Jazzing Up Your Mother's Day
Blood, sweat, tears, late nights, brain strain... it took all of this and more, because nothing is too good for our Mommies and the Grandmothers too. For the first time, Chickenblog says: Roll Film!,



Windows WMV Version of the Video

Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco.
Maria gets her groove on listening to street music.
Happy Mother's Day!
Love,
Maria, Max, Alex, William, Natalie and Geoff

Some Mothering

Compulsive Posting

Unlike some bloggers who know when to take a break from posting, I cannot seem to resist sharing something, anything. And for this, I apologize. I have nothing to say... nothing but an irresistible urge to report the minutia of the day.


Dude, this isn't my car.
Funny, when we were 5 kids, crammed into our avocado green VW bus, I didn't think it was quite this cool. Hey family, who remembers summer 1982, the road trip and the unplanned stop in Visalia, California? Waiting for a part to come in? Good times. Mom, that was the same trip when we camped in Kings Canyon and you kept us on high alert for bears. Even though I was 15 and moody, I still have happy memories of being in the wilderness, with real trees and hiking across a huge meadow.

I just dragged the children out to the driveway of Garage Mahal to clean our ride. I love our Odyssey... so much room, so dependable and safe. In the recesses of our conestoga we found 47 pencils and pens, 2 crayons, 14 Lego parts, a pair of socks, 3 dirty socks, one black dress shoe -size 12, inline skates, knee pads, a helmet, an old sheet, 68 plastic grocery bags to take to recycling, a banana... technically a fossil of what is presumed to have been a banana, 2 jackets, one sweater, 17 print-outs of house listings, and the "Mary Poppins" DVD box, which had "Pirates of the Caribbean" in it. There was more, but I think you get the idea.

As soon as William gets out of the shower, we are going to the car wash, then we are going on a walk. Fascinating, I know.

We are having turkey meatloaf for dinner. I will do my usual thing, where I add a ton of grated zucchini and whole oats to the mix, and everyone except Max and Maria will love it. Max and Maria will get peanut butter and jelly or pasta.

Ah! He's out of the shower... we're off!
I hope You have a great Friday night.

Cutie Pants and Chocolate Croissants... Yeah, We're Creative


This is Maria's line-up. I can't think of a nicer way to tone down the looming towers of faux columness that grace the entry of Garage Mahal. True, she does tend to overrun the house with her collections, assortments of odd this and that, and sacred altars of randomness. I could do an entire blog devoted to things Maria puts in boxes, bags and cupboards. But if this is her art, her expression, well then, it is sacred to me too.


I can't think of a time when we haven't been a creative family, enjoying spontaneity and the pleasures of discovery and invention.

Jennifer, those stamps you sent us have been a huge hit. It took me a while to remember to bring home a fresh stamp pad, and when I finally did show Maria what magic was contained in those funny wood blocks she was ecstatic. Then Alex jumped in and filled a giant page with his stamped tales. Max was racing through his school work, so he could join them, and he stamped these stars dancing across the waves. Yesterday he used the 3 dragon parts to make a dragon of unusual length.

William's creativity has been applied to stop motion animation. The latest family interest has been of extra special interest to William. He is our resident film enthusiast-graphic art-CGA expert... a true prodigy, his father's son. I promise to figure out some way of posting video, so I can show-off some of the fun William, Alex and Max have been having with stop motion animation.

Warning: Here Comes The Chocolate Part!


Alex likes to mix things up... his creative enterprises are all over the galaxy and in the kitchen too. Heavens! He decided to try his hand at making chocolate croissants. We had some leftover chocolate chips from Trader Joe's and in the freezer was some puff pastry, also from Trader Joe's. Love that place! Defrost, cut, fill with a few chips, fold and bake... and then drizzle with melted chocolate. They are small and tasty and I think Alex has a baker's gift...


Nothing satisfies like chocolate, except, perhaps, a good read. Maria has an uncanny ability to immerse herself in a book, any book, pictures optional, and turn it page by page. Sometimes she makes a running commentary, a sort of lecture or lyrical narrative, and she does not appreciate being interrupted. Fair enough.


These reading sessions can last a long time.
Self-conscious Mother Moment: I washed her shirt and she pulled it on again, so no, she hasn't been in it for 3 dirty days. Oh, I feel better.

So, what's up with the Creativity Theme? Well, I finally couldn't resist bringing home Amanda Blake Soule's "Creative Family" book. There is so much good buzz about the book and I really enjoy visiting her blog, so when she offered signed copies, I jumped.


It's strange... when William was born and I was merely 24 years old, none of my peers were into marriage or starting families or even remotely interested in going all domestic, so I felt like something of a loner-pioneer mom, and I also felt free to do things my way. My way has been a creative journey. These days? Well, these days I feel like a rather old mom. A been there, done that kind of mom, and I wasn't sure I needed a book about "creativity." Then I remembered something else from when William was born... Geoff questioned some method or approach I was taking in caring for our newborn son and he cited the advice of an expert from a hospital pamphlet. I did not agree with said expert and said as much, adding, "It's okay to do it our way. We'll just find another expert to support our style."

So, trusting my instincts, including finding help when I need it, has been my parenting style and I like to surround myself with experts, resources and support that confirm and validate my beliefs. I guess that might sound narrow... it isn't, and most importantly it's what works for me... which leads me to something else I've learned as a parent: You have to do what works for you and your family.

Well, since creativity works for our family, I realized I ought to welcome an expert into our home, someone who supports our beliefs and lends a fresh perspective, new ideas and terrific insight. And I must say buying this book was a very good decision. I am enjoying it immensely. It is thoughtfully written and full of lovely examples and real life illustrations from a real life family. No one asked me to review the book, so I hope she doesn't mind my deep thoughts and other musings!


Maria was the first one to get her hands on the book and she obliged me by reading me some of the pages. I love Maria's reading voice, the words she creates. Then, on page 42, we found something that really captured my imagination: "Constructing Children's Pants" was a perfect fit for something I have been working on lately and I could not wait to try my own version of this ingenious recipe.


I just recently finished a quilt top. It's been a very emotional project, involving Aloha shirts. I have been wanting to take a breather, a step back to prepare myself for the next step of finishing this quilt, and Amanda's idea seemed like an ideal transition. Her idea is to make something old new again, and in this case it involved turning a shirt into children's pants. Some of Geoff's old Aloha shirts were still on my cutting table... a fun print and careworn comfiness seemed ideal for some beach-combing, pajama-style pants for Maria.


Easy! Oh, man was this easy and gratifying and fun. Really, I am quite giddy about the results and even the process. The hem of the shirt finishes the hem of the pants.


Even the pocket transfered nicely... a feature that delights Maria. I had already used the sleeves to make soft baby blocks for cousin Izzy, and now much of the rest of this old shirt is new again and keeping Maria comfy-cozy and very happy.


I love the how the details of the shirt, like the cut vents in the shirt's side, make an easy, cute finish in the pants. Geoff joked that he might start missing some of his shirts. I will be on the lookout for any that are getting too shabby! Thank you Amanda Blake Soule... this creative family is feeling nurtured and encouraged anew!

Yesterday, After the Rain or 1,111 Posts

Once upon a time, a family awoke to an unexpected shower. The rain falling in the garden, was cold, the sky dark and gray, and the family felt invigorated and inspired by the change in the weather. There was talk of camping, or walking in the zoo. The youngest one found her umbrella and boops. And when the rain stopped, they stepped out and into the garden.


I had so much fun reading your comments and reactions to the "Pop Post" that I had to go back to the Blogger Buster tutorial and pull out a new trick. I feel so fancy. But I'd rather wear boots and gardening gloves than a tiara... just look what's popping up in the barrel garden. Those tall fellows are carrots and the wee little ones are violas.


Can you see the little seed caps at the tips of the carrot sprouts? Those delight me. And already the frilled true leaves of the carrots are emerging. It's very exciting. I know, it's time to thin them. They'll be crowded enough growing in a barrel next to flowers and a tomato plant. Joe will be happy to dine on tender and fresh carrot greens.

Did you know Carrots love Tomatoes? I learned all about companion gardening years ago when I read Louise Riotte's wonderful gardening book. It's one of my favorites.


I hope carrots and tomatoes love violas. I do.

Once upon a time, there was a kitty who lived all of his days loved and sheltered. To keep him safe from coyotes, which are alarmingly prevalent and malevolent and mean and hungry and most unpleasant, the family kept the kitty indoors.


Most days our furry baby is happy inside, and then there are days like this one when he cries and cries and cries. He watched me from the big window as I cooed to my carrots and tomato, and he made such a pitiful wail as if to say, "Nature calls me to her bosom, be merciful and let me answer. I am a fierce and wild beasty! Hear me roar!"
Really, it was just like that.


So I released the wild beasty. And he directly ran and leaped for the most beastly and wild corners of the walled garden. He sniffed rain dampened grass. He rolled in a dirty place. He attacked a spider web with beastly ferocity.


"Here kittky, kitty. Come here Benjamin baby, furry, furry yum-yum," which is the name he likes me to call him.


And this is how he answered me!


Then Maria got wild too! She waved goodbye to Alex and me, she even said "I love you, " as she drove off in search of adventure.

.... to be continued.

Dang, that Popped!

It's a bit much, don't you think?

Pardon Me, While I Muck Around...

How to become a blog of note... I was reading "Blogger Buster... "reading" may be overstating the facts. I was scanning "Blogger Buster" and the article about making posts "pop."

I am going to click "publish" now and see if this post "pops."

ready
set
go

Confessions of a Give-Away Slut


Yes, I read "Confessions of a Pioneer Woman." No, I am not going to make it a link back to her already fabulously popular 2 year old blog. No! I'm not jealous. She and Dooce deserve thousands of comments and huge ad revenues. I'm totally fine with it. Really. Incidentally, Dooce will be a featured mommy blogger on the Today Show tomorrow. Seriously, she does not need my plug.

Pioneer Woman is giving away a coffee maker today and I left my comment in hopes of being randomly selected to win the coffee maker. I make horrible coffee. Actually, I don't even drink coffee. My idea of good coffee is decaffeinated Nescafé with lots of milk. But I want to be a winner. Guess what? My comment number is the same number of the lucky woman who won a $500 gift card yesterday. I am commentator #1708. What are the odds of the random generator picking that number 2 days in a row? Zip.


How do you make long division interesting? The answer is: Elaborate tales that involve zombies. If 21 friends came to your house and they had to eat 7,000 cakes in order to keep zombies from destroying all video games in the world, how many cakes would each friend have to eat?

While I made homemade macaroni and cheese, Alex illustrated the ensuing mayhem of 21 people racing to consume 7,000 cakes while zombies are being quashed by video game characters and giant Lego figures. The mac 'n' cheese had fresh Italian herbs and grated Romano and Mozzarella cheeses over penne and I baked it in the oven to give it a nice crisp crust. When I served Maria she looked appalled and said, "I want real food."

Heck, yes, I can mommy blog with the best of them.


Here is Maria. When I write my posts and export my photos to the server, Maria likes to sit in my lap. She brings me things. Little papers, lotion, an apple, an orange peel, a red glove, a pencil sharpener, a bottle cap, stones, a bandage, and cups of tea.


Geoff promised her a pony if she poops in the toilet. A pony! It was enough to make me want to wet my pants until I can negotiate a chicken. Just kidding. I shouldn't have to say that I am "kidding," but I never know when people will decide to take me seriously. And some readers lurkers will see this as proof positive that they were right to disown me.


There's a lot I would like to say. There is a lot I could confess. I want to be a winner and I want to have long shiny hair. I want to keep a clean house, but I don't want to do the actual cleaning. I want lose weight, disdain food, regularly visit an aesthetician, read novels and retain facts about politics, economics, history and html. I want to let go of the past, live in the moment and smile in the face of the unknown.

What the Future Holds

Both Max and Alex are working on entries for a Lego contest. The theme: Build the hot new gadget of the future... What will everyone want 50 years from now?


What will people be clamoring for in 50 years? There are so many amazing gadgets already. Sometimes I wish we could decree a cease fire... an agreement not to make any new gadgets until we can catch our collective breaths and fully absorb and appreciate all the technology at our disposal already.

Max envisioned a hand held computer with an attached stylus. "It has an antenna, and you use it for wireless internet." And he adds, "You can use the stylus to type things on the keyboard, which is located in the screen. It has 2 buttons for the power, and the power comes from a processor that collects the energy from sound waves." He says, "Using its processor you can make charging it easier by talking to it."


I think I say this every time the boys show me one of their creations: I only ever made roofless houses, boxes with imagined furnishings and gardens and tiny kitchens. Max made a streamlined, curved frame, a monitor and pen pointed stylus with its own built in holder.


No one diagramed this. He did not follow a plan or instructions. I have a deep and abiding admiration for creativity, for the skill required to envision something and the ability to make it real. Plumbing, wiring, planting a garden, plowing a field, sewing a dress, writing software, baking bread... these are the skills that impress me. I suppose there will be marvelous gadgets 50 years from now. There are marvelous gadgets today. But I hope in 50 years children will still empty a box of parts and pieces and make something all their own, something from the recesses of their hearts and fancy.

Mom, I'm in Love.
And he takes very good care of me.


He laughs at my jokes. He reads me poetry, or housing sale ads.
His hands are capable, his heart is true and he makes the bed with me.


He fills my tank, he backs up my blog and updates my software. He changes all of the light bulbs.


I'm in love. Since 1982, when he first kissed me. Since the beginning, when we both knew we wanted to
love forever.

We Are Inside, The Landlord is Outside
Twice a year GaryBob, a name composed of 2 different landlord names, likes to pull up weeds, trim trees, spray insecticides and knock stuff around. I come to dread this day, as he has pulled out my flowers, shattered my potting table, broken my vases and garden pots. He is not a mean person. He is not cruel. He is reckless in a dorky kind of get the job done kind of way. Already today, the blackberries have succumbed to his method.

I cannot go on hating him and cursing the whole tenant/landlord relationship. All of the anguish and suffering is locked up in my head, because I don't have the confidence and daring to confront him and to say out loud all of the ways he infuriates me. I feel angry and hurt by what he does, sad about how it makes me feel and really frustrated that I have not addressed him on each occasion of his offenses.


This morning I had a learning moment, an epiphany of self realization and enlightenment: I rarely, if ever, speak up on my own behalf. Haha... it does not escape my notice that I am still not addressing the individuals that I am actually mad at. I never want to hurt someone's feelings, appear petty or insensitive. I never want to create conflict or make waves. But I am realizing that the net result of sparing other people pain or conflict is that I endure it all for myself. I subject myself to sadness, aggravations, anger and a black hole of a knot in the pit of my stomach. This is no favor to me, and it is no favor to the one I presume to spare. What I don't release is bottled inside and festering. GaryBob and a few other unsuspecting folks have me so furious and disgusted, so darn mad and hurt, and as they go along their merry way, I am left with the belly ache, and a powerful dislike, disrespect and stink-eye for them.


There is a point at which I am not a victim, but a bitter martyr, disingenuous, and depleted of self-worth and dignity. I think of the people I am mad at and I realize that there was a beginning when what they did upset me, but as long as I cannot address the issue there will not be an end. They are free to repeat the offense and I am free to replay it in my head over and over again, so that I victimize myself. Aggh... enlightenment can be so hard on the eyes! I don't like seeing this in myself, let alone saying it out loud.

Hmmmm... now what?

Geoff re-injured his knee, the right one, the one with the torn meniscus. This is so sad. He really should get a break from exercise related injuries. He wants to be out there playing, getting healthy, staying healthy. I feel so bad for him. He can hardly walk.

If you should happen to come to our place and we invite you to dinner, sit carefully. I don't know what we've done to deserve it, but our sturdy, rustic, heavy duty solid wood chairs are crap. We started with 8 and I think we are down to 5. They just get loose, come undone, fall apart. One chair cut my leg and Max's with an exposed screw. This morning another chair popped a railing and left an exposed screw that punctured William's back. I want to burn them.

So, gee. I seem to have a list of aggravations and frustrations. Eh. It's good to purge now, then in a year when we are living in our own home and savoring the beauty of the day and our fine lives, we can look back and rejoice over how far we've come. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


Maria is driving her car. Her baby and her driving hat are in place and she is turning corners, seatbelt fastened. Did you notice her haircut? Oh, these dear rites of passage. She cried after I committed the first snip and she sobbed, "I not want a haircut!" It's not up for debate. The deed is done, and we all think she looks pretty with her healthy, fresh do.


Her steering wheel is very big. She purses her lips and makes a motoring hum. When I sit behind her she fastens my seatbelt too.

The house needs cleaning, and we are expecting Hans and Gretchen for dinner. Obviously, Geoff cannot help and I am too cranky and moody to feel motivated, yet. I suppose when the work outside is done, I will breath easier. GaryBob just finished washing the whole yard with a "mild oil to kill black stuff." And I said nothing, because having an epiphany and doing something about it are not the same thing.

Like a Day in May


I may be posting only to distract myself from the fact that today is chick day. Out east, at the feed store I like, they are receiving a new shipment of chicks. I have spent the entire week in a mental-spiritual debate over whether or not I should bring home 2 chicks. My heart aches. My head is worn. I keep hoping for a sign that it's reasonable to take charge of my destiny, to move forward with my hopes, to nurture my flights of fancy. I keep hoping a home will reveal itself to us, so that we can know that after 5 years of false starts and dashed dreams, we will finally have a game plan, a destiny. I think it is the very worst part of being an adult that we are compelled to do what is appropriate, responsible and rational. So, without a sign, without urging and enthusiastic support and encouragement, I hang my head and accept that it is not my chick day.


Is it human nature to want more? I live in a big, safe home, but I want my own house, my own walls and pipes. I have healthy children and I am married to my 1 true love. But, wouldn't it be just a bit sweeter if we could have a garden and hens?


The children's homeschool supervisor, a wonderful woman, brought oranges, tangerines and avocados to share. Max and Maria were more than happy to relieve Franya of her surplus fruit. And I had to exercise all of my adult discipline to not ask for one of the extra chicks they have in their coop. Franya was happy to describe how cute their chicks are and how easy they are to raise and keep. Mercy. I was ready to blurt: "Yes! I know. Let me help you. We'll take 2 chicks, since you find yourselves with 6 more than expected. We'll be happy to lend a hand." Good grief... I had no idea I had such power of restraint. I hate to test it like this.


We are in such ideal May weather. No grey foggy mornings. No debilitating heat like we had last week. This is grilling weather. Picnic weather. Sit outside and rip seams weather... Am I the only semi-experienced quilter that uses a seam ripper almost as much as a sewing machine? This is the kind of weather that makes me think of summer camping and crossing creeks in bare feet.


Even Joe is happy to loll on the patch of lawn in the backyard, nibble tiny spring flowers. He knows these are idyllic days, happy days of May and leisure.


Max tried to teach Maria about the pips in the tangerines. He demonstrated eating a piece, feeling around with teeth and tongue for the small "hard bit," and then spitting it out. Maria was engrossed and delighted, but nonetheless she swallowed all of her pips.

Next to our tomato plant, in the barrel, the carrot seeds have sprouted. The dark soil looks so rich with its new carpet of green,and now comes the hard part of thinning the seedlings. At least Joe is happy to receive the freshest baby sprouts, otherwise it would feel so tragic pulling them up. Is ambient light sufficient for tomatoes to fruit? I don't think so. I'll have to recruit Alex again and move the barrel a bit north and west, where there may be a bit more light.


After our picnic lunch, Max and Maria picked up their swords and played at battle. I love the sheer confidence and energy Maria is unleashing. There were no injuries, no acrimony, only the joy of play.

Chickenblog Counts Down

Thank you again for voting in the photography contest. It was real close. I'm such a loser. It was fun and a nice opportunity to discover new blogs and photographers. I have to say, Dallas easily remains one of my favorite photographers and you should visit her blog for regular views of her observations of nature.


"Count down?" you ask.
Yes, I am counting days and such.

3 days until the feed store by the boy's testing site receives a new shipment of chicks. Cute, harmless, life affirming, gratifying, fun and therapeutic chicks. Baby hens. Chooks. Sigh.


8 posts until my eleventy-eleventh post to Chickenblog. Thought: Wouldn't bringing home 2 chicks be an awesome way to celebrate 1,111 posts?


24 days until Chickenblog celebrates its 6 year blogiversary! Gee it seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the 5 year blogiversary. That was when Tarie and Janece were drawing winners, but before Calamity Kim brought my blog out of obscurity. Now a whole year has rolled by and some things are much the same and some things are very, very changed. I do have a lot more friends in the blogosphere, many of whom you find over there in the blogroll.


I used to make hencakes all the time and post their cuteness every now and then. Every hencake is an original, ladled out with artful flair and loving care. All hencakes and other chicken references can be found in the archives under the Chicas label. Labels is a rather recent feature of the blog that Geoff added for me. The labels are a very helpful device for organizing 1,103 different posts.


My most recent Chickenblog improvement is a feeder thingy. Uh. Yeah, well I haven't actually fully grasped the concept, but I changed some settings in my blog that will enable savvy bloggers to add me to their feed. Is that right? Well, no, not me. I will not be in anyone's feed. Chickenblog is available to be added to... How did Katie put it? Here's what she told me: "Anyhow, publishing a blog feed allows people to use an aggregated reader to view any updates to blogs they subscribe to. This is great because I don't have to visit 100+ blogs a day to see if they were updated!" Thank you Katie! You are a very good person to know.

One more count down: Only 2 days left for the boys to be tied to desks, filling in little bubbles with number 2 pencils. The state testing should wrap up by end of mañana. Wouldn't bringing home 2 fluffy little chicks be the most wonderful way to celebrate the end of grueling test taking?

Country Roads, and a Dragon + Shameless Self Promotion and Begging*


With some economic news to fuel our hopes, we have been venturing out across the county, looking for that ideal place, at an ideal price. And we have found ourselves in some remote spots, and in places with beautiful and unexpected views. We've even seen some of the "ugly climb" in the form of beautifully priced houses.


We have not found our house. Not yet. Yesterday, after 3 hours of looking and driving in one area, I decided on something I never thought I would choose: Gated... Ugh. I am so ashamed. I think gated communities are pretentious and isolating. Maybe they work for some, but I have never seen myself feeling comfortable in a gated neighborhood. Never say never?


Geoff and I have stumbled upon a development with astonishing views and huge lots, pretty homes that are large and inviting... sigh, and the best part is that some are in foreclosure and some are priced to sell and the rest are lovingly maintained, so the neighborhood feels welcoming and nice. Even the name suggest everything I would like: "____Ranch." Ranch, as in freedom and wide open spaces, and barns, stables, chicken coops, tractors and windmills. Not.

I spent 3 days daydreaming about one particular house, but could not get over that gate, until I realized that I can't let a gate stop me from something that is really nice in every other respect. So, I convinced myself of the benefits of living there, like slower traffic and peace of mind when the children ride their bikes. Naturally by this point I was deeply attached and excited and full of big hopes. It was more than enough to get me to the next step and I called the association to ask about a few things. That's when the red flags started dropping from the big blue sky. In their Ranch no one can make home changes without committee approval. In their Ranch no one can have livestock! No horses, cows, goats, donkeys, sheep or chickens! A monthly fee is paid for the privilege of letting other people to tell you how to live in your own home. Feh

I never should have stopped at that feed store yesterday. Yes, I needed rabbit food and some parakeet seeds, but I should have just picked those up from the market. I should not have gone into the back corner of the store where Maria and I could hear the distinct peeping and chirping. I shouldn't have peeked into the cages where it said "Banty Chicks." And Maria and I should not have pet the tiny, tiny chicks with the loveliest plumage I have ever seen, the tiniest chicks that would sit in Maria's hand like a cotton ball of downy fluff. No pictures. I had to drag myself away. On Friday they are expecting a shipment of Araucanas. My favorite. Geoff should take my keys on Friday.


William took this picture of his brother sketching. The boys are taking their state tests this week. Standardized, fill in the bubble tests. I guess I sympathize, because when we got home I didn't ask them to do any more school work. Max begged for 30 minutes of PS3 time and I gave in. Alex was happy to play for 30 minutes too, and then he immersed himself in sketching dragons and making electro-magnets. Coming soon: A post featuring the things Alex has made and revived from thrift shop junk. You can probably understand why we are looking for a home with room for a workshop!

Thank you everyone that took the time to vote. Time is up and the votes are being counted.
* OKay. Here comes the shameless self-promotion and begging!
Vote For Me! Vote For Me! Won't you please vote for me and my wonderful octopus photograph? And after you vote, please, please ask your friends and family to vote. What?! I would vote for you. Hmmm. I wonder if this is enough. Should I send out emails? Get on the phone? I wonder which is more humiliating, begging or not getting a response to shameless self-promoting. I'll get back to you on this.

Alors Français


Frais, de croissants chauds. Bon?

I feel so foux da fa fa fa!

Merci a Sara, and Trader Joe's.

Flight of the Conchords Ep 8 'Foux Da Fa Fa'

Soup du jour.
Splish-splosh.

Me, Playing


Max and I are passing an octopus to a fellow tide pool enthusiast. Careful to keep our hands wet, and to return her to her rocky shelter in the pool, we marveled at the experience of holding this slippery and strong creature. She changed her colors and patterns as she moved over new surfaces.

Out of curiosity, I followed a link in "Sallad Says..." to a photography contest at "Are We There Yet Mom." The contest has no theme, although the prize inspired me to find a photograph that is a close-up. I think the octopus and hands make an interesting example of close-up photography. It was a bit of a balancing act, as I am helping Max and taking the picture! I like the cooperation and patience between the three people, and their interest and concern for the octopus. I remember our hushed voices and exhilarated emotions. The tide was exceptionally low that day and all up and down the beach people were exclaiming at the many discoveries. We were strangers sharing wonder. I took a lot of favorite pictures that day in January.

There is still time to enter April's contest, and I hope you have a chance to go see the other entries. It's fun and inspiring to see people's best shots. There are so many things in the world to exhilarates us, to fill us with wonder.

A Polka Dot Tennis Skirt, A Cookie and A Horse


When Maria was about 3 weeks old, so tiny and new, Geoff called me from his perch in the kitchen, where he used to read his laptop: "What size is Maria?"

In my postpartum haze, his question was fuzzy. He never asked about sizes and measurements, unless we were in a lumberyard. At first I thought he was concerned about her petite height and her less than average weight. He worried about things like this, and I replied, "She's fine sweetheart. She's just a lot smaller than her brothers were."

"No." He answered, still talking to me through the walls. "I mean what size clothes does she wear. Would she be a 2?"

I was nursing Maria, stuck in that tired old chair we stuck between our bed and the crib, otherwise I would have gone to him, to see his face, to discern if what I was hearing was possible. Could Geoff actually be thinking about clothing, about fashion and sizes, and what people wear? It seemed improbable. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Shopping." He does not elaborate, not willingly.
"Shopping for what?"
"Shopping for Maria." He does not elaborate, not willingly.
"What are you doing?" I try not to wake the dozing baby.


Geoff appears in our bedroom, and says, "I'm on Ebay trying to get Maria a tennis outfit. Is she a size 2?" He looks excited and agitated. The clock must be ticking on an auction. The bidding must be fast and furious. I cannot believe what I am hearing, the giddy look in his eyes. He has never bought a stitch of clothing, voluntarily, ever. Not for me or for William, not for Alex and not for Max. He buys his shorts 3 at a time every 4 years and his T-shirts are from conferences. He looks at me impatiently, "Would a 2 be big enough?"

"A size 2 or 2T is for toddlers. You need to look for sizes by month, like 3 months or 6 months." And he's already gone, back to the kitchen and the auction. For about half an hour he asked me about sizes and ages, and he ran stuff by me, about styles and colors. I was laughing. He was determined to get this child a tennis outfit before she was big enough to rollover or hold her head up. He was so preciously obsessed with his mission, that it was endearing and sweet and I will never forget the happy realization of his love for his daughter. It's not that there was any doubt, or that shopping is an indicator of love. It was his willingness to venture forth into uncharted territory, to envision the future, when she would be big enough to play tennis, to run and jump and catch. He saw all of the possibilities and he wanted to embrace them, to make way for them, and that is a very dear sign of love.


A week later the skirt arrived. A size 3T.


She wore it for the first time last summer, and it kept sliding down her slender waist. Our tennis pro. Our girl, healthy and happy, and loved.


This morning she went into our shared closet and shut the door, first turning to me saying, "Please, go away. I am getting dressed." Honestly, I can't say where she learned this. I don't have the sense to expect privacy, and never bother asking for it.


She came out in her apple shirt and tennis skirt, which still slips a bit.


She skinned her knee a few days ago. She walks with a limp and insists on a fresh band-aid every morning. Her friend Jack lives behind the suitcase. The suitcase is sometimes Jack's shop, and sometimes a horse.


Today the horse is taking to her Grandma's house, and she is bringing her "homework."

By the way, in yesterday's post, the photograph was of a very small section of a property Geoff had been hoping to buy. I was less certain about its potential, and I regret to say its too late anyway. Someone else made the first move. Geoff is very sad about the missed opportunity. As we look for a home we keep reminding each other that we must remain detached. We cannot let our emotions get the best of us, and yet... it's when we let our hearts decide, when we feel inspired... when we see all of the possibilities and embrace them, then we make way for good things to happen. So, perhaps we should allow ourselves to become attached and emotional, to be hopeful. We must venture forth with knowledge, and optimism and love.

So Many Deep Thoughts

I am all about the deep thoughts. Unfortunately they are so deep and unwieldy they defy articulation, expression, reason. In other words if I bother to post today, I risk being obtuse, dull, random and simply confusing. Ah, but I am going to post anyway. (insert maniacal laugh) To counter the effects of my unformed philosophies, I will include snapshots of beautiful flowers, which were a gift from my visiting Virginia friend, Carol L..


Carol was in town for just 2 days, so I was delighted she found time to spend a few hours with us. The children were disappointed that Tamsyn could not come, and by all accounts Tamsyn was very disappointed as well. I know I should say all supportive things about them living in Virginia and making the best and most of their circumstances, but it sure would be nice if the world would adjust and shift and make it possible for them to return to California. The children miss their best friend. I miss our friends too.


My pants smell bad. I suppose I should own more than one pair of pants, which get washed once a week, whether they need it or not and clearly, they do need it. Now that was a fine example of why I should be doing anything else beside writing my thoughts at this moment. Just be relieved I am not writing down all of my thoughts. The solution is obvious at least. I will put on my skirt, the other half of my wardrobe, and throw these jeans in the wash. I wish all of our other issues had solutions as simple and obvious as this.

I am tempted to list all of the issues we grapple with and post them here for your review. You could tell me whether they smell bad and offer solutions... the solutions I am not seeing, don't recognize, refuse to accept or am too disoriented to appreciate. I am tempted, but I am not compelled. One thing I have finally learned is that for every issue there are many solutions and even more opinions about which is the best solution.

Have you ever noticed you agree with whoever most closely expresses what you already believed in the first place? On the other hand, I am always a little alarmed at how easily I can be persuaded of one idea or another, and then switch back when I hear a new angle. The net result is that there is little or no point in soliciting the free advice and earnest opinions of concerned citizens. You can breath a sigh of relief now.


Geoff came home, late (is it really necessary for me include "late?" It goes without saying.)... he came home and said he did some investigating and confirmed that we can have chickens, as backyard pets, in our community. 10 chickens in fact. 10 is a lot of chickens. He added, for further emphasis, that in some neighborhoods we could have 25 chickens.
Well.
And what should I make of this?
So, I asked whether I could go to the country right now and bring home an actual chicken, and he said,
"Sure, if it will turn everything around for you, I will deal with the landlord."
Hmmm. I wonder.
Would a chicken, a plucky hen, turn everything around?
That seems like a tall order for a chicken. It's been almost 5 years since I had chickens and in that time I have probably romanticized the whole idea of chickens... but only just a little. And while my heart and soul pine for chickens, I think I know better what it all really means. I want the liberty of creating our own space, of settling in, like a hen on her nest, in her yard, and feel like I am home. I do not want to placate a landlord, deal with a landlord or beg permission from a landlord. It's too soon. I've waited this long and in all likelihood I will have to wait at least 1 more year, or maybe 2. So, even though the sound of a chick peeping and the sight of a hen dancing across the lawn would cheer and amuse me, I am, unfortunately, too smart to open that door just yet.

Today is take your son/daughter to work day. People at Geoff's office still ask, "How many kids do you have?" I've suggested he offer a different number every time. Keep 'em guessing. Today he will have 3 children, when I drop the boys off this afternoon. Then Maria and I will have the rest of the day alone, together.


I know I said I would not solicit opinions, but I have this 1 question: When is a property a fixer-upper in need of TLC and when is it simply a disaster?