what's up weekly. (Get ready to use your inner eye, because I took two pictures this week and they're both terrible.)

Okay, whose job is it to hand out participation trophies?  (Or better yet, whose job is it to cut participation checks?)  BECAUSE YALL.  I have officially completed our four-week jag of swimming lessons and I think a celebration is in order.

You know me.  I am a homebody by nature. It has not been easy to have a daily standing appointment on the books for the last FOUR WEEKS.  But I did it, and it was worth it.  The kids really learned and improved a lot this year, and had a blast doing it.  Lolo especially seems to have the water bug, and keeps asking if we can "rent the pool."  By which she just means she wants to go swimming some afternoon, but "swimming as a leisure activity" is an intriguing new concept to her.  And who knows, maybe we'll try it sometime.  (Sometime during nap when the little girls are home with Todd.  I have heard enough "drowning toddler" stories to fill me to the brim with hesitation, but I think I could manage if the toddlers are out of the way and there are paid lifeguards on duty to help me keep watch over everyone.)

I have like two photos to share of swim lessons.  It is remarkably difficult to photograph your own child without looking like some kind of pervert on the side of the pool, photographing everyone else's children.

Plus, the kids are always super far away and not looking at you and photobombed by strangers and the whole endeavor is just not very photogenic.

Beyond swimming lessons, this week has been sponsored by the word "Cleaning."  I have tackled a few major projects I'm pretty proud of, none of which I took photos of because I was too busy, well, cleaning.  On Saturday, I gave the van a deep clean, which was desperately, desperately needed.  You guys.  It was so disgusting.  Everything was sticky and gritty and greasy and stuffed full of garbage.  So I pulled all the carseats apart, washed the covers and sprayed the frames.  I cleaned the windows inside and out, sorted the accumulation of detritus (most of which was trash, and most of which was Finneas').  Then Lolo and I drove over to the carwash and got it sprayed down and vacuumed out.  We stopped at Aldi and bought a new liner for the cargo space.  And finally, after about three hours of work, it finally looked like something the health department would not fine me over.

This is the place where a photo of my sparkling van would go.  Imagine it in all its glory.  Looks good, right?!

Then I borrowed a pressure washer from our neighbor and tackled basically every exterior surface I could.  I did our driveway, the front step, our back patio, the grill, and the deck and stairs.  I still need to do the side of the deck that is growing mildew, some of the kids' outdoor toys and the brick pavers in the yard, but everything is looking so much better.  Is there a psychological condition where a person becomes pathologically addicted to powerwashing?  It feels like it's going to become a problem for me.

This is the place where a photo of my sparkling driveway would go.

I also processed a bunch of green beans and cucumbers that a homesteading friend gave me before they left on vacation.  I just blanched and froze the green beans, but I've been experimenting with different flavor combinations of fermented pickles.  They are turning out... okay.  The kids have really liked the dill ones.  I have a couple of spicier jars bubbling away on the counter now.  But Lord do I hate cucumbers, so pickles that still have any remnant, any residue, any memory of cucumber flavor are just a no from me dawg.  So a lot of experimentation is happening around here to make pickles that can convince me that they never involved cucumbers in any way.  They've never even heard of cucumbers.  Cucumbers? What are those?

   This is the place where a photo of my fourteen quarts of pickles would go.

And now here is an imaginary photo of my three gallons of green beans.

And now, just because I'm on a tear of making up images that don't exist, here is where I would put a gif of someone pushing away a proffered cucumber with a look of disgust on their face.

My own garden appears to be doing well.  I say "appears" because it's beautiful - lush, full, tall, green, with almost no blight or insect damage to speak of.  But it's all a facade - it isn't producing anything.  I'm not sure if it's because I'm not getting as much pollinator activity as I need, or if something is coming in at night and eating things.  I suspect both.  My squash blossoms are definitely disappearing entirely.  One day there will be huge full flowers, and the next day there will just be a stem.  No wilted flowers on the ground, no sign of them at all.  Go figure - the one year that I have seemed to have outsmarted the vine borers (toilet paper roll collars at soil level, you're welcome), something else is ruining my zucchini crop.  WHO BESIDES ME IS INCAPABLE OF GROWING ZUCCHINI?!  Zucchini is basically a weed - it is impossible to not end up with zucchini coming out of your ears when you have even one plant.  But leave it to Paige Van Voorst to figure out a way to never - NEVER - have harvested a single - SINGLE - zucchini.  Not one.  Not ever.

Imagine I took a picture of my lush garden.

Now here, imagine a photo of the bald zucchini stems.

Maybe here is a homemade gif of me rubbing my temples and shaking my head back and forth.  Or shaking my fist and cursing a thieving squirrel.  You pick.

Alrighty, I'm going to go.  I have big plans to sleep in tomorrow, and then clean the bathrooms and power wash whatever I can get my hands on.  (Maybe I should just give the bathrooms a good, powerful spray-down?)  Then we have a Psalm Sing tomorrow night, and then on Saturday I'm headed to the Amish with a friend from church.  It's sweet-corn-and-peaches season you guys.  I'm so excited.