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.

Carrots and Honey
Last night I ate carrots cooked in honey. It was a suggestion from Maria B. to Janice R., to cook the baby carrots with a bit of honey. I wonder how much exactly. I have carrots and honey. I even have a ham, and Janice R.'s amazing carrot cake recipe, and somewhere in the garage I have a packed box full of Easter decorations and Spring touches. I could go on for a long bit about Easter and how it catches me off-guard and unprepared most every year, fortunately I have labels, including an "Easter" category of past posts, so no need. It's all been said before. I really do try. I try to plan and clean and decorate and I even imagine going to church, but somehow my efforts fall short. Last year, probably around 4th of July, when I packed all of the Easter bunnies, baskets and egg decor, I really believed I was packing for another move. I did not think we would still be here. Not that we had a plan or even much hope, so I guess it's just a habit. It makes me sad how I dread holidays, even my favorites. Gad. I wasn't going to do this. Carrots cooked in honey is really very nice.


Maria and Jordan riding the ottoman, sister cowgirls of the living-range. I found this pair of feathered $1.87 bonnets at a thrift shop in Madison, Wisconsin. I love Willy Street and St. Vincent's. I love discovering an unexpected treasure and seeing it open up a new world for someone. I need to grab my camera again, the next time Maria is brandishing the inflatable sword, and wearing her brother's leather belt and her purple pirate hat. William says she appears in his room, dressed in her piratey garb, and thunders pirate words... Oooh arggh! I'm a pirate!

Suddenly It Is Spring


William initiated this Spring cleaning weeks ago and they are still at it. They are methodically, diligently sorting and organizing Lego bricks, components, characters and gears.
I tried to get a picture that included the cats; the cats like to tiptoe through the maze and find a spot to roll in, but they came to me when I showed up with my camera. This is Alex's room. This is the first time the boys have had their own rooms. In the "TreeHouse" their beds were in the dining room/kitchen/living room. In our "Rancho" they slept in one room and played in another. At "Neptune" they shared a room in the little house we had. Maria shares our room. I think the boys would just as soon share a room as not, or at least they agree that they enjoy sharing a playroom, er a "Lego Room."

They love Lego bricks. Love. Don't talk to me about the expense or the waste or the volume... I have a thoughtful and tested response to every negative comment I have ever heard against Legos. Even Maria uses Lego bricks to make things and she brightens when her brothers invite her into their world. She is very helpful with sorting and finding heads. I imagine she will be an engineer, like her brothers, able to comprehend the function of gears and pistons, and how to increase the speed of vehicles. Maybe she will have Alex's design skills, or some of William's creative abilities. She'll be lucky if she can be as methodical and disciplined as Max is with his creations.

Sometimes the house gets very quiet, and I call their names... William? Alex? Max? Maria?
Then I hear back, "We're up here. Maria's with us."
They are playing together. They often do.
They plan and design together, and share ideas for future creations.
They read aloud to each other and have sleep-overs in each other's bedrooms.
No, they are not always perfect angels... they get moody and mean, but it's quite rare and even understandable.
Truthfully, I think they are 4 of my favorite people in the world. I love their company and their ideas, their attitudes.
I love that they care for each other and that they have no qualms about sharing their love.
I marvel at their intelligence and curiosity, their appetite for learning.
Even when I think of our challenges, the areas we need to improve, the setbacks we want to overcome, I think that I am not so disappointed or dismayed. They fill my heart with so much pride and joy, that I can only expect good things, bright paths. Perhaps our paths are unconventional, and maybe we cannot always see the most direct route, but at the end of the day, you will find us together and happy, and I would not want to have it any other way.

Looking Back: Nine Hundred and Eighty-Four Pretty Good Posts
See that long list of dates in Chickenblog's sidebar? Those aren't randomly generated, they aren't pay per view ads... those represent the times I couldn't help but express my deep thoughts,


Max, Alex and William: December 31, 2002. Hawaii

share family news,


The Boys with Deanne: May 4, 2003. Legoland

congratulate friends,


Holly, Nick and Rich: June 13, 2003. El Rancho


pass along recipes,


Anne and Max: October 24, 2003: The TreeHouse

announce a birth,


Alex and Tamsyn: March 30, 2004

beg for help,


Sam, James and Deanne: December 21, 2004

feeling the love

or promote world, and local peace.


Geoff, Maria and Natalie: March 27, 2005

I never imagined I would keep it up for this long or that it would matter to me as much as it does... I certainly dragged my feet, when Geoff suggested I start a blog. My first post was just a fanciful daydream, meant to convince Geoff that I would give blogging an earnest go. In those early days, blogging could be supremely aggravating... oh, wait, it can still be supremely aggravating!


William, Geoff, Maria, Max, Nancy, Alex, Rich, Sophie, Lily, Nick, Phil. Kayla and Holly: June 12, 2005. The TreeHouse

I am glad Geoff insisted I blog. We have a colorful journal of the last five years, with photos, and remembrances, silliness, frustrations, and a lot of happy reflections. I am glad Holly makes tasteful banners, so Chickenblog can look polished and inviting. I am glad that, very recently, more than 2 people have discovered Chickenblog and they have joined the conversation, shared the laughs... blogging is so about dialogue and connections. I am glad that my friend Anna Banana is blogging too... she and I appreciate how cool it is to keep track of things that matter and to amuse ourselves with stuff that probably matters very little.


Alex, Alison, Dominic, Bill, Max and William: June 30, 2007

All this gladness cannot be contained... Geoff has been nudging me: You better get busy making a 1000th post contest to celebrate. I was remembering my very first contest, when I asked readers to identify something the cat coughed-up... that was April 26, 2003, but no one took a chance at my grand prize offer (too bad the Grand Prize was a pony and a Hawaiian cruise... too late now.) But now we can have a new contest, and I will think up a new grand prize, so sharpen your pencils, put on your party hat, and be on the look out for the 1000th Chickenblog post.

In Stitches

Instead of complaining that I was cleaning, all alone, and whining about unpacking boxes, because we still haven't moved-in completely, rather than plummet into a deep funk about life's futility and frustrations... instead of all of that, I am going to share what I found in one of those unpacked boxes. I am going to reflect on the silver felt lining. When Maria was nearly a year old and the children were home, unschooling at the TreeHouse, I introduced them to applique, embroidery and acrylic felt. Tamsyn was with us too, up from her house and hanging out. I wonder if she remembers when we did this little project.

I wish I knew where their projects are. They made reindeer and trees and other charming symbols of the season. Maria was crawling around, and Alex, Max and Tamsyn were keeping me busy threading needles and ironing on little felt pieces, untangling floss, and of course I was as eager to play as they were, so I was making my own little felt community. We thought they might be little pockets or ornaments for the tree. I remember the room was a mess. How can such a little project make such a huge mess? Who cares? It's all in the past, and the good memories, the experience is what remains.



Every time we move, the upheaval is so pervasive that a lot gets lost, misplaced and forgotten... I am not whining. This is an observation. Anyway, my sewing and crafty career has been derailed many, many times and I lose track of what I've done and what supplies I have stashed away. LOL I have way more WIPs than I knew!


I wish I had known the difference between acrylic felt and wool felt when I put the time into these little winter scenes. I was aware that wool is better, but none of our local fabric stores carries the good stuff, and I was enchanted with the color choices and ready affordability of cheap acrylic squares... I'm sure I have 99 acrylic squares packed in another box in the garage! My mind is buzzing and humming with ideas and plans... I want to pick-up a threaded needle and go! I'll meet-up with Julie and Kim and we can all embroider together. Synchronized Stitching! What fun.


OKay, back to cleaning. Just enough to satisfy the board of health... then I am off to find wool felt... tee hee

Catching-Up and A Fond Farewell


I really could not bring myself to fully realize what it means: Tamsyn is moving away. We've known for quite some time that they would be looking for a new home state, a place to retire to, where they could have room for horses, six cats, two dogs and two birds. I sheltered my heart from the actual day we would have to say good-bye. I did not want to imagine not seeing her face, hearing her laugh, and knowing that we could not expect her to pop over to play. Now that I am thinking about it, I am crying. I will miss her too much. I am very sad.


I remember quite clearly the first time she knocked at our Treehouse door. She was tiny and polite, introducing herself and asking so sweetly if anyone would like to come out and play. And it seems like they haven't stopped playing since that first day.


Since January of 2004 we have been to parks and ponds, and camping. We've shared birthdays and hikes, dinners, sleep-overs, picnics, good times and sad times, horse rides, kittens, and lost cats, berry picking, apple picking and lemon picking and all kinds of pies.


Our homes were open and the children enjoyed countless days running around together, exploring yards and trees, playing games, and celebrating seasons. Did they ever not get along? Maybe there were debates or minor misunderstandings, but nothing lasting or too upsetting. They maintained friendships that were full of good will and kindness. They shared common interests, like computer games and fantasy, hiking around the trails that led from the backyards at the Treehouse and their house next door. They built wonderful Lego structures together, including one that won a prize from Lego Magazine.


Tamsyn has been a member of our family, a sister to my children, and like a daughter to me. And when my children were in her home, with Carol and Gene, they were as welcome as family, happy to help look after Jasper and Pippin, thankful for the chance to try horse riding and find constellations through their telescope.


We want whatever is best for the people we love and I know that Tamsyn is destined for great adventures and success, that she will be happy in her new Virginia home. But I wish they were staying close by... close enough that I could still hear her singing. She sings beautifully. Close enough that we can carve pumpkins, build gingerbread houses and bake apple pies together, then build a fort out of fallen branches and thrift shop sheets anytime... whenever we want. Close enough that I can hear the children laughing in the backyard.


I will miss our friends. I will miss the simple pleasures we enjoyed when we got together.

I was going to post about how many things I have been neglecting to take care of, like correspondence and phone calls. I've been meaning to answer emails and get organized, and other usual chores. I want to clear out all the school related clutter that we've been accumulating. There are important points on my list of things to do, but my thoughts are elsewhere. My heart is distracted. I think I'll go find the children, hug them, invite them out for a little silliness.

I think we are simply exhausted.

I bought groceries and made lunches, but I left out perishables... There's so much to do, just to catch up and I only seem to manage to fall further and further behind. I haven't communicated with Cristina, Holly or Jola, or confirmed plans for Thanksgiving. I never reached Grandma before she left for Colorado. It's time to take down the few Halloween decorations we put up, and make some attempt to assemble our bed. Geoff estimates that if we unpack 10 boxes a day, then we will be unpacked in 2 weeks... please don't do the math and call to tell us we have too much stuff. Even up to yesterday we had a moving truck. Have I ever mentioned we have a 700 lb "Discs of Tron" Arcade game, circa 1981? Oh, I guess that only fuels speculation that we might have too much stuff. Never mind.

Okay, allow me one little sort of pity party. Actually it's more regret than pity. Back at the Treehouse, Bob's new victims, er I mean tenants, have already painted most of the interior and thrown out all the ugly and tacky things that I chose to overlook. The new tenant "hated" the pink master suite, so he painted it a hip green. The downstairs is midnight blue and the entry is a sophiticated rum raisin red. Hey!! I hated the pink master suite first! I hated the ancient, faded, gross carpets too. 3 years ago when we moved in to the Treehouse it was totally a temporary situation, so I was not going to bother with the waste of painting or making it our own. And I lived with ugly walls and I missed ever having a decorated nursery or unscary carpets. I chose to endure yuck and 6 months became a year and two years slipped in to three years. So, have I learned anything? Can my frustration and regret evolve in to a life lesson? Does paint matter? Do drapes and functioning mini-blinds make a happier home? I am having deep thoughts on all of this. I know I can't fix the past and I really, really need to do better in the present. Garage Mahal may only be temporary, but this is my life.

Alright. Time to shut up and find a box to unpack. And if it seems like I have neglected you, my friend, I am sorry. And if you have suggestions for painting the mint green rag-painted wall in the living room please share with me.

No, we aren't moved in yet. We aren't moved out yet either. It's down to the wire, as usual. Everything hurts. I feel pulled in every direction. Tomorrow you may find me cleaning an oven and trying to spot treat carpet, or possibly trying make three Halloween costumes complete. The entire month has been dedicated to packng and moving, and I was almost Martha-like in my success at keeping the new home organized, orderly and pleasant to be in, but that has gone to pieces and now there's no place like home... meaning we don't feel homey here, or there or anywhere. Too bad I never want to move again.

I dreamt that someone was selling me fertilized hen eggs for $5.08 and that we were going to raise just two little hens here at Garage Mahal. The dream was realistic enough for me to fear the landlord's wrath, and real enough to wake me with a powerful chicken longing. Sigh.

moving sucks.
lost things
broken things
missing things
tired bodies
weary spirits
frazzled minds
it just sucks

First Law of Moving: No One Gets Left Behind!

Hello. Testing... testing. This is me, blogging from Garage Mahal. We are nearly almost moved in, and Geoff set up my computer. I thought I would just check if everything is working. A lot of heavy furniture remains at the Treehouse and even more of those hard to pack odds and ends. Right now everyone is going to sleep. William just came downstairs for a glass of water. Holly, Nicholas and Isabella came by earlier for a visit. This is a disjointed, awkward paragraph with little or no point, except to sort of touch base with anyone out there... just proves I shouldn't blog in my sleep. I feel like I have been farway for a long time.

Professional packers and movers never stop to sort through boxes of old letters, scraps of fabric, broken crayons. I am trying to be professional, to stay on track with pure packing and no reminiscing in photo boxes. I guess stopping to blog is not efficient, but I wanted to share a piece of art I just uncovered. William was drawing, the date says '05.

Old cheese. I'm supposed to be packing, and it stinks, because I don't want to pack anymore. No more boxes. No more "what's under the dresser?" No more clutter and odds and ends, no more oddities or "what are these?"

I am really tired of people telling us we have a lot of stuff. They say it with a hint of alarm, or maybe I am only hearing judgement in their tone. Okay, yes, we have a lot of stuff. We have clothes and food, and toys and books for 6 people. Six people! Compare six people's needs and interests with two or four people; these things can really add up. We have papers and supplies enough for homeschooling three grades. We have suitcases for our trips to see faraway grandmas and grandpas. We have fingerpaints, sidewalk chalk, a tent, two butterfly nets, three sleeping bags and a piano. I gave a way the extra Crockpot. Max sold his Hot Wheels. The crib is going and so are the back issues of Oprah. I will not buy another pencil or Crayola, or stickers, candles, Duplos, harmonicas, plastic pools or Easter baskets ever again. Honest.

I do have a point to make, but I am begininng to suspect that I am mostly trying to avoid packing. Ugh. I just wanna go home.

Let's catch up, with some pictures...


The weekend is precious to Max, now that he's at school all week. He likes to give Maria rides down the driveway on the extra long Gravity board.

Here's William enjoying a cooled down Fall evening. I like this picture of my camera shy boy.

Last weekend's mellow fun has been replaced with heavy lifting and lots of hauling, 'cause it's moving time. We put everyone to work, even Maria the Denim Princess had to heave-ho! After a full day of packing and loading we estimate we are about one 5th finished...

We still haven't named our new house. "Garage Mahal" is the foremost contender. William submitted "Generic House." Some of the inspiring features include faux granite columns, three fireplaces and many giant spiders that descend from the trees. We LOVE that the kitchen is downstairs. We love that there are actual bedrooms. And the view? Well, we can clearly see all the other garages in our quiet neighborhood, and from the end of the street we can look across the way to HomeDepot and Barnes and Noble.

Let us take a moment and acknowledge that "the view" must sometimes be seen with the heart. I see happy, healthy children, doing well in school and life, loved and loving. I see comfort and warmth, shelter and light. I see a safe place to play and rest. And I see Geoff's brand new big screen TV... oh, ya, life is still good.

3 hours and forty minutes from now we are going to take a walk-through with the new landlord. We get to see that everything is clean and working and he gets a big fat check, then we get keys... then we get to move, then we get to clean the Treehouse and settle in to the New House... etc, etc... I feel very nervous. I hope the boys like their new home. I hope it's big enough to contain us and our worldly treasures. I hope the neighbors are nice. I hope the new landlord doesn't intend to drop by often. I hope our move does not coincide with natural disasters or acts of terror...

There is a lot to be done between now and our last day at the Treehouse. The hard part is clearing, sorting, packing, organizing, and the other hard part is accepting that this won't be our last move, that we have to answer to the landlord when it comes to paint on the wall and pets in the yard. No chickens for me. No garden beds either. I've been thinking a lot about what makes a house a home, and what it is about our personal things that contributes to our identities. For three years I have felt like I a temp; here for a while, about to move on. The boys are looking forward to not sleeping 2 feet from the dining table and 3 feet from the kitchen, and I harbor fantasies of decorating their rooms and setting them up in spaces that reflect their interests and my affection for them... I just feel so incapable, like this is just another holding pattern. I know this is my life, not a dress rehearsal, but I haven't felt at home in a very long time, and I don't know how to get there.

I am sitting downstairs at the computer, surrounded by half a dozen half packed boxes and feeling an overwhelming sense of nameless dread and anxiety. Do you ever get that? I'll spare you the details, but I do wish I could find some relief. It's a good thing there is so much I can be grateful for, otherwise I might be feeling really, truly, deeply overwhelmed.

I thought backing off on Chickenblog would be good for something... maybe distancing myself, maybe shutting up, maybe having more time to play online games... but I miss sorting out events, recording the daily doings, goings and showings. I realize the kids like the regular reflections on where we've been and the interesting points along the way. Blogging is sometimes trivial, sometimes whiney or shallow, but as I cruise the archives at Chickenblog I have found that blogging has also been a time capsule of our highs and lows. Chickenblog keeps track of good times and reflects on what we have done with our days and months. I like that I can be reminded that we had chickens and we were snowed in on a roadtrip, that we saw bison, elk, prairie dogs and redwoods. We oversaw the construction of a swimming pool, we ice skated at the beach and rapelled Stonewall Peak.

I haven't blogged much lately and perhaps a year from now it will seem like that there was a gap in our lives, a lull. No lull here! We've been very busy, but I haven't been writing and I miss it.

Tree House Update: The trees that make this house The Tree House, the rubber tree and the three melaleuca, the oak, the plum, apricot and apple tree are all being removed, chopped down, turned to mulch. This will not be the same place we came to. We are very sad. Small hope: Do you want a fruit tree? Do you know if rubber trees can grow from cuttings? Max is losing his favorite tree, but it would be so nice to say we are saving it a bit.

... ahh... here it is...


Plants with a solid stem (Rubber Tree Plant)

- choose a point along the stem between two buds; a few inches below an existing leaf.
- make a horizontal cut around the stem in the spot where you want the new roots to form.
- cut completely through the bark.
- make another cut an inch above or below the first cut.
- then make a vertical cut between the two cuts.
- peel the bark off between the two original cuts.
- apply rooting compound to the upper cut surface.
- continue with instructions for air-layering plants without a solid stem.

Plants without a solid stem (Dieffenbachias & Philodendrons).

- choose a point along the stem between two buds.
- remove leaves from the stem about 3" above and below the point to be rooted.
- make an upward slanting cut, about a 1/3 through the stem.
- don't cut too deeply or the main stem may break off.
- dip or roll a moist wooden toothpick in a rooting hormone.
- insert the toothpick into the cut on the stem to prevent the cut from closing and heeling.
- obtain a 12 X 15" piece of plastic and two handfuls of moist spagnum moss.
- wrap the cut on the stem with moist spagnum moss to form a ball about the size of a grapefruit around the stem.
- wrap with plastic and seal edges with twistems.
- check the moss every two weeks during the 8-10 week rooting period to ensure that it is still moist.
- after a good sized set of root have developed, remove the plastic. Be careful not to damage roots.
- carefully cut the newly rooted plant from the mother plant.
- pot plant in a fairly small pot using porous well drained soil.
- plant will be fairly top heavy and should be supported.
- water plant in well.

Rental open house. Beautiful place, bit pricey... well, ya, very pricey, but it beats the d-u-m-p I saw yesterday by light-years... The woman showing the pricey and stunning house turns out to be a way long time ago friend of my mom's. Mom must remember Lin C. ...? Anyway, Lin C. is not only the renting agent she is also the next door neighbor. The big bummer (you knew there had to be a *big bummer*) is the size... tight squeeze. And that is today's housing update. How was your day?

Our favorite rental ad, this week... sounds like a weiner, ... er I mean winner.
"$3000 Luxury 7Br/4Ba., 4400sf, 2 kitchen, 3 DR's, cul de sac, 2 car gar, 2 fplcs, baloney."

I've been having the kind of week (or has it been the whole year...) that makes me see and feel much of what I believed-in in a whole new light. It makes me want to wipe my slate clean, and maybe begin again. Keep husband and children, some dear friends and our pets, of course, though maybe not Zelda, because she bites. Keep all that as the focus and center of my plans and thoughts. It has been in my nature to overextend my concern and love and money and thoughts and efforts in directions where it wasn't required, or appreciated or respected. Now I feel embarrassed, hurt and sad. I also feel a sense that it's time to move on and recommit to the people who need me most, the people I need too.

It has come to my attention that because we have been generous, people assume that our success or lifestyle has come easily, and that we live easily. Some have even said that we don’t live like most people, and that any hardship we might have would only serve to show us how the rest of the world lives… I’m paraphrasing, so it’s not as harshly put as it was stated to me.

I try to be polite and articulate and not to intentionally offend, but sometimes you have to say it like it is: Bullshit. We’ve been generous because we are too nice, because we love to share, even at the expense of our personal needs and dreams. What success we have comes from some luck, true, but it comes more from working long hours, skipped vacations, working holidays, passing on things and opportunities. We have made choices that we both embrace and regret, and we assume responsibility for all of it. I guess we don’t live like the rest of the world. Who does? I won’t assume anyone’s circumstances reflects their worth, whether they live in a tiny apartment, or enjoy new cars, boats and decorated homes.

Sorry Mom. I know you don’t like it when I rant in public, but this is my outlet, my therapy, my voice. I’m not trying to hurt anyone or be needy. I simply have thoughts and feelings that I gotta get out of my head, and if you think this is too much, you should hear what I am not saying. I guess too, that I don’t worry, because the readers that give me feedback are actually honest, interested, and they are in an active dialogue with me about life and family and the good and bad events that shape our lives. Anyone else reading from the shadows either doesn’t care or is not participating in the conversation.

So, back to the ‘whole new light’ thing: I thought my circle was wider and more encompassing than it actually is, and I have been putting too much energy out ‘there.’ Am I describing co-dependency? Hmmm… Well, we can’t be wholly independent, not when we are spouses, mommies and daddies, but I can see now that my responsibilities are under one roof. My time, thoughts, and concerns should flow in circles where they are received and returned, in a loving, kind cycle. In the new light, I can see none of us has the resources, or perhaps even the interest, to love everyone, to share with everyone. Families can grow quite large, they extend, but they can also recede and we can hardly be expected to hold on to everyone as we had, or as we might like… sad, but true.

I’ve said a lot. Maybe too much, and yet it’s all too vague and incomplete. My Mom’s probably right, though, so I’ll stop. There’s no need to put more out there.

New Plan. Everyone should be prepared for a new plan. You may think you know what's up, but life can be shifty, so never rely on one path, one goal, one exit. Think of it as disaster preparedness. I made my list of things to do this week, and some of the stuff I accomplished and some of it I have to undo and some of it will never come together. Oh well.

I am taking a deep breath and sitting down to write The List.

clean car
take laundry to laundromat
clean house, yea, all of it
send "thank you" to Steve and Andrea
finish shower gift for Alison
keep cleaning house
shower
diet
exercise
exfolliate
pack. yup, pack.
pack house
pack for road-trip
water garden
clean refrigerator
clean RV
confirm appointment to repair clothes washer
return to laundromat
find a new home
go to bank
flea medicine on cats
call vet: did we have an appointment?
pay bills
oh yes, and feed children, remind them to brush and bathe etc...
leave at end of week for 2nd summer road trip to Monterey

And always remember to smile.

How hot is it? It's so hot we eat watermelon for dinner then run in the sprinklers before bed. It's so hot we actually enjoyed taking the car to be serviced and waiting several hours for it... in the air-conditioned lobby. Well, it has cooled down a bit. Any other time today's temperatures would be complaint worthy, but compared with yesterday, it is an improvement. Here I present photo evidence of our sumptuous feast


A big melon fan, Max is always ready to eat watermelon.

Another fan. Alex may dream of guavas, but he is happy to have cool, crisp watermelon, and he eats it right down to the rind!

Speaking of rind... Maria loves fruit too, but she's still working on her technique.

Ahh! That's much better.

And would you believe? Yes, Chango, who also loves raw pumpkin, had his share of the buffet too.

What do you do to keep cool?

I know that all four of you that read Chickenblog are sick of hearing about the heat... except Tarie, who is surviving Philippine winter. But what else can I write about? I've had my second shower of the day, and one hour after my last shower I am sweat soaked and funky. Gross! But most of you know what I mean, because the whole continent seems to be suffering the same cruel fate. Hot. Hot. Hot. Thank God we aren't in Phoenix, or Barstow or even ten miles east of here. Last night our house was 88 degrees! Blecchh...

Tonight is MNO, and it's an invite to swim and dine. If your swim suit was so old that it was frayed in the butt what would you do? Too late to shop. Should I pull up Geoff's trunks and cinch the cord under my arms? Should I sit demurely, and decline a dip in Yanina's deep, cool pool? Sigh. There's more to this topic than I care to admit.

Oy. I want to say something deep and meaningful here, but sweat has seeped in to my skull and shorted-out brain connections.

When it's late afternoon and outside the worst of the heat is dissipating, our house radiates, swelters, broils and roasts. It maintains an Easy Bake Oven temperature of 85 degrees. I swear, between the humidity and the heat we could poach an egg on the kitchen floor. The heat is in the walls and the sofa cushions, and swirling irritatingly around my head. Sweat is a first and second layer between me and my clothes and it slides down my neck, pools in the small of my back and makes my skirt feel like a swamp washed rag. The cats lay stretched out, succumbed and resigned. They move as little as possible. I move as little as possible; it can't be helped. In spite of what I can accomplish, everyday our home is slipping further and further away from order and comfort. Fruit spoils instantly, and the bread sweats in the plastic bag from the market. We haven't slept in the house in a week, but find relief in the RV. I am too hot to clean much, cook much, think much, be much use at all.

Last week I thought I could manage to see a movie with Maria, while the boys saw Pirates. Waiting at the theater I was so hot and frumpy, I thought I'd shop for a decent shirt before the movie started. It's been a while since I write about how much I loathe clothes shopping... I could not find one pretty, or pleasant or well-fitting blouse and being hot, sticky and in the presence of a three way mirror at a discount store was devastating to my morale...

"The Devil Wears Prada" was starting soon, so Maria and I walked back to the theater where I let her run around before the start. She was happy and I was was having second thoughts about seeing a movie about beautiful people that become even more beautiful, because of the *right* outfit. In two hours the protagonist would be transformed and radiant, but not me... The lights dimmed. Maria and I sat at the back, and I nursed her. "She'll sleep," I prayed. She fussed, so I switched sides, (meaning I was sweaty, frumpy and undone) which is when she grabbed my glasses and threw them in the aisle. Her scream of delight turned heads. I grabbed her, my blouse, my bra and boobs and dropped to the floor, feeling in the dark for my last pair of functioning glasses. She screamed some more, but now in displeasure and I could not feel my glasses any where on the bon bon, Coca-Cola, pop-corned floor. She got away from me and made for the exit just as a couple walked in. In one direction lay my helpless glasses, somewhere in the dark, and in the opposite direction goes my 19 month old headstrong, precious baby girl.

Let's acknowledge that bad situations are likely far worse in our minds than they appear to the rest of the world. So, in this theater of childless couples, retired folks and other sophisticates, I was the frumpy woman with a screaming baby, blouse open, on all fours, feeling around on the floor for what? A pacifier? Nachos? In my mind I was feeling defeated, tired, sad, embarrassed, anxious, oh yes and hot, sweaty and frumpy. The couple stepped around me just as Maria got out the door, so I abandoned my search and leapt to catch her in the hall, which is when I heard the distinct cracking crunch of the man's shoe on my glasses.

I never saw the movie. I am wearing broken glasses, that were once considered ridiculously unwearable until recently, and as for finding a decent shirt? Last night I opened the dryer and discovered that an errant blue crayon took a ride with all of my clothes... Looking worse than ever, I will have to go shopping again soon.

Randomness...

Zoo day. We met Holly, Rich, Nick and Izzy and their neighbor friend, Riley. The zoo was fun, but according to Max it was not as fun as running around his cousin's yard and soaking up the H2O from Mt. Tiki-soki... more on that later.

Okay, Tiki-soki aside, who can resist a baby meerkat? Pure cuteness.

Maria enjoyed seeing the sights and getting around on her own. She did need a boost from Alex to become a butterfly.

Alex is experimenting with charcoal. He did several animal sketches at the zoo, including this snake. I'll post a completed picture soon.

I guess those weren't so very random. Maybe I just feel kind of random, vague, unsettled. Between the heat and my natural instinct for failure, I have not been making much progress on the home-front. Our washer died. I've had to switch deodorants twice and I still stink. My phone charger will not reveal itself. The pump in the spare bathroom is toast, as are most of the light-bulbs in the house... it just goes on and on.

Okay. Let's share something positive... Max, Alex and William are all signed up for computer camps. They start next week. Geoff is looking in to getting them in drawing classes again. Geoff is taking a drawing class through work, and his teacher has a studio nearby. What else... Ruth and Jim are coming from Hawaii at the end of August, and before that there is a baby shower up north for Alison and Bill's bundle. And of course we're finalizing party details for Max's upcoming 8th birthday. As for good luck, we won a 2 night stay at a local resort, and even more impressive: Alex won a design contest in the Lego Magazine. His original creation will be published in the July issue and he got a big gift certificate for free Legos. He's sharing credit with Max and Tamsyn.

Yes, it feels good to accentuate the positive, and I'd like to write more, but it's still freakin' hot. Too hot, so I am going outside. When I come back I hope to find a word or two from you, because I like news and updates, feedback, perspectives, stories, insights, jokes, party invitations, get well cards and even a little gossip now and then... You've heard this one: *I never repeat gossip, so listen carefully the first time.*

Well wasn't that an interesting time for the server to drop out on me?

"I" had more to say, but "I" can't remember what it was.

It's late now. Maria is sleeping soundly. Max is tucked in. William and Alex are browsing through books, doodling, dozing. Geoff is checking the pulse of the housing market.

Someone sent a message praising the weather... bah, humbug. We think we cooked the hermit crabs. Our happy trio died suddenly. Their little home was probably like an Easy Bake Oven. It's too hot to think.

Tomorrow I will submit the "Chicken-Blogedition of Anniversary Gifts..." be sure to tune in.

Good night.

No pictures. I left my camera on the desk and so there are no pictures of me cooking, cleaning, buying groceries, and labeling the shelves I moved from the bathroom to the entryway. There are no pictures of Geoff coming home unexpectedly. No pictures of us having a bonfire-weenie roast, and sampling peanut butter cookies. No pictures of the contraband items we lit on fire and observed with exclamations of delight and awe... just kidding... or am I? No pictures of the kids sleeping in the yard, or all of us playing charades until after 11:00. No pictures of Alex and Geoff acting out "Never-ending Story." No picture of me guessing "Superman" before Geoff could even hold out his arms in mock flight. You should have been here.

Well, that was yesterday. Now, about today... It's somewhat cooler. I realize some of you LOVE this weather; the heat, the sun glaring etc. Some of you have pools, air conditioning, ceiling fans, insulated homes, and a lack of inhibition about wearing very little. We have heat, and no relief. It’s blaawwwchhfwwwughy! (Real word. Honest.)

On the bright side, I heard about a study that shows people living without air conditioning are losing more weight by sweating through their summers. Oh, boy! Let me just calculate: 1 apple martini - 2 quarts of sweat + 2 turkey hotdogs with mustard - X calories burnt from bitchin' and moaning = ....

… Hold on a sec… let’s see, carry the one and … how many pounds are in a pint?

And Geoff heard about this other study that concludes renters are better off than homeowners. We renters are healthier, happier and have more sex than people with a mortgage. I don’t have to site the study; it’s gospel.

I guess I should just resign myself to my skinny, sweaty, renty, happy, healthy life.

Happy Fourth of July!

(insert sparklers here)

Geoff is at work. The house is a mess.

(insert swag of red, white and blue bunting here)

Yesterday Geoff and William installed heat blocking film in the dining-room/living-room/bedroom windows. I resuscitated my planter garden.

(cue "Star Spangled Banner")

Around midnight the house should cool down to 83 degrees.

(grand finale rockets)

Some people thought that our housing situation was resolved because of the house down the street coming up for rent... I guess I didn't make it very clear: The house across the street is for rent, but it became available After I agreed to stay here for 3 months. Also, the other house is small and has no yard... well, it has small and rubble rattled patio on the edge of a high bluff. That is the deal, or it was the deal.

Here is the new deal: Bob the landlord and I talked again yesterday, and he has decided that this gem of a house is not worth remodeling after all, so he is resubmitting plans to the city. They will completely tear down this house and build new. The new plans and permitting process allow us to stay in the Tree House for 6-8 months, if we'd like. Obviously there are pros and cons, so let's consider...

pros:

we live here already
the rent is low
we live here already
the rent is low
nice neighbors
we live here already

cons:
I packed all the good stuff
the utility closet has this *smell*
we need to change a lot of light bulbs (What?! It's a factor, trust me.)
upstairs it's 85 degrees in summer
downstairs it's 58 degrees in winter
the laundry room has a mystery leak
the kitchen faucet is broken, so are the blinds and the stove exhaust
the boys sleep in the dining room
I am plagued with suburban regret, because I never got to decorate a nursery

Well I think it's clear: We should stay.

And for all my friends that still can't find my address or phone number, I am going to send out fancy "We are here for now cards" with all the relevant information.

Me, reading thermometer: It's 85 degrees in here! We might as well be in Hawaii.

Maria: Ha-wow-wow...

Me: Can you say Hawaii?

Maria: Ha-wow-wow? Ha-wow-wow.

Oh, ya... she's a genius.

Tell me: Who here likes irony? I've got a good one...

We give up the fight, and sign on to live in Bob's house for another 4 months. After 3 months of futile searching for a rental, we quit, and enjoy our first day free of classified ads. There is a house for rent across the street; it's available for immediate occupancy, as of last night. Okay. I'm done.

We saw the Pixar movie "Cars" last night. We laughed. NASCAR is a foreign country to me, but Pixar animation, story writing and humor is universal. We all loved it. Vrrrmmm Vrrrmmm

You might not think Geoff is working as much as he is, because of how much fun we've been having lately. He's only home 12-15 hours per week, but we have been making the most of his time. Today we were at Legoland (I can hear my cousin Steve: 'I read Chickenblog... you guys go to Legoland a lot, don't you?') Legoland is awesome. Geoff and I were always Lego fans, and now we have three boys that are practically engineers and a daughter that is definitely interested in sorting and stacking, so let's face it, we belong at Legoland! They are opening a new theme area... Lego's founder acknowledged that Lego bricks were only the third favorite plaything of children; balls and water are the second and first favorite playthings of children. Last summer the park opened mini-golf, and today they introduced a pirate themed water park. If water is your favorite thing to play with, then you would love the splashing, soaking, run around, creative activities we saw today. Next time I go, I'll be in my board shorts...


Every boat equipped with 4 water canons: Sweet!

There was no way to stay dry… water was pouring, spraying, sloshing and soaking everywhere. It was beautiful to hear and fascinating to witness. Everyone wore expressions of surprise and delight.

Even little mateys were welcome to soak up the fun. This cushiony area was loaded with squirters and pools, fountains, and even bouncing swings to sit in and ride over the puddles.

This may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship: Alex introduced himself to Legoland’s president, and Max did too. Alex and Max were completely thrilled; they thanked John for the new rides and for special treats, they told him all about their favorite themes and what they like to do with their Legos; their designs and creations. John asked them questions, shared his favorite themes, and finished by giving Alex his business card, saying “My email is right here. Write to me anytime.” Very nice.

Everyday I check three different sources for available homes. Everyday I make phone calls, leave messages, send emails and wait for replies from prospective landlords. Because I am an emotional person all of this involves anticipation, anxiety, tension, a sense of hope, followed by disappointment. I mentally move in to every house that seems remotely like our future home; I calculate all the pluses and minuses and sum up our projected contentedness. It is too consuming, and try as I might I can’t seem to do it any other way.

But there is a new way… I mustered the nerve to call Bob and ask about yesterday’s mystery guest, the guy I assumed was an architect. I was reluctant to talk to Bob, because I was not prepared to hear that he was ready for us to move out a.s.a.p.

1. The mystery guy is an electrician
2. Bob was meeting him to check the power panel on the back of the house
3. Bob was delayed
4. They are meeting here tomorrow; it shouldn’t require coming in to the house
5. Everything is going v e r y s l o w l y with the plans and the city
6. Bob can’t believe it’s almost July
7. I can’t believe it’s almost July
8. We agree we would all be relieved to extend the lease through September!
9. After September we may stay month to month

Here I will insert a quote that Janece shared today; it’s fitting:

“Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy, you can’t build on it, it’s only good for wallowing in.” Katherine Mansfield.

So never mind I thought we would be out of here by now. Never mind that I wasted a lot of time and energy on house hunting. Let’s look forward with our new circumstances in mind:

1. We like it here
2. We can enjoy another summer of apricots, then plums and finally apples
3. I can shift my energy from searching to everything else (cleaning, packing, teaching, nursing, reading The Hobbit aloud in the tent in the yard…)
4. We can replace light bulbs (we’ve been such short-timers we haven’t been replacing difficult to access recessed light bulbs; it’s been getting quite dark in some rooms)
5. We can make the most of our proximity to Tamsyn, Adam, Jacob, MNO, this, that and the other
6. Enough time may pass that the universe will smile on us and direct us to an ideal home

Thank you Janece… things are opening up for us in unexpected ways.

Welcome... please come in... I was just meditating...

Did you hear knocking? We all heard knocking, from downstairs. The doorbell went out ages ago, so you have to knock and hard to be heard over our daily din.
Our front door is all glass, and there are large sidelights on either side, so going downstairs is a risk and commitment. You will not get even half way down the stairs unseen by anyone at the front door. Cleaning up breakfast in pigtails, pajama bottoms and a freshly tie-dyed sports bra, I was in no state to be greeting whoever it was. It was too late to sit quietly as though no one were home. All the windows are open to breeze the early heat, so the knocker surely heard dishes clattering, laughter and "Is someone knocking?" I stood mouth agape: "O-h my Gawd," I scrambled around looking for jeans, a blouse, a hairbrush. Nothing. My jeans are downstairs in the basket of clean laundry. The hairbrush must be in the car. I pulled on a T-shirt and went to the window, just as the gentleman knocked even harder.

He's looking for Bob the landlord. They're supposed to meet. He has files or plans, something. He looks like an architect. He studied his watch, turned over his cell phone. He said Bob was going to meet him here...

Are you feeling my panic? Okay, I admit it: The house is a mess. I jack-up all trades and master none. Oh, let's be fair... I've been packing, teaching, cooking, nursing, and did I mention the tie-dye? Why is Bob meeting him here? Is it a mix-up? Are they coming back later? Should I leave town for a few days? Should I quit blogging and clean like crazy (That is crazy. I know futility when I meet it.) We all agree, don't we, Bob should have called 72 hours in advance? And what about the greater implications, not just of my immediate shame and domestic embarrassment, but does this visit mean that Bob's permits are granted? Does this mean our moving day is really and truly looming? Are you feeling my panic now?

And where are we on house hunting? Answer: Square 1. We may apply for a place north of here, which means a longer commute for Geoff. He went to Ikea and bought two beanbags, which he keeps under the desk in his cubicle, so he can work his 19 hour shift then pass out.

Let's sum up... I am in a state of simultaneous embarrassment, shock, despair, denial and reality overload. Our tie-dyed T-shirts came out really neat. I'm running low on moving boxes. Any questions, suggestions and/or prescriptions can be sent to our forwarding address... eventually.

Sing "Happy Birthday" to Alex. He's 12 today.
He likes Lego bricks, robots, frogs, drawing, cooking, body surfing, riding his bicycle, reading, playing Oblivion, guavas, gardening, and camping. He lost two teeth this week. He wants to go to Monterey Bay this summer, see the movies "Cars" and "Pirates," and read more books like, Eragon, by Christopher Paolini and The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman. His favorite color is blue, like the ocean in Hawaii. His favorite food is still stuffed French toast, "It hasn't changed." He likes Legoland, building towers from blocks, and sleeping outside. He wants to take more cooking classes.

He's fun to be with; his attitude is bright and caring. He helps and inspires. He is dedicated, responsible and considerate. His humor is spontaneous and intelligent. We love this wonderful boy.

Here's the first Soquel baby... baby George lives with Bill and Alison, and I have the feeling he'll be in for a rude awakening when his baby brother is born in September.


He looks like a big honey of a cat. I look forward to meeting him someday.

June is a birthday month. 3 birthdays were being celebrated this weekend, when Bill, Alison, Gretchen and Hans went to Oregon and saw Delia and Ron. Looks as though they had a good time. Happy birthdays Mom, Hans and Bill!

This morning on the phone:
Dave (prospective landlord): What can I tell you?
Me: Can we bring pets?
Dave: What do you have?
Me (lying): We have a rabbit and a cat.
Dave: No. No. A rabbit will eat all of my flowers. The whole garden will be destroyed.
Me: Actually, he's in a cage.
Dave: What else?
Me: The cat.
Dave: Are you interested in getting rid of it?
Me: No... I think we'll look elsewhere... thanks...
Dave: How about more rent?
Me: Raise the rent month to month for 1 cat?!
Dave: Yes.
Me: No. We'll find something else. Thank you. Good-bye.
Dave: Well, I have to tell you: You are not what we are looking for. You are not a good fit.

Friday was a busy day, a *Wild* day.
"Wild" was the aptly chosen theme of Alex's 12th birthday celebration. We started with a breakfast out with Geoff, then we sent him to work and we went to the vet with Benjamin F. Thunder Cat. Kitty checked out well and survived his booster shot. Our next stop was at Daniel's for Alex's haircut. Max was going to have his haircut too, but when he described the kind of cut he wanted ("I don't want it to have a shape, and I want it to stay the exact same length it is now,") Daniel wisely suggested a no-cut haircut. While Alex's hair was cut, Max sang and Maria danced.



When we got home we prepared for the evening's festivities by baking a wild chocolate-raspberry cake, and cooking enchiladas. There was also a little cleaning to do, naturally. Let's cut to the good part: Tamysn, Nicholas, Adam and Jacob came to our house to meet Ben the radical reptile dude. Ben is an old friend of my brother Bill, and he LOVES creepers, crawlers, slitherers, hoppers and other atypical pets. He brought some of his special collection, including hissing roaches, a hedgehog, a huge scorpion, a tarantula and several snakes. We got to hold, or pet or observe all of the above and more. It was Wild!


Alex actually turns twelve tomorrow. It never hurts to start the celebrating early.