Rumor has it that summer is in full flower, although you wouldn't know from actually living through it. Word is the Mercury climbed all the way to 70 degrees Thursday. Pity. We were too busy warming our cockles by the wood stove to pay much attention.
Lousy weather or no, we have persevered, barely having a moment to tend to our
crab grass lawn or rotting pit of algae and muck koi pond, much less the blog. Indeed. Like it not, Hopesy and company have become full-on, 24-7 party people.
We got back a week ago from a delightful week with my family on the coast of Maine, searching for the perfect seafood platter, swimming, kayaking, playing on rocks and watching from the deck of our rented ocean side home as picture-postcard lobster men pulled their traps to pay the note on their BMWs. We liked the sunsets, sipping wine and vistas of Boothbay Harbor. Hope liked that the house had a mammoth coffee table that she could cruise round and round.
We've become adept moochers, spending the weekend shamelessly cajoling invitations from friends with pools (Have we told you, Deb and Louie, how much we love your company?) and those with boats (Anne, Jeff, you mean the world to us). Between the begging, we're pleased to report that Hopesy is a Class A water baby. We took her swimming twice this weekend. Both times she giggled with glee, rearing back her head to reveal her burgeoning set of choppers.
The choppers -- Li'l Jimmy Carter has even more front teeth coming in atop the ones Mo chronicled last week -- have her a bit crankier than usual. But she's still super company, and is developing a nifty repertoire of tricks. She began cruising days before the Independence Day and now that's all she wants to do, adroitly turning corners and even beginning to hold her own on the Look Ma No Leaning Scooter Thing-a-Ma-Jig scooter that Hope's physical therapists loaned her to get her walking. For weeks, she walked tentatively, needing us to guide her hands and she walked, frequently stiffening her back and refusing to go farther. Now, she's making circuits in the house. Stopping, though, could take more practice.
More good news came last week from Dr. Spitenup, the wily gastroenterologist who speaks in Zen riddles but proclaimed himself so happy with Hope's weight (about 13 lbs.) and progress that we don't have to endure his interrogatories for another six months. That's a record.
So we're happy campers. Now, about that crab grass...