s mind in Seattle, picked that moment to wake up from his slumber. He wailed that he wanted food as well. The Mrs. grumbled, “This was just what it was like when I left, all three of you clamoring for attention.”

We put The Boy and The New Boy in bed, and sat in the front room, talking. The clamor started from the other room. First The New Boy started to burble, and laugh. Then The Boy cried. He finally yelled, “Daaaaddddddy.”

I entered the room only to see my five-year-old crying on his bed, while the grinning fool that is his brother stood, bounced, and drooled in his crib. Hey, bro, it’s party time!

I explained that he and The New Boy shared a room. He steadfastly stuck to the position that The New Boy was the spawn of Satan, and should be housed in a box filled with greasy rags in the garage. I finally relented, and put left to prepare the portable crib in the other room for The New Boy. Principle is one thing, but sleep is another. As I was leaving the room to get the other room ready, The Boy screeched, "Hey, Dad, you forgot the baaaaaby."

It was midnight.

And bright daylight outside.

Dang, I’m tired today.

In other news, I got an e-mail about another movie. This looks good:

It’s got Lance Henriksen (he was the robot in Aliens, Frank Black in Millennium), Claudia Christian (Ivanova from Babylon 5) and Sean Young (good in Stripes, but I hear just a bit nutty in reality). Full disclosure: I get a copy of the flick. Fuller disclosure: I would rent/buy this one anyway, just for the actors involved. I know that my penchant for horror movies drives The Mrs. a bit nuts, but she would grab this one first if I didn’t see it. As you can also see, this movie deals with a subject matter that we are not unfamiliar with.

Alrighty. Goodnight.