You would think the world is asleep at 4 a.m., but it is bustling with activity. This morning, the Common Household Son and I were up at that hour. I took him (and the neighbor) to the high school, whence they left for their annual band trip. The band directors claim the bands will be in a competition, but they are really just going to hang out at the beach.
At 4:15, before we left for the high school, I checked our flowers. My husband planted some bulbs yesterday, expertly timing the planting to get them in before the evening thunderstorm.
|Crocuses, by the mailbox (near the street)|
|Tulips, planted near the house|
|This includes a self-portrait of the Common Household Mom.|
I have not planted tulips for years, because the last time I did, they were eaten overnight. Astute readers will note that these tulips are just to the left of the spot where my hydrangea stick (of blessed memory) was put in the ground last year.
At 4:15 this morning, the tulips were still there. There is no sign of any hydrangea, but I remain hopeful.
|Flower check at 4:15 a.m. Still intact.|
On the way to the high school, we saw a conglomeration of bright but small lights, about 6 feet off the ground, bobbing up and down along the road. Invasion by aliens? No – closer scrutiny revealed it to be the running team, out for practice. They were wearing headlamps such as one might wear for caving. I revised my idea about suggesting to Youngest Daughter that she try track and field. She would be happy to go running in the dark at, say 1 a.m., but I think 4 a.m. gets into her grumpy time. By 7 a.m. it’s full-fledged grumpiness for her.
The high school was a beehive. Many parents go on these band trips as chaperones, and they have my utmost respect and thanks for doing a job that I could never do. I was grateful to be able to go back home and crawl in bed.
When I finally got up for breakfast, my husband said, “Did you see what happened to our flowers last night? They've been eaten.”
I doubted. I told him how I had proof that the tulips were still there. “Maybe some of the flower petals fell off because the rain pelted them.”
He said, “Well, we might as well have had a sign in the garden that said ‘The Cafeteria is Open’ because somebody ate the flowers. You go out and look for yourself.”
The tulips are still intact, but the crocuses, which we planted by the mailbox, were last night’s dessert. It might have been Bambi, but we suspect this guy:
|R.I.P., pretty crocuses.|