My Bit of Earth

Glamorous Saturday

(First, hello there, letter writers!  There are more of you than I thought there would be--very exciting!  [If you don't know what I'm talking about see this post.]  I'm still taking names/addresses until midnight Tuesday, so if you want to sign up there is still time.  Also, there were a few people who did not send me their address [I have emailed you back if you are one, otherwise you can assume everything is good].  If you are one of those people, please get back to me 'soon as you can if you still want to play!  On to the news of the day....)

Was chatting with Nice Mom Saturday night, telling her about our day.  She teasingly, sarcastically said something along the lines of, "Sounds like you guys had a glamorous day."

I'll let you be the judge.

We went to breakfast at our favorite place, and then walked Sweet Husband to work.  The Kiddo and I then went to the library, where he discovered the lego table was nice to bang things on and I got a new stack of books.  (Did you all know Margaret George has now done Elizabeth I?  Haven't started it yet, but George is probably my favorite historical fiction author.  Also got Astrid and Veronika, which lots of people seem to be enjoying lately.)

The Kid and I eventually went home and napped and lunched.  Then, when Sweet Husband got home, we all walked to the park, where I pushed the Kid "too high" on the swing.  (He didn't seem to mind, but his dada got a little nervous, so we scaled it back.)  We were going to check out the other equipment when some Big Kids invaded, and everyone with a child under five suddenly left.  I thought we should probably leave too...they did look...well, big.

So we went home again and had a nice little thrown together dinner.  I mixed some leftover beans with some spicy pork.  We couldn't decide if it was a sort-of white chili or "upscale pork and beans"?  Whatever it was, I want to make it again.

 Then I made chicken stock.  Well, I had been making chicken stock all day, but I jarred it up.  

There's always a fine line as to the number of jars in our house.  Some days we have so many that I'm tripping over them, but then it comes time to can tomatoes or make chicken stock and we never have enough.  Saturday night I considered putting out an all call on Facebook, "Free chicken stock, bring your own container!"  

Fortunately it didn't come to that, but it was dicey for a minute there.  I had to draw on every jar and lid in my arsenal, and pack the freezer like a professional...um, freezer packer.

A stack of thrilling new books, a death defying swing, battling over the playground, the drama of my cupboard...and a gourmet meal to boot?  That sounds glamorous to me!  ;)

Can't Steal Happiness

My camera is disintigrating before my eyes.  I fell down the stairs (again) with it in my hands the other day, and I fear it may have been the death knell.  It's such a stupid, spoiled, first-world-problem, but it's become like my right arm--I can't imagine life without it.  It's still functional, but it's troubling to have such a formerly good friend now actively working against me.

I've been squirreling away ("stick by stick" as I told someone this weekend) to replace it this Spring, but I'm not quite there yet.  And I won't pretend I've been dealing with it as gracefully as I should; I've been a mopey, old...well....

But then tonight the Kiddo and I had a little photo shoot in front of the Christmas star.  He had swiped a paperwhite, and I was trying to teach him to sniff it.  He didn't understand the concept, but he was happy to giggle at my demonstrations....and the Kid is in love with Christmas lights.

It's a mean town, but I don't care

Try and steal that

Can't steal happiness

--The Weepies

....or drop it on the floor and break it.  ;)

The Last Farmer's Market

Not that we need to have the Farmer's Market, necessarily, to enjoy our Saturday morning walk'n'nap, but it does make a nice sort of goal.  And now we say goodbye to all our favorite sellers until sometime in April....

(Notice the blue sweater?  The one we couldn't get over his head?  I ripped out the neck and re-knitted it in rib--VICTORY!)

It's Nice

It could be that I slept in this morning.  (If you had told me at sixteen that 7:12 a.m. would someday be "sleeping in", I would've said you were smokin' somethin'.)  

It could be that my co-workers took me out for a delightful, Italian carb-fest for lunch.  

It could be that the dishes are done and the baby is asleep and the laundry is...well, out of the dryer, at least.

It could be that I'm sipping the season's first hot toddy and have turned on the Christmas music.

But I'm feeling very cozy this evening.  And it's been awhile, so it feels nice.

Walking It Off

Thank you all so much for the nice notes and "woofs" my email in-box has been full of.  It's been the best part of these past couple days. 

I have to say, I've never been so glad to see Monday morning.  This may go down in the family annals as The Most Awful Weekend Ever.  In addition to the news of Porter, we had our first family illness, and it was a doozy.  

Inspired by the last Harry Potter DVD, I started calling it the Immobulus Flu.  Everything was great, as long as I didn't move.  Sweet Husband and I had a miserable 12 hours in which, as a friend aptly put it, we played the worst game of hot potato ever with the baby.  The Kiddo was really sick for a day, and puny for a few days beyond that.

Thankfully, we're all physically on the mend.

Emotionally, it's still touch and go.  I've finished my Christmas knitting, I've started pulling decorations up from the basement, we've almost finished the third season of Battlestar Galactica...and still there's all this empty time.  

I don't know why exactly, but--as it always does when I'm sad or angry or working something out--walking seems to help.  We went to the lake Saturday evening.  I went back to take some pictures today.  We walked downtown and back for breakfast this morning.  I'm not sure if I'm walking away from things or walking through them...or maybe it just feels like doing something.

I know it's going to break the hearts of both Moe and the Kid (not), but we may be walking a lot this Fall.

A Mandatory Slow Weekend

A late Friday afternoon call from daycare--"The Kiddo has a fever, can you please come pick him up?"--and the weekend plans were thrown out the window.

While I was disappointed to miss the wedding we were supposed to attend, I think it was a bit of a blessing in disguise.  A whole weekend to hang out with each other...some walks, some chicken watching, some breakfast eating....

An extended cuddle on the couch with a warm and snugly Kiddo Saturday morning, cheers and clapping when he practiced standing on his own (and worked on climbing the stairs--oh my!), hugs and back pats when he bonked his nose, falling on the kitchen floor....

I put the finishing touches on some Christmas handmades.  Sweet Husband doodled in his sketchbook and mopped the floors.  We couldn't have planned such a weekend if we had tried, but it ended up just as it needed to be.

The Last Tomatoes

All decked-out mismatch-style (a skeleton romper, striped wool socks, and his baby surprise jacket--really we were very tired), the Kiddo curled up in a little ball against my shoulder to hide from the cold as I carried him into school this morning.  Between my grey window and the weather forecast, I'll be surprised if we don't get a real frost this week.  And although the Kid was technically a February baby, it felt like the Spring came last year before either of us had properly woken-up from his birth.  Which makes this his first Winter, really.

We didn't get a lot of tomatoes this Summer.  (They're heat-lovers, true, but a few weeks at 110 degrees is bit much for any plant.)  However, this beautiful Fall we've got going has brought a tiny resurgence.  This weekend our farmer's market was full of little paper pints of cherry tomatoes.   Add in a sack of homegrown toms that our dear friends brought when they came for dinner last night--part of the reason for the sleepy morning and silly clothes--and all of a sudden this year's tomato crop is feeling less dismal.

One advantage of tomatoes in October is that you actually want to turn on the oven to slow roast them.  And the last herbs lingering in the garden?  Better toss those in before they freeze.  And garlic?  Well, that just goes in everything around here.

Whether we get that hard frost or not, I predict that, for the grown-ups, tomorrow's dinner will be a steamy, cheesy pot of risotto with roasted tomatoes on top.  For the Kid, the last tomatoes (which will also be his first tomatoes) might go well with one of Florence the Chicken's beautiful scrambled eggs.

Runaway

I should have realized it was going to be a weird day when I pulled up to work this morning and there was a bomb squad truck out front.  Nothing truly scary...an abandoned package at the adjoining highway patrol office--a false alarm.  But then the Kiddo didn't take an afternoon nap at daycare.  He was apparently happy all day, just not sleepy.  

And--because oddities come in threes--then I got home and found this lady in my front yard.  

She's not one of mine, just in case you don't know my flock by sight.  She was quite pretty though.  She was also obviously a little scared, and not without good cause.  With all the dogs in the neighborhood, she was all set to become a chicken nugget without prompt action.

So, with the Kiddo pinned to my hip, I began attempting to herd her into our backyard.  Two neighbors quickly joined the chase (because, really, catching a chicken one-handed is not-so-possible), and we eventually caught her and tossed her in with my ladies.

(To the experienced chicken keepers, yes, I know...quarantine, stupid.  I wasn't thinking with my thinking parts.)

Once introduced to the flock, the newbie (we'll call her Cherie--points to the person who gets it) proceeded to terrorize Etta, who hid behind Tori as fast as possible.  Then she cornered Joni and Gladys.  Joni made a break for it and escaped, but Gladys  just stood there and squawked until I chased Cherie away.  At one point my flock (of six!) was standing in a corner and Cherie had conquered the coop.  Although it's probably bad manners, I was a little proud when Bonnie (bless her 80's rocker chick heart) finally broke the huddle and harassed wee Cherie so that the rest of the girls could get to the food.

Cherie had been with us for about an hour when (just as I was taking some pictures for her "FOUND" poster), her owner knocked on our back gate.  I think both she and her owner were very relieved to be reunited.  And while I would have kept her on looks alone, I think my girls were very relieved to see our runaway go back to her home.

At the Pumpkin Patch

A very dusty, windy trip to the pumpkin patch with hay bale mazes, tractor rides, and cucurbita as far as the eye could see.  The cutie girl is the Kid's pal, the Cupcake.  (I did think to get some shots of the two together, but I deleted them in my editing flurry...she played with leaves, he tried to eat sticks, typical babies in a pumpkin patch.  I'm sure you can imagine it.)

The Kid had so much fun that he fell asleep before we even paid for our pumpkin.

(EDITED TO ADD:  And if you're a fan of fairy tales, go check out the Cupcake's version of our trip--too cute!)

My New Favorite Thing

Countdown from 10 as I unbuckle the Kid from the carseat--like a spaceship countdown, because that's our game.  Jiggle the lock to open the back gate.  Grab the old quilt as we pass the porch, and spread it out one-handed because the other must keep the Kid pinned to my hip.  Plunk him down in the center, singing a silly song as I run to check for eggs--beautiful chocolate colored eggs that make me grin big as I marvel over them in my hand.

Visit with the chickens.  Mostly Etta, because she likes us.  Giggle at the occaisional curious looks or nip from Bonnie.  Knit while the Kid collects sticks and leaves.  Keep knitting when he crawls over to help with the yarn.  (Not actually as disasterous as it may sound.)  Hear dada's scooter from three blocks away.  Meet Sweet Husband's eyes with a smile, as the Kid crawls halfway across the yard--through the grass and dirt and who knows what else--to get swung through the air in greeting.

Herd the girls up for the night and let the dogs out.  Porter sniffs.  Moe finds a toy, and insists that Sweet Husband play fetch.  The Kid watches intently, already interested in doing everything like Dad does.

It's my new favorite thing.

Made of Apples

The apple orchard we go to every year (and many of the others in our area too) had kind of a poor year.  Nonetheless, we had to go.

I don't know how many of these apples I ate when I was pregnant, but 20 or 30 pounds wouldn't be a crazy guess.  The Kid is literally made of the apples from these trees.

I know it's silly to think that he would remember them...the sweetness with just a little pucker...but, we made him about 10 half pints of applesauce, just in case.

Hello Fall!

Delicious autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~Mary Anne Evans (a.k.a. George Eliot)

I broke out the hand warmers at work today.  Made our yearly order of wool socks.  Picked up a sackful of beeswax candles.  (By the way, does anybody know a good source of those in bulk?  The votive size?)  I haven't quite pulled out the down comforter yet, but I've thought about it....

Hello Fall!  I am so, so ready for you.  And just so I don't forget some of the things I've been looking forward to, a Fall to-do list....

To Do

1. Play in the leaves.  Take walks in them.  Collect them.
2. Have a shadow puppet show.  (The Kid is big into shadows these days.)
3. Carve pumpkins.  Let the Kiddo squeeze the goo and throw it and rub it in his hair.  (Outside, do we think?  Yeah, probably so.)
4. Pick crack-apples.
5. Take lots of warm sudsy bubble baths.  (I was thinking the other day, and the last time I used our big cast iron tub for a proper soak?  Was when I was in labor.  Gotta fix that and right soon!)

To Make

1. These fabric pumpkins.  (I've had the fabric set aside for at least two years now, time to get started.)
2. A pot 'o butternut squash soup.  (My friend Calley has the greatest recipe that I need to get from her...but this one looks kinda similar--perhaps we'll try both?)
3. A batch of pumpkin macarons and maybe some pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.
4. Some new knit hats.  (This one for me, and, I think, this one for the Kid.  I'm hoping Sweet Husband can locate his from last year, but if not we'll do one for him too.)
5. A leaf garland...for all the leaves from our walks.

What are your Fall to-do's?

The Bad Parent Chronicles: Mommy's Sorry She Maced You, Baby

Would someone please tell me how it is that you cook any dish with red pepper flake in a hot pan without macing your kitchen?

Really, I need help here folks.  Because I've done it at least four or five times now--each time following a recipe that insists I put a pinch of red pepper flake in a pan of hot oil.  (The quote about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results comes to mind....)  I promise that I really am only using the amount the recipe calls for...I have the pan set at the correct temperature....  

But as I was making this lovely blistered cauliflower the other night, ever so quickly my throat started to burn.  And then, from Sweet Husband in the dining room, "Um honey, are you heating up red pepper again?"  And then from the Kiddo the saddest two little coughs and a bewildered look.

At which point the house was abandoned in favor of dinner in the backyard.  Then--just to make sure everything was good and aired out--a stroll downtown for coffee and a Toy Store visit.  (I maced the Kid...figured the least I could do was get him a new toy.)

The walk was very nice...but truly, can anyone tell me what I'm doing wrong?

Very Important End of Summer To-Do

We were on a walk after dinner the other night, when the South Park fountain beckoned.  I thought it might be a little intimidating to the Kiddo, but not in the least.  Need to be better prepared with a change of clothes next time...but there are worse things for a baby than going home nakie at the end of August, yes?

And those little green toes!  I found some polish that basically washes off in the bath, and decided green was a manly enough color as to not be objectionable.

I think splashing in the fountain will have to be a new Summer tradition.

The Bad Parent Chronicles: Kid Does Not Equal Swiffer; Kiss Does Not Equal Eating Face

Sweet Husband:  "This means we're going to have start cleaning the floors sometimes, doesn't it?....Or we could just attach swiffer pads to his knees."

I am the mother of a mobile child....even if he only has reverse gear at present.  While we've spent months longing for this milestone, it's--justifiably, I think--petrifying for several reasons.  

The practical...we have to pick up the wine corks now, because I'm pretty sure they're choking hazards...and cover the outlets...and not leave him unattended on any elevated surface (no matter how big and how in-the-center-of-it he is) for even a nano-second.

The philosophical...where did my baby go?...no, seriously!...next thing you know he'll be in college, drinking lattes, and majoring in philosophy or some-other-such-nonsense.

But I can tell you this--he'll never kiss another girl the way he kisses his mama...at least, I hope not.  Because, although we both think his "giving kisses" is a hoot, I'm not sure anyone but a mother could truly appreciate his let's-see-how-much-of-your-cheek-I-can-get-in-my-wide-open-mouth technique.

It Was Nice

Saturday morning.  Farmer's market. Strolling downtown with my booty.  Eavesdropping on the old men talking politics outside the coffee shop while the Kid slept and I enjoyed a second cup.

Won't You Take Me To....Funkytown

I found out about this marvelous neighborhood toy trading post--Funkytown--from one of my favorite local bloggers, Nemmie.  Doesn't it just make you want to squee at the fun?  

I had to do some sussing about to discover it's location--and it doesn't feel in keeping with the spirit of the thing to just give it away here.  (Although, a good place to start might be a combination of the location of the "Slippery Noodle Inn" and the number that you get when you divide 152 by 19.) 

We joked for about half-a-heartbeat about leaving the Kiddo's "Sam", but the Kid said, in no uncertain terms that he'd leave one of us first.

So other toys were sacrificed--a few spare mama-made lovies we had around.

And while this rubber "Littlefoot" was tempting to his children-of-the-eighties parents...

...the wooden bear won the day.

And once that was settled, we went for a stroll around the neighborhood...

...which ended in blueberry ice cream, as all good strolls should.

On Washing Dishes

 

Ode to Washing Dishes

First, make sure your sink is under a window. 
Look outside while you fill the basin. If daytime, 
don’t scrutinize your lawn. Do laugh 
at quarreling birds or your own yawning dog. 
If night, be kind to your reflection. 
Appreciate your long arms that disappear 
at the wrists and the wrinkles at your mouth. 

Don’t think of this task as another in a hundred. 
It is the reward when those are done, 
the chocolate mousse after steamed vegetables. 
If the hot water and bubbles, 
the lavender smell, the wine glass 
to your left and soft terrycloth 
against your bare shoulder are not a comfort 
in this late hour, then you are doing it all wrong.

By my lovely, talented friend, Melissa.  

One of the most virulent, but silly, fights of the first year Sweet Husband and I lived together was about the dishes.  I still can quote him, "Can you possibly fit one more dirty dish in this sink!?!?"

To be fair, my philosophy on dishes is pretty much that as long as they all fit in the sink--even if they're balanced and stacked together like a game of Jenga--they don't need to be washed yet.  And, in that particular apartment, you could stretch your foot out from the couch in the "living room" and touch the kitchen sink--there was no way to ignore the dirty dishes.  

When we moved into an apartment with a dishwasher, both of us frequently joked that the appliance saved our marriage.  But, just as I've learned to pick up bits of laundry and misplaced clutter mostly without complaint, Sweet Husband eventually just started doing the dishes.

Until lately.  With the addition of putting-the-Kid-to-bed duties, some nights it's all hands deck and we can no longer be choosy about our chore preferences.  

And all of a sudden I've discovered that we have a view.

I used to love washing the dishes when I was a teenager.  Crazy, yes?  But we had the most beautiful view from our kitchen window, out over a golden pasture.  It was my job every day when I got home from school--to do the breakfast dishes.  No one else was there, it was quiet.  I loved the view, the warm water, and the grubby satisfaction in scrubbing off bits of dried-on oatmeal.  

I'm thinking that if I can take Melissa's advice--to look right through the window that needs to be cleaned...to not notice the chipped paint and the weeds in the garden--maybe there's hope for me and the dishes yet.  

The DAY of FROLIC

This weekend was Sweet Husband's first Saturday off in what felt like ages.  

In case the tone of that sentence isn't clear enough on it's own, the working Saturdays is not of my favorite thing about his job.  Unfortunately, it's unavoidable.  

Someday I promise to be more graceful about it.  To come up with some merry ritual--like, reading books by Christmas tree light and baking a Buche de Noel on Christmas Eve, all little celebrations I've come up with to enjoy the December-jewelry-busy-season.  But for now, I'm just grateful when he gets the day off.

In fact, I had been so looking forward to it, that in my head I started calling it the DAY of FROLIC.  (In all caps, just like that.)  I do not know if--from an outsiders perspective--our day would have quite lived up to that hype.... 

We had brunch with friends.  We drove over to check out the new Trader Joe's and a leather shop Sweet Husband had been wanting to investigate for some time.  We rested.  We had burgers for dinner.  We went for a walk, where Sweet Husband got new shoes, and the Kiddo got six whole mosquito bites.  (Really, six of 'em!)

....A fairly ordinary Saturday, it's true, but it was pretty great.

I Have This Motherhood Thing Down So Well, I Think I'll Try It One-Handed

A joke, of course....well, the first part is, anyway.  Unfortunately, the one-handed part is serious.

After a few weeks of on and off pain in my wrist, Friday night it was all of a sudden on, full-blast, with some swelling just for extra fun.  Doc says it's carpal tunnel.  Treatment to be two weeks in a brace and enough ibuprofen to take care of a small village.  Hopefully, that will get me back to optimal operating condition without other measures being necessary.

I can take a break from limit my knitting, and I can sorta type with my left-hand, but the Kiddo--for some strange reason--strongly objects to being manhandled around like a sack of flour under my left arm.  And picking up all twenty-ish pounds of him with any part of my right hand makes me want to scream obscenities at the fool who invented the computer mouse.  

So we're working on all of that.

In the meantime, the Kid is enjoying being plopped on our bed (a soft surface where he can roll around without much help from mama) and surrounded with toys.  I also have been assured by Sweet Husband that men find women in flesh-colored, velcro arm braces "dead sexy".