Here we are in this year’s get-up.  Someone suggested that I might get double-duty out of the Patrick hat by spraying it into a crayola head for a future Halloween.

I’m still here…barely.

Time management’s never been my thing.  And now that I’m back at work, I’m discovering that I suck at it even more than I thought.

Tonight, I’m typing on my brand-new MacBook.  I gave my old Toshiba an accidental bath with chicken noodle soup several days ago and it couldn’t be salvaged.  I was able to claim it on the homeowner’s insurance, so that part wasn’t so bad.

My job’s still going well.  I’m tired, achy and ready for a snow day, but boy am I glad to be there.

It’s been so long since I’ve posted that I’d forgotten my user name. 

There’s dog fur rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds.

The oven hasn’t been on in weeks.

That’s because after five years at home with my son, I’m back to the grind.  And I never expected to love it quite as much as I do.

In fact, I dreaded it enough to lose plenty of sleep as the mid-August start date edged closer.

I’ve heard people say that after spending a long stretch of time at home, parents find life at work to be easier.

I can’t say it’s less busy than being at home, but wrangling middle-schoolers is definitely not as difficult for me as it was five years ago when I left.

The preteen antics don’t get under my skin quite as much as they did then.  I remember driving home most afternoons with my shoulders scrunched tightly beneath my ears because I was so irritated with the kids. 

I’ve gotten much more adept at picking my battles.  The kids get the vibe that they can’t rattle me, so for the most part, they haven’t tried. 

I’m in a much better frame of mind now that I’m back at work.  And that’s something I never expected.

See that blur behind Logan?  It’s the Grand Canyon.

We got to see it last week with our cousin, Robert.  He lives in Phoenix and took us on a camping trip.

Robert has a neat camping trailer.  Up until now, the only camping I’ve done has been in a tent.  This was much better; no more waking up with rocks poking me in the back or rain seeping through my sleeping bag.

Logan liked the campfire.  He made “shmarshmellows” for everyone although he wouldn’t eat them himself.

He also followed Robert around, assisting with every task.  This resulted in my cousin taking a few time-outs to happy hour.

We rode to the Grand Canyon on a train.  It picked us up from one of the campsites.

But first, Logan posed with one of the local landmarks.

Molly!

She’s a two-month-old Siamese mix we adopted from a Kansas City, MO rescue shelter. 

Since she came home yesterday, Molly’s been lying low, spending most of her time underneath the china cabinet.  Right now, she’s cowering beneath Logan’s bed. 

It’s so good to have a cat again.

I had big plans for knocking out some projects this month while Logan’s been in summer school.  But the list of what I’ve actually accomplished isn’t too impressive.

Our basement, which closely resembles a landfill or maybe a homeless shelter, did get an overhaul.  There were boxes that hadn’t been sorted through since we moved from Corpus Christi eight years ago.  The stuff stayed boxed during our time in Norfolk. 

In a way, that lengthy time in boxes made the process easier.  That’s because when I pulled out the musty, dirty junk and caught a whiff of the moldy stench, there was only one way to organize it. 

I’ve been pretty serious about the throwing-away aspect of this task.  Just today, I hauled a mold-covered computer desk up the stairs for the trash man’s morning offering.  Whew.

And although we’re a long way from the finished product of a basement that actually resembles some sort of living space, we are ready for this:

Long days with nothing to do while Logan’s in school has had an unexpected perk.  It’s unleashed my inner fun mom. 

I never suspected she was in there or that she’d spend half a day filling up a wagon load of water balloons.

It took no more than 10 minutes for us to toss them all. 

Logan enjoyed every short-lived second.  I think he inherited my deviant streak.  Maybe we can egg cars this week, or perhaps wrap a house.

I promise not to post a daily picture of Logan’s lunch.  Wouldn’t want anyone to have a heart attack from all the excitement that would generate.  But I’m having so much fun with this bento stuff.

My tendency to be a bit of a copycat dates back to 2nd grade spelling tests, so I used a model I found here to make this lunch.  He has two star-shaped peanut butter sandwiches, pretzels, cheese, bear cookies, yogos and a few raisins. 

Yesterday, after Logan’s first day of summer school, I asked him if he’d like to occasionally buy a hot lunch at school. 

“That’s yucky food,” he replied. 

Once I go back to work and have to downgrade these meals to Lunchables or – gasp – traditional sandwiches, I’m laying odds that the hot lunches won’t look so yucky.

Because the Mama Bear never misses a chance to geek things up, we’re taking the bento approach to Logan’s summer school lunches.

I’m having a hard time explaining a bento.  The best I can do is to say it’s a Japanese concept of arranging food so that it’s pretty and organized.  There are lots of websites devoted to it.  This one’s my favorite.

Here’s Logan’s fare for tomorrow:

He has chicken and cheese kabobs and whole-wheat goldfish crackers in the top tier (white part) of his lunch box.  The bottom tier contains raisins, yogos and a chocolate-chip cookie.

The two tiers stack together.  Then, the lid is held in place by an elastic belt.

I made him several drawstring bags for hauling his grub.  This is the one he’ll use tomorrow:

And in keeping with my usual pattern of throwing all of my efforts into a new hobby, I’m letting a few things slide.  Namely, housework.  Good thing I have dogs.

Dad and I went to Jefferson City this weekend to tour the old Missouri State Penitentiary.  This prison, which has sat empty since being decommissioned in 2004 was, hands-down, the coolest place I’ve seen in years.

Built in 1835, it’s 100 years older than Alcatraz.  Noteworthy criminals such as gangster Pretty Boy Floyd and heavyweight champ Sonny Liston did time there.  In 1961, James Earl Ray escaped by hiding in a large bread box.  A year later, he would assassinate Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Nothing was prettied-up for the tour; the prison was dark, eerie and dilapidated. 

Lead paint peeled from the walls and ceilings.  We wore hard hats as we walked around inside.

In 1963-64, there were 550 serious assaults, including hundreds of stabbings.  That year, TIME Magazine called it “the bloodiest 47 acres in America.”  The scandal led to the prison warden’s downfall.

The darkest stopping-point on our tour was the gas chamber.  Notice how death row inmates would walk past the big cross along the walkway as they headed toward the door.  Inside were two holding cells that faced the chamber.  Prisoners awaiting execution would have a bird’s-eye view of the large metal capsule.

Here’s a mirror that pointed toward the observers’ room.  It allowed witnesses to see the faces of the condemned.  However, those being executed couldn’t see them.

Photos of the 40-plus executed prisoners hung outside the chamber.  Their ages were listed along with their names and crimes.  Since I’m 36, I thought it was interesting that almost all were in their mid-30s. 

It seemed pretty slick to sit in one of the gas chamber chairs.  That is, until one of the tour guides pulled a lever to turn on the exhaust fan.  When I heard the loud rattle and accompanying rush of air, I barreled out of that chair.  I think I aged 10 years in those few seconds.

Despite the momentary notion I’d be gassed, the place was amazing.