We did most of our Independence Day celebrating yesterday and made sure to pack a lot into it. My menfolk headed off to the parade in town, while I picked more green beans from the garden (trying to beat the heat wave). I made an apple pie--cutting up five large apples without a single injury to myself--and then we all went swimming. Then I sliced up some potatoes on my mandolin slicer for our family cookout. A slice of potato got stuck on the blade and I had the brilliant idea that I could draw it the rest of the way across the blade with my finger. Yes, the little voice in my head was very clearly pointing out to me that I was very likely to cut myself, but I didn't listen. Sure enough, just seconds later I had cut my finger and was hopping around and bleeding all over my kitchen. Ugh! I informed my husband that I was too stupid to have children, but he just bandaged me up and sent me on my way. The good thing about having a husband who is a nurse is that he has all the necessary skills to take care of all sorts of scary situations. The bad thing is, you can never really impress him with an injury.
Anyway, I finished up in the kitchen, loaded our stuff in the car, and proceeded to dump a container of milk into the van. What a lovely moment that was! I handled it with great poise and maturity, hurling the container into a tree. The cookout was fun, though, and we capped it off by playing glowstick tag, setting off Carter's hydrogen rocket, and enjoying the natural fireworks of the fireflies.
So after all of these festivities and dramas, what image do you think was dancing before my closed eyes when I went to bed last night? That's right--bean picking! There I was, lying in my comfy bed, and all I could see were bean plants. I think I just might be suffering from gardening overload.