They don't call it MAYhem for nothing

Okay, so I don't hate it here as much as I made out in my last post. I really don't. If ever I love it in the San Luis Valley, it's right now, when the winds are beginning to die down and the trees are FINALLY beginning to bloom and the mosquitoes haven't QUITE gotten the memo that we warm-blooded animals are exposing our vitamin D-deficient bodies to the elements...MOREOVER, I get to go out into the field as a conservationist now that it's warmed up and I get to have my rancher clients' horses rub their faces against mine and follow me and eat my hair and wipe their snot on my forehead occasionally as the rancher's dogs are jumping me from behind and smearing my pants with mud and dry humping my legs and knocking me over with their 150-pound bodies and shedding their long blond hair all over my coat. (Yes, as of last week we still needed a coat.) I LOVE THIS PART OF MY JOB. THIS IS NOT SARCASM.

ALSO. When I open my windows at night at this time of year, I hear a chorus of frogs partying along the river. It is ALWAYS surprising and OH-so-beautiful and... I forget where I was going with all this. Oh yeah, I do like it here, Chrissy Crosses and all, and I apologize for blogging last time under the influence of PMS.

Did you know that I have not blogged since MAY 8TH? It is MAY 19TH. I'm sorry to anyone who comes here expecting new material once in awhile. If it's any consolation, everything between then and now is a big blur. I don't know where May thinks its going so fast. Between soccer tournaments, spring concerts, market days, million-word banquets, talent shows, field trips, dental visits, and sinus infections, it's no wonder the time is flying... or that I'm having night terrors in which I'm dead on my bed, surrounded by whispering bodies and flashing cameras and no voice in my throat to yell, "Hey!! I'm still ALIVE!!! STILL ALIVE!!!"

Something else about May... I've been playing a lot of games. One game in particular is called MATCHING. Ever heard of that game? Where you look for a pair, FIND a pair and then yell "MATCHING!" Maybe you can help me here. Because I SWEAR TO YOU ON ALL THAT IS HOLY, I have only bought my son two types of socks. Long socks and short socks. All Hanes socks. The two packages of socks that I bought ALL had matches within them. There was not an UNmatching set in the lot. AND YET...


They've managed to mutate. NOT ONE of his socks match anymore. Now, some have a green line. Some don't have a green line. Some have NOTHING green Some have gray at the toes and heel. Some have gray along the entire length of the bottom. Some say Hanes. Some don't say Hanes. Again, I don't mean to pick on my son, but the MATERIAL he gives me... it boggles the mind.

Next time on On the Banks of the Rio Grande, I will attempt to explain the mystery that is his stomach. How can a seven-year-0ld boy eat a pound of cherries, drink a quart of orange juice, follow it with a can of black olives and STILL manage to eat THREE servings of spaghetti for dinner?!