Jumping in Puddles

Gone Fishing

2009-07-03T14:43:00.000-07:00

I've decided to take a vacation. Ok, I can't really take a vacation (and no, that's not really my laundry although I do wish I had some funky vintage aprons like those) but I am going to take a mental holiday. For the next few weeks I am not going to blog. I have books to read, exercise to do, projects to start and chocolate to eat (I never said I was logical). So for now, I'm going to leave the blog behind and will hopefully pick up again in August.

In the meantime, I thought I'd leave a few food, book, music, and website recommendations if anyone is out there. And if anyone is out there, please feel free to leave me some recommendations of your own in the comments. I'd love to hear.

I just finished reading a book of short stories called Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri http://www.randomhouse.com/kvpa/jhumpalahiri/which was really moving and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver http://www.amazon.com/Animal-Vegetable-Miracle-Year-Food/dp/0060852550. If you're a food geek and have not already read A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenburg, definitely check it out. I also just read through a couple of really nice cook books: Local Flavors by Deborah Madison and The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart. I've startedf reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and am looking forward to reading How to Win a Cosmic War by Reza Aslan once I'm feeling ambitious enough.

I can't afford it myself but if you can spring $60+ for a box set, I would definitely recommend Jane's Addiction box set. http://www.amazon.com/Cabinet-Curiosities-DVD-Janes-Addiction/dp/B001G7HT8M.

I'm also loving this White Stripes song - and only in part because my three year old can't stop singing it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LT3w6-cCn10

Music for kids. It's usually bad. Dan Zanes is a pretty good exception to that rule. These are real musicians and they don't dumb it down, so parents don't go insane listening to the same songs over and over. He often features musicians like John Doe, Lou Reed, and Aimee Mann. So much better than the usual stuff. http://www.danzanes.com/pages/home_new2.html

Here's a cool online website ans toy store for kids. http://www.imaginechildhood.com/

Eating. Sweet tooth. Cookies. Butterscotch chocolate bars, etc... Amazing looking small family business in Brooklyn. http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5797821

I really like this food blog: http://userealbutter.com/ and this life, food, photography, and ranch living blog http://thepioneerwoman.com/confessions.

For photography geeks, this is a great editing website with a lot of nice effects and easy to use.
http://www.picnik.com/

Ok, I'm off to either go be productive or lazy - still not sure which way to go here. See you soon!

Home Movies

2009-06-30T21:01:00.000-07:00

How to make yourself cry in a few easy steps:

Take your photos and put them in 'cinematography' mode or something similar on a photo editing website like Picnik. (It gives the impression of film stills.)
Line a few up so it looks as though time is passing right before your very eyes. (And guess what? It is.)
Note how insanely fast life goes by. Say something cliche like "how is that possible?!".
Cry like a baby because you're both happy for these amazing moments in your life and because it's profoundly difficult to know how fast it all goes.

Seriously, I feel like Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when he was stuck in the attic and bawling while looking at old home movies. Minus the fur coat and head dress. I think Clark had it right though - spend as much time making memories as you can because before you know it your very own little Rusty and Audrey Griswold will grow up before your eyes.

Beautiful Day

2009-06-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

A warm, sunny day. Berry picking for the first time. A family outing. And when they grew tired of picking raspberries there were goats and chickens to visit and ice cream cones to be eaten. They probably won't remember any of this, but I will. I loved this day.

Raspberry fields.

Ahhh, dirt!

Squishy.

Our Grapes of Wrath cover photo.

The haul. And tomorrow there will be pie.

Little Donkeys

2009-06-26T20:55:00.000-07:00

Last week we were lucky enough to visit a beautiful farm in the country that was holding a 'pie and donkey day' event to raise money for a good cause. These affectionate little donkeys were the big draw on this outing, although there was also plenty of homemade pie to be eaten and friendly people to meet, including the gracious farm owners, Martyn and Katherine Dunn (http://www.apiferafarm.blogspot.com/). But it's Pino, Paco, and Lucia who captured my kids' attention. Sure, there were donkey landmines everywhere you looked, but hey, we've had three years of diaper changes and potty training - who are we to talk?

*The top photo was taken by Kathy Fowler

A Thousand Sleepness Nights

2009-06-23T22:24:00.000-07:00

I dream of days ahead when my little ones sleep all night long and we all wake up renewed, refreshed after solid eight-hour stretches of sleep. Our kids are great in a million different ways, but they've yet to master the art of sleeping throughout the night. More often than not, they wake up and need a little help getting back to sleep. Tired and relishing sleep of my own, or just needing a little mental break at night, I cringe when I first hear them stir.

My youngest cries loudly, disoriented and needing someone to hold and reassure him for a minute before he drifts back to sleep. I rush to get him and in the darkness I pick him up and hold him close to me. At 17 months, he's a toddler now, but still young enough to be held against my chest where I can feel the heat emanating from his warm little head. I kiss his soft hair and cheek and hum to him as he burrows into me. He lifts his head for a moment and yawns directly in my face, then nestles back down into my shoulder, his chubby hands around me. I love this.

The gesture and intimacy of a yawn, the smell of them, the weight of them - it's a love that is larger than anything, fuller than anything, maddeningly deeper than anything I have ever known. I feel so lucky to experience this. Life is stressful and complicated and wildly imperfect but in this single moment I forget all of that and feel only a pure, steady stream of love, like finally everything is right with the world. And as tired as I am, I will go another thousand sleepless nights to witness those yawns, to feel this rush of love, to be with them in those dark, nocturnal moments.

Top Banana

2009-06-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

"Your life is your message to your children."

--Ghandi

Thank you for loving them, teaching them, working so hard for them, and playing "Top Banana" with them over...and over...and over. These are two lucky monkeys.

The Builders

2009-06-18T19:56:00.000-07:00

I want to teach my children to be connected to nature, to think creatively, and to make things by hand. While this all comes naturally to a country kid, we actually live in the suburbs where the only animals my kids see - apart from the daily deluge of birds and squirrels - is the occasional dog being walked. So when we found this ladybug, and my daughter asked if we could keep it, I said "no" like any sane adult. I did, however, suggest that we build it a temporary house - a ladybug hotel, if you will. We bound together some lollipop sticks with masking tape, found some leaves and grass to make a bed and tied the whole thing up with twine. We even included a flower for a 'pillow'.

It was fun to make this with my daughter and both my kids intently studied the ladybug as she adapted to her temporary digs. It was simple and a little silly, but I think it was also a good starting point to help my kids observe their surroundings and see what they can do with just a few basic materials. The ladybug has flown away and her 'chaise lounge' has since been disassembled but I'm looking forward to seeing what they can dream up next (with a little help).

There's a great resource for connecting kids with nature, no matter where they live. Here's the link: http://www.childrenandnature.org/

Running Dangerously Low on Axe Body Spray...

2009-06-16T23:02:00.000-07:00

If you didn't see this on Jon Stewart on Monday night, it's ridiculously stupid and funny. If you need to, just skip to the 'letter' told in voiceover somewhere around 2
minutes and 50 sec.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Long Island Wants to Secede

thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Jason Jones in Iran

Ball of Confusion

2009-06-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

Some people wake up each day and have a clear, peaceful mind that conjures up images of lotus flowers, singing birds, and baby deer prancing under rainbows. Me? My mind is a lot like this drawing that my daughter did. Little did she know just how precisely she was rendering my fuzzy, complicated head space. More often than I'd like to admit, I walk around with a cloud hovering over me and I feel like a Ball of Confusion, if I can quote Love and Rockets (and yes, I'm that old, which might explain some of the murkiness that is my mind). Lack of sleep, kids, three years without caffeine, and a general sense that the world is a scary place are all contributing factors.

So to all you out there who have clarity, organization, peace and the ability to wake up and see only sunbeams, dewey-eyed kittens, and gumdrops - well, I don't really know what to say. Maybe one day I'll join you. Or I could just turn to drinking double espressos and marvel at how a three year-old uncannily captured my true essence with a few determined scribbles. (Who am I kidding? I'm definitely going with the latter.)

Stella!!!!!!!

2009-06-08T21:27:00.000-07:00

My kids occasionally like to re-enact scenes from Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire. Mostly, my 17 month-old son likes to yell "Stella! Stella!!!". In truth it's not because they already great fans of the theater but because we have a dog living next door to us named Stella who never stops barking. But I like to think they might be flexing their creative muscles and channeling a little Stanley Kowalski now and again.

Speaking of channeling Stanley Kowalski...Brando is clearly the iconic Kowalski but Grover for Sesame Street also gives a fairly moving rendition of this classic character. If you haven't seen Sesame Street's version of A Streetcar Named Desire, check out the video below. Grab some popcorn, sit back and enjoy...

Music Man

2009-06-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

I can only wonder what he's listening to on the baby ipod here. Given the music we've listened to lately - at home or in the car - I'm going to guess the playlist includes some of the following:

All Around the Mulberry Bush
Just a Friend, Biz Markie
Debra, Beck (that would be wholly inappropriate but pretty great nonetheless)
Hey Ladies, Beastie Boys (ditto)
Welcome to the Jungle, Guns and Roses
The Backyardigans
Jolene, The White Stripes
Hi, Hi, How Do You Do? Welcome to My Gym...
Groove is in the Heart, Deelite (Flashback Friday)
Elmo's World, Elmo
Cactus, The Pixies
Let's Stay Together, Al Green

Honestly, as long as there's no Britney or Maroon 5 on there, I'm good. Quick question - when is it too early to get the Led out?

Paper and Scissors

2009-06-03T07:24:00.000-07:00

I wanted to add some color and interest to my kids' rooms. Because we're on a budget and we're renting, I needed a solution that was both temporary and cheap. Here's what I've come up with thus far:

1. The birds below are paper cutouts. I used decorative stock paper that you can find at any craft store, Target-type store, or stationary store. I found an image of a bird, simplified the shape and outline and created and traced it onto paper. The branch is simply randomly cut lengths of brown stock paper taped to one long length. The whole thing is adhered with double stick tape. It's basic, but I like the graphic punch and it seems to amuse my son, who is a fan of all things bird.

2. The butterfly garland below is also made out of stock paper. After cutting the shapes out, I used a hole puncher to make holes in each wing and then threaded ribbon throughout. I left a few inches of ribbon hanging on either end and taped the top of the ribbon on the wall (it could also be thumbtacked or tied on a nail or small hook). We hung it a few feet above the head of her bed.

It's a simple idea but I like that they each have something handmade on their walls, and it's kind of a fun challenge to create something out of relatively nothing.

Ode to a Pork Sandwich - and a Marriage

2009-06-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

[Please bear with me - this is going to be a long one...]

T. and I are celebrating 8 years of marriage. We've actually been together for 16 years now, which is insanely surreal to think about. Along the journey we've experienced highs and lows, celebrations and disasters, and two unbelievable kids. Oh, and food. Some really good food.

In 2001 we honeymooned in Italy. I'd like to say it was flawlessly romantic, but in truth it was equal parts amazing and frustrating. Our first couple of days in Florence found my newly wed husband lying on either the hotel bed or the bathroom floor exhausted and sick to his stomach. Not the best start for a marriage or a vacation in foodie paradise. But eventually he slept, healed and we moved on to the next destination: Villa Vignamaggio - a winery and villa in the Chianti hillside. http://www.vignamaggio.com/

Everyone should stay here at least once. Vignamaggio has been the home of the (supposed) model for Da Vinci's Mona Lisa and the set for Kenneth Branaugh's Much Ado About Nothing. It has thick stone walls, beautiful gardens, and surreal views of Chianti's rolling hillsides. I dream of going back, only this time staying much, much longer.

One of the first joys we experienced in Chianti was a tomato that we sliced with a knife and ate out of hand. There's not much I can tell you about a tomato that you don't already know, but this particular one was life-altering. Warm, juicy, and with a deep flavor that I still haven't forgotten. I also tasted ribollita for the first time (a vegetable and bread soup that is so thick you eat it with a fork), served by a chef who precariously dangled an inch-long cigarette ash over the pot as he plated my soup (and yes, it was served on a plate). Luckily the ribollita escaped the ash and was rich and satisfying.

But the jewel in the crown was the pork sandwich that I fought for at the local farmer's market. Yep -a pork sandwich. Being a food geek, I had read about the porchetta, or pork, in a guidebook. I had my heart set on this pork sandwich, so I staked my place in a line that was at least 20 people deep while T. waited nearby, probably wondering why he had just married a girl who would stand in line for a sandwich. But this is who I am. A glutton, a hedonist, a girl who loves pork. This was easily the slowest line of my life.

About 25 minutes in, I was still a good five or six people back but I was close enough to finally see the action. And by action, I mean a 75 year old man, painstakingly carving thin slices of roast pork in what must have been slow motion. He took the slicing to a whole new level; it was an art form that couldn't be rushed (and wasn't helped by the bandage that ran the length of his forearm). Sloooooooooowly, he sliced the pork and arranged it methodically onto a sliced roll. He stacked and re-stacked the pork until it sat in a perfect mound atop the bread and then repeated, again and again. I'm not going to lie; it was painful. The wait was excruciating. After another 10 minutes had passed, I was finally up and he repeated the process all over again, sculpting a tower of pork. He asked (or gestured since I knew almost no Italian except for the basic tourist phrases) if I wanted the extra bits. I may have been a tourist but I'm not stupid - of course I did. Those bits included slivers of crisped brown skin and fat and slow-roasted garlic cloves and was redolent of rosemary, wild fennel and other spices. The smell alone was enough to make you swoon. When he was finally done arranging the sandwich he carefully handed it over to his daughter who wrapped it in paper and I was on my way, much to T's. relief.

Walking down narrow streets, we found a quiet curb on which to sit and eat the damn thing. Doubting how anything could live up to a wait that long, I peeled back the paper and sank my teeth in. (This is where I would like to insert over-the-top effects like fireworks, marching bands playing John Phillip Sousa, shooting stars, choirs, and trains going through tunnels). Yes, it really was THAT good. Crispy, juicy, soft, savory, and slicked with garlic and rosemary - it was unctuous and delicious. If I could sing spirituals I would. I gallantly passed it to my new husband so he could take a bite - after all, he earned his just rewards too. There we sat, sitting on a curb in Italy, eating the best pork sandwich on the planet.

To this day, I think of that pork sandwich as one of the best things I have ever eaten. And in many ways, it's not unlike my marriage. It was a long, slow journey getting there, and there were a few bumps along the way. But in the end, all the components came together to make something that was greater than the sum of their parts. It's not a pricey Michelin-starred meal but it's one you'll always carry with you because it's delicious and indelible because it's made with love. I'm guessing the gentleman who made that pork is no longer crafting the perfect sandwich, but his commitment to creating a thing of art is a pretty good lesson, too. It takes work. Sometimes it feel painstakingly slow and hard. But you keep at it because, in the end it's what you love and what you do. It's real and it has weight and meaning. It's love, plain and simple. It feeds you on so many levels. And your life is profoundly better because of it.

Butter, Sugar, Happiness

2009-05-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

I'm seriously in need a baking intervention. It's been a butter/sugar/flour free-for-all at my house these past few weeks. But this one was worth it. It's a simple, light buttermilk raspberry cake and it's so easy to make. My daughter and I recklessly threw everything in one bowl and even mixed it by hand, so as not to disturb my napping son. The raspberries sank to the bottom of the cake but it was no less delicious because of it. I swear, this cake just made me happy. The recipe comes from Smitten Kitten - my favorite cooking blog. Check out the Smitten Kitten website and please, make this cake!

http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/05/raspberry-buttermilk-cake/

A Boy Who Picks You Flowers

2009-05-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit it - I'm utterly in love.

But weren't you just in my belly not too long ago? Seriously, how did this happen?

Produce and Ponies

2009-05-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

We've waited for six months for the Farmer's Market in our new town to open. It's finally here! The crops aren't bountiful yet in these parts, but there are still some beautiful things to be had. (Fresh strawberries and a loaf of pumpkin chocolate chip bread were consumed in short order.)

Truthfully, the Farmer's Market in our previous city is pretty hard to compete with. It was a few short blocks from our place and open year-round. Every Sunday we'd walk down the street to be assaulted by what can only be described as Kiddie Shangri La. Beautiful produce aside, there was a petting zoo, pony rides, a moonbounce, and a carnival swing ride. Face painting, snow cones, kettle corn, and balloons rounded out the fun for the under five set. Every week my daughter would ride a pony - Ladybug and Snowball were her horses of choice - usually not far from Dave Grohl's (Nirvana and Foo Fighters) daughter. Other days she would pet goats or chase a pig near Holly Hunter's twin boys. There was bluegrass banjo and tropical steel drums being played and fresh corn and pork tamales with tomatillo salsa to be consumed. I miss that market and its' access to all that weekly festivity.

When we talked about the Farmer's Market in our new place, I wasn't quite sure how my girl would take the news that, in most cases, a Farmer's Market is really all about the food. There would be no animals, no rides, no festivities. And while she appreciates good food, somehow it's not quite the same magical experience.

Which is why, Little Bear, we've decided to get you a pony of your very own!!!

P.S. You're not really getting a pony. But could I interest you in some more pumpkin chocolate chip bread? How's about some nice broccoli rabe? Anyone? Anyone.....?

Handpies

2009-05-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

Alabama: Would you like to go get some pie?
Clarence: I'd love some pie.
____________________________________________

I think I have pie on the brain.

We had cherries yesterday. Lots of them. We ate them out of hand and there were still a lot of cherries. Not enough to make a whole pie, but just enough for little hand pies. Some butter, flour, vanilla, sugar, a squeeze of lemon and, of course, cherries.

Voila. Little cherry pies.

Handpies a.k.a baby pies, as my daughter calls them.

The waiting is the hardest part...

Sweet spot.

Urban Surprise

2009-05-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

We found this wading pool in a small park in the city. In the winter months it's just a stone square surrounded by a plot of grass but in the summer they turn on the jets and the water builds up a little shy of knee-high. On a sunny day it's a perfect gathering spot; a place for kids to let loose and splash like wild otters.

Even if you didn't come prepared with bathing suits and towels.

It's also adjacent to an ice cream store and a cafe - what more could you ask for? Whoever came up with this idea should get some kind of urban planning award and the key to the city. Or least a scoop of fresh marionberry buttermilk swirl ice cream...

Jam-Packed

2009-05-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

Some long-awaited sunny days and a weekend to boot...

Who needs an amusement park when you have a bucket, a hose, and a car to wash? Everyone pitches in. The littlest one took the opportunity to wash himself. Three times.

Seriously, are you really going to bogart that thing?

You got lucky, son. Your sister gives you a taste of your very first popsicle with only a little prodding from her parents.

A picnic lunch in the backyard.

Picking lilacs.

I'm pretty sure the one on the left is trying to eat the flowers.

The end result - flowers for Dada.

Enough said.

Soundtrack

2009-05-18T07:02:00.000-07:00

It was about 15 years ago that I kissed a boy in a darkened room while The Pixies' Surfer Rosa played in the background.

A year later, I packed up my belongings, got in the car and drove. I drove through the desert, I drove to Mexico. I drove around and listened to "Where is My Mind" on a boom box that sat on the passenger seat of my car because I had no radio. The windows were down and I sang along, feeling the wind, the melody, and a sense of freedom that comes from being on the road and not knowing what comes next in your life. But being okay anyways.

Later, I listened to it as I drove seven hours straight to Las Vegas on a scorching hot day to meet that same boy - only this time we decided instead of just sitting in a darkened room, we were going to try for a life together.

Fifteen (or is sixteen?) years later, I listened to "Where is My Mind" with our 16-month old son, in our living room, as my cereal got soggy. He smiled with his four front teeth and waved his hands as we danced and spun.

It's been a pretty great soundtrack to my life. (Special thanks to Black Francis, Mrs. John Murphy, et al.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGXdXcpNsv4

A One-Act

2009-05-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

You're Making My Hair Turn Gray: A Conversation with a Three-year Old.

Scene: The following takes place in a living room (or car, or bedroom, or kitchen) in the morning (or midday or night).

Her: Can I do that now?
Me: No, later.
Her: Now?
Me. Later - after I'm done making lunch.
Her: Now?
Me: We're not going to do that now.
Her: How about now?
Me: No - not now. Later.
Her: Is it later?
Me: No.
Her: How about now?
Me: Still no.
Her: Mommy?
Me: No. When I'm done.
Her: Are you done now?
Me: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Momentary silence]

Her: Now?

And..................Scene!

Feeling Lucky...

2009-05-14T20:45:00.000-07:00

I'll be honest - I don't have a big circle of friends. There are a few people that mean a whole lot to me but I've never been one to keep up with a lot of different friendships. There are plenty of reasons why: lack of time, maybe I'm a little judgemental or didn't feel there was much common ground, or sometimes life, distant moves, relationships, etc... just got in the way. But mostly I'm a little introverted and it doesn't come that easily to me. It's something I start to regret as I get older, but it also makes me value those that I have.

I have a friend who's really good at making friends. She's always herself and always genuine. She won't admit that she has a lot of friends but she does. She's easy to be with and truly wants her friends to be happy. She's the person I call when I'm spiraling downward and the person I call when I have good news to share. We're on different coasts now, but I love when we visit each other; staying up late talking and laughing at ourselves is something I love, need, and miss. We're different people who sometimes look at things in different ways but ultimately she just wants me to be happy, just as I want that for her. She's the definition of the word supportive. I've known her since we were 17 and that support and friendship has meant so much to me over the past gazillion years.

Which is why I am the biggest dork on the planet for forgetting her birthday recently. I don't know what happened - I always remember that kind of thing. I know she doesn't really care that I forgot, but the least I can do is publicly flog myself for it and let her know how much I value our friendship.

So C. - thank you for being an amazing friend. It makes me cry to think about how much you mean to me. And thank you for being seen in public with me, especially in the early '90s when I wore clothes like this:

Eat More Pie

2009-05-13T21:57:00.001-07:00

I don't have any pie and that's sad. However, I do have a friend who I hadn't been in touch with since the eighth grade or so (I promise this leads to pie). We recently reconnected and it turns out, she's as funny, smart, and genuine as she was back when we danced to Michael Jackson's Beat It in her living room. That's right - we were huge dorks.

When I asked her what her older brother Rod had been up these past years, she told me he owned a pie shop. That is so brilliant! I can't think of a better job. I love pie. Pie makes the hurt feel good (if I may boldly misquote Sammy Davis Jr.'s "Candy Man'). Blueberry, peach, Key lime, lemon chess - I wish I had some pie.

Unfortunately I'm on the wrong coast to stop into Dangerously Delicious Pies and order a pie or seven. But if you are in Baltimore, try to check it out. You can find more info at http://www.dangerouspies.com/. If you can't stop in, Rod will be showing off his pie-making skills on Paula Deen's show, Best Dishes, on the Food Network this Saturday, May 16th, at 11:30 a.m. Eastern time.

The triathlon training can wait another day - now go eat pie!

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-05-12T00:47:00.000-07:00

I'd like to say that this is a river in the middle of the wilderness and that we frolic in nature all of our days. Truth be told, it's a tiny man-made creek behind our suburban house, no more than 12 inches in width and complete with mysterious black plastic tubing running the length of it. But she doesn't know that. To her, these are rapids to be crossed, explored, stomped in. The little beast conquered the river that day, my friends. And she was muddy and wet from head to toe.

It's good to be wild.

House of Cats

2009-05-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

The best explanation I can come up with is that it's some kind of revolt against their father's cat allergies...

Today's Post Has Been Brought to You by the Letters "F' and 'W'

2009-05-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

Every so often your kids say something that moves you to the core. Not too long ago, my shy, friendless girl announced, quite out of the blue, to my husband that, 'Mama is my fwriend". My heart swelled to about 4 times its natural size. The fact that she still can't pronounce the letter 'f' without following it with the letter 'w' just made it all the sweeter.

A few weeks later, we had some dinner guests over. I dressed for the occasion, threw in my rarely used contacts, and put on makeup and jewelry. When my daughter saw me, she said, "Oh! But why do you look beautifwul today?". (Hearing her call me 'beautifwul' for the first time felt so nice that I've decided to let the second half of that back-handed compliment slide.)

Three is a funny age. Their curiosity and imagination are off the charts and their desire to express themselves is made all the more interesting by their sometimes limited (though rapidly accelerating) mastery of language and vocabulary. I love hearing the hilarious and absurdly innocent statements that only a three-year old can come up with. And I am moved to tears by the earnest expression of raw emotions, especially as I hear them for the very first time. It's amazing and astonishing and heart-wrenchingly sweet to watch my baby - and her relationship with the world - evolve at warped speed.

When I look at L., I can't believe how she's already becoming more little girl than toddler. Her face is changing every day. Her thought process is becoming more complex by the minute. And as much as I love laughing, and sometimes choking up, at the things she now says, I'll be sad when her articulation and vocabulary grow more sophisticated; when she no longer mispronounces her 'f's as 'fw's. I'm so happy to be on this journey of hers; to witness who and what she is becoming. But each night, after she falls asleep, I really just want to lean over and whisper in her little ear, "Hold on, slow down a little, please - it's all happening way too fwast!".

How to Bruise Your Ego in Three Minutes Flat

2009-05-02T08:46:00.000-07:00

A conversation between an utterly honest three-year old ( who can't say her 'f's without following them by a 'w') and her poor father, who has been reduced to a high school freshman all over again.

Little One: What's that?
Dada: What's what?
Little One: That - on your fwace!
Dada: What?
Little One: That red thing on your face?
Dada: Oh, that's a zit. A pimple.
Little One: Why do you have it?
Dada: I don't know.
Little One: But where did you get it?
Dada: It just happened.
Little One: Why it just happened?
Dada: Sometimes if your pores aren't clean or....you know, it just happens.

-Silent pause-

Little One: Can you make it go away?
Dada: It will go away.
Little One: Now?
Dada: After a couple days, if I keep washing my face it will go away.
Little One: Oh. Can you wash your face now?
Dada: Soon, baby, soon.
Little One: How about now?
Dada: Wow. I can't believe I'm being mocked by a three-year old.

-Silent Pause-

Little One: Mamaaaaaa!!!! Dada has a pimple!!!! On his FWACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Boogie

2009-04-29T22:38:00.000-07:00

Every night I put my daughter to bed with an elaborate ritual of stories and songs. I lay next to her as I recite a chapter of the continuing story of a three-year old hero named SuperLucy who rides around town on a tricycle and saves the day by finding missing zoo animals. This is followed by my singing and humming to her until she finally falls asleep 30 or 40 minutes later - if I'm lucky.

Somewhere between tonight's third and fourth song, my little girl reached out to me with her delicate hand and quietly announced, "I have a boogie". She then matter-of-factly transferred the aforementioned boogie (aka booger, snot, bat in the cave) onto my finger where I proceeded to hold it just far enough away that it couldn't actually touch any other part of me or the bed but not so far where I could lose it for all eternity. Because my daughter doesn't fall asleep easily or swiftly, I chose not to get up and walk to the bathroom to remove the offending boogie. No, instead I lay there next to her, softly humming in the dark, with something that felt like a sticky, mashed up inchworm on the tip of my outstretched finger. For 30 minutes I lay there balancing this boogie on my finger wondering, among other things, if there might be a world record for holding a boogie in the dark.

When she was finally sleeping deeply, I glanced over at her innocent face and noted how sweetly she clenched a stuffed bunny rabbit in either hand. I acknowledged this cuteness for the requisite amount of time, thought about how much I loved her, then high-tailed it out of there, ran to the bathroom and washed my hands. Twice.

It's true - your life really does change once you have kids.

Link to Art

2009-04-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

Jessica Gonacha writes a blog called Pecannoot. She was gracious enough to post some of my paintings today on her blog, so thank you Jessica!

http://www.pecannoot.blogspot.com

What I Know

2009-04-27T21:29:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows how much love and joy kids bring into your lives. There's nothing more amazing than watching them clench and unclench their little fists, wrapping their hand around your finger, or walking, dancing, and singing for the first time. Oh, and that belly laugh - it's like pure, unadulterated happiness. But are there things we don't know about - and should - prior to having kids? Mine are still in the toddler stage, but here's what I've learned thus far:

There will be copious amounts of diapers in your life. And just when you think you can't change another diaper, there will be potty training. Potty training will have you yearning for the days of diapers again.

You will be peed on, pooped on, spit up on, and thrown up on countless times. At some point you will simply throw your fluid-laden clothes in the trash because it's just too gross to wash.

You will never eat a bowl of cereal alone. Little ones will stand at your side clamoring for your food like baby birds.

You will make endless amounts of pasta (aka noodles with butter and Parmesan cheese). They will eat inexplicable amounts of pasta. Pasta will be your primary food group.

Your clothes, house, and life in general will be covered in sticky things.

You will continuously and pointlessly pick food up off the floor.

Your house will never be the same.

Your body will never be the same.

Your memory will never be the same.

You will experience some of the best things about childhood all over again: playdough, blowing bubbles, and fish crackers.

You will find things in strange places. Last week I found the following: toys in our shoes, dandelions in the washing machine, an orange magic marker in a box of wipes, and two Thomas the Trains and a dictionary in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator.

The innocuous sounds of children's songs will be stuck in your head for days.

You will be tired. So very tired. You may not have a decent night's sleep for three years, 3 months, and four days - but who's counting?

You will patiently answer the question 'why?" and "but why?" no less than forty-two times in a row. You will provide, thoughtful, kid-friendly, scientific explanations for these probing questions. Other times you will simply cut to the chase and say 'because", "just because", and "I don't know".

The floor of your car will be covered in cheerios. You will no longer care.

You will laugh out loud a thousand times a day, making the above points 1-15 entirely moot. Your tired, worn out body and pathetically addled brain will experience gratification like you've never felt, even if you do have to do laundry 4.7 times a week from now until eternity.

A Perfectly Simple Day

2009-04-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

There are those days that you plan in detail; activities, places to go, or elaborate dinner menus to make. You try to create a perfect day by packing so many things into a 24- hour span. Sometimes it works, but more often than not someone is in a bad mood, a nap is missed, there's a misunderstanding about something or other, the menu doesn't go as planned.

Then there are days like this. A rare day when we are unexpectedly home together. No particular structure to be followed. Some chores to get done - a haircut, a walk, laundry, and baths. But somehow everyone is happy, together, peaceful. The meals are basic but everyone eats. We ramble out into the yard where there is hopscotch to be played, tricycles to be ridden, dump trucks to be filled. No one fights, everyone's feeling playful, and we all seem in sync with some kind of good family feeling. It feels nice. If I look closely enough, there's a lesson in there somewhere about just letting things be, but for now I'm content to just bask in the glow of a good day.

For all the planning we do and the places we go, in the end, it's a simple day like this one that will be etched into our memories.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

2009-04-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.

~Rumi

Let's Be Three

2009-04-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

I was going to write something profound. Really I was. You know - about the wonders of childhood and their innate ability to play and just be. How little they need to find joy and how we lose that as adults, over-structuring and complicating our lives, etc...

But then I realized it all boils down to this: When you're three, happiness is nothing more than a beautiful day outside and ice cream for dinner.

Traveling Ducks, Part Two (Or A Trip to Paris Minus the Jet-Lag)

2009-04-17T10:51:00.001-07:00

Not too long ago, we discovered that ducks have the power to transport us to faraway places, if only in our minds. My family and I have been going to a nearby lake, in the center of a suburban commercial area, to visit the local ducks. This is the first time my kids have experienced feeding breadcrumbs to these stout, waddling creatures. They may be 'wild' but they seem awfully familiar with wheat bread and baguettes. They're bottomless pits - much like my kids - and flock to sticky, little outstretched hands in a feeding frenzy.

Before we stop to feed the ducks we get provisions at a nearby bakery. It's a sweet replica of a French boulangerie - the real deal - and serves bags of sugary chouquettes to go with cups of strong coffee and hot chocolate. The chouquettes are cheap and plentiful; little puff pastries that are crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. They are dusted with chunks of pearl sugar and are completely addictive. One of the best things about this little family adventure of ours is that once a month or so, I get to pretend we are living in Paris. Watching my kids throw bread crumbs to the fat, hungry ducks while drinking good coffee and eating tiny pastries doesn't exactly make my new suburban digs a parallel to French city living, but it comes close, if only for a moment.

Traveling Ducks, Part One

2009-04-17T09:26:00.000-07:00

Two mallard ducks have recently taken up residence at our suburban home. Somehow, this charming couple spotted our murky backyard pond and have decided to call it home, at least for the time being. This has delighted my little ones to no end. They are thrilled to see them splash in the pond every day and they watch out the window for hours. I admit, I like it too. They've transformed our '70s house in the burbs into a farm of sorts. The only thing better would be a gaggle of little ducklings, but I'm afraid the orange cat prowling the neighborhood would put an end to that. So for now, I'll just stare out the windows along with my kids, enjoying the family farm.

I just wonder what the ducks are thinking when they look back at us in the windows and see this:

Thanks

2009-04-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was trying to explain to my girl what gratitude meant. Today the sun finally broke through and we played outside. I get to be her mother. She's my girl. And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Half a Box of Thin Mints, Chris Cornell, and a House to Myself

2009-04-13T21:38:00.000-07:00

Since starting his new career -- and our new lives -- my husband has been working long hours. We no longer have equal time when it comes to the daily task of raising our kids. I'm with them 24 hours a day and have had almost no opportunity in the past five months to escape for a couple of hours. While I love my kids more than anything, I needed a break. Burnt out, depleted, I, like most people, occasionally need a minute to breathe and remember who I am. I need a moment to not be needed. Recently, after a little bit of pleading, my husband agreed to take the little ones out on his next day off and give me that time I so desperately required.

That day arrived and, after what seemed like a painstakingly slow process, the three of them finally got dressed and out the door. As I shut it behind them, I felt downright giddy with anticipation. There was an eerily foreign world waiting at my feet with the promise of two whole hours to myself. Time and space and nobody's needs to fulfill. Oh my god, the FREEDOM! My heart was actually pounding and I felt a little light-headed. What to do first? Think, THINK! Ok, I needed a game plan and it involved a box of Thin Mints that I had bought two weeks ago from a conniving little girl scout. I hadn't touched the cookies until now but suddenly it seemed like the next best thing to uncorking a bottle of good champagne. I effortlessly devoured half the box while aimlessly surfing the Internet. It was good step - but why waste the precious little time I had by going online? I turned on the tv. I havn't seen daytime tv (that wasn't animated) in a long time. I fidgeted while I flipped channels. Ok, now I know why I hadn't seen daytime tv in so long. Waste of time. Lame. What else? Not enough time to nap and I was way too amped up to sleep anyways, so I wandered from room to room aimlessly. Music! Of course. I flipped through the CDs looking for something that didn't include The Muffin Man or Itsy Bitsy Spider. White Stripes? Jazz? No, I decided to go back to my college days - music I didn't much play around my kids...Nirvana, Opal, Soundgarden. It felt ridiculously good to listen to it loudly and alone.

Because I couldn't totally fight the 'to-do list' mindset, I decided to finish repainting a bookcase that I had started weeks ago but couldn't do while the kids were awake and about. I picked up a cheap brush and began to paint. The music was visceral to me - the stuff I listened to back when I was in art school, painting in a studio without heat at 1:00 a.m. It was palpable, emotional music, get-lost-in-it music and it was the soundtrack to a very heady time in my life. When you're in your early 20s, everything is a roller coaster and anything is possible. Back then I stood for hours painting in a freezing cold studio that smelled of turpentine and oil paint. I loved it. Nothing but easels, splattered walls layered with paint, and an old beat-up couch that I didn't dare sit on back then because I'm pretty sure it had scabies. I can picture everything about that studio as I were standing in it right this moment. But on this day, I sat listening to the Bose stereo in our suburban 1970s living room, slapping odorless acrylic paint on a cheap bookcase that we couldn't afford to replace and wondering how we wound up in this town, this state, this somewhat mundane reinvention of our lives.

Two different scenes; two different lifetimes. I really don't yearn to go back, but the opportunity to listen to Chris Cornell wail on Black Hole Sun, or sing/scream at the top of my lungs to Nirvana's Where Did You Sleep Last Night gave me something I needed. I'm not the same person I was in my 20s, but then again, a part of the younger me still exists. I miss having butterflies in my stomach and that intangible feeling of potential and excitement - like anything can happen. It's easy as a parent to get so caught up in parenting that you forget the other facets of who you were and what brought you to this point. But we all have the fire in the belly somewhere deep down. It gets buried sometimes beneath Elmo videos and sliced bananas and bath time, but a little spark is still there, waiting to be ignited. I just need a little time to myself, every so often, to find it again. And once I do, there's nothing better than seeing my family burst in the door yelling, "mama, mama, mamaaaa!!!!".

48 Hours of Spring

2009-04-08T23:07:00.000-07:00

When it rains for what feels like 4,117 days in a row, and you finally get 48 hours of sun, you take it for all it's worth.

Forget tulips and daffodils: tired, happy kids and muddy laundry are the true signs of spring.

Morning Chaos

2009-04-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my life - and I vaguely recall this now - where mornings were calm and measured and consisted of leisurely drinking several cups of coffee. Most days I slept late. I loved sleep. It was always so good to me. These days, mornings at our place are early, frenzied, and chaotic. My pajamas are usually spackled with some kind of mushy cereal left behind by sticky little fingers. Coffee is quickly consumed in between diaper changes, the making and feeding of waffles and oatmeal, and doling out sippy cups. My brain is generally muddled and fuzzy, much like this photograph.

I love the fullness, even if I do miss the sleep. And I barely recall what it was like to shower without two little ones bursting in the room in order to jump on the bed, take everything out of the bathroom drawers, and leave a 10-ft. trail of cottony, white toilet paper unraveled across the floor.

Our peaceful morning routine is a distant memory, but our morning chaos is a thing of beauty.

The Brilliance of Lloyd Dobler

2009-04-01T21:26:00.000-07:00

Does Cameron Crowe's quintessential teen movie, Say Anything, and it's iconic lead character, Lloyd Dobler, hold any relevance to my current life as I know it? You wouldn't think so, but while laying awake at 3:00 a.m. the other night, my mind thought otherwise. Apparently there is some wisdom, truth, and a touch of brilliance to be found in the Dobler, and it just took me a dark and sleepless night to understand exactly what that was all about:

1. Because he serenades the girl (Diane/Ione Sky) with a power ballad professing love and adoration and who doesn't want that? *Note to former '80s hair band fans: Having someone blast Def Leppard's "Pour Your Sugar on Me" from the stereo in their Firebird in a gas station parking lot does not count. Ditto for Cherry Pie by Warrant. If that someone is wearing a cut-off sleeveless concert tee, it counts even less.

2. Because he doesn't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. He doesn't really have a life plan right now, he's just trying to date your daughter. He is, however, looking for a dare to be great situation. Don't get me wrong - Lloyd has passion (kickboxing, Diane Court) but he realizes he's young and is really just trying to find a little meaning and joy in his life, without filling in all the blanks prematurely. I sort of followed that model and chose to fly by the seat of my pants while following my passion. Of course it left me without a 401k and financial security but I did have a few good years where I was rich with time and promise.

3. Because he's Corey's (Lili Taylor) friend and protector. Sure he tries to steer her away from the boyfriend who continuously breaks her huge, open heart, but he's also there to prop her up after she dives in for more. See below.

Corey: Hi Joe. How are you? I love you.
Joe: I love you too.
Corey: You invade my soul.

And after all, if it weren't for her big open wound of a heart, we would never have heard some of the best penned song lyrics in the history of cinema including, "He likes girls named Ashley" and the profoundly succinct, "Joe lies". That will never be her. I know what she means. It was never me either.

4. Because of this:

Diane: You're shaking.
Lloyd: I don't think so.
Diane: You're cold.
Lloyd: I don't think I am.
Diane: Then why are you shaking?
Lloyd: I don't know. I think I'm happy.

5. Because Cameron Crowe created the anti-hero. He rolled the nerd, jock, and rebel into one complex character, defying cinema's stereotypical view of teenagers. And because John Cusack played him flawlessly, imbuing Lloyd with quirkiness, likability, and a just little edge.

I like Lloyd. I respect his goodness. I think I'll watch it again soon but right now I just really want to sleep. Dear brain: As the sage Lloyd once said, "You must chill. You must chill!!".

Oh, yeah...

2009-03-31T23:35:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes in the middle of trying to do ten things at once you forget to be the calm and gentle parent and you lose your patience with a three year old who is acting, well, like a three year old. Because sometimes you forget to take a breath. Because sometimes a simple picture will ease the strain and remind you what it's all about.

Little Hands

2009-03-31T23:14:00.000-07:00

When you havn't learned to walk yet and you're plopped down in a patch of grass, you work with what you've got. Dirt, leaves, flowers, sticks, mud - they're all worthy of touch. Everything is new and can be discovered with four pudgy fingers and a thumb. The outdoors, springtime, terroir, life; all right there in the palm of your tiny little hand.

Paper Boats

2009-03-28T21:48:00.000-07:00

The long march of winter in the Northwest have finally given way to the long march of spring in the Northwest. Rain clouds, storms, hail, and soggy, sloppy earth beneath our boots. Keeping little ones occupied indoors all day requires some creative planning. I've gotten pretty good at coming up with little craft projects while my son naps, because I like to do things with my hands and would like to pass on the value of making things to my daughter, and because I can't, in good conscience, let her watch yet another episode of Go, Diego, Go or The Wonder Pets. (Could I?)

So being the fabulously crafty parent that I am, I decided our most recent activity would be making paper boats. Easy enough. I'm sure I remember doing something of the sort back when I was young. Really, how hard could it be? I find instructions on an origami website, grab some paper and L. and I sit down to knock out a few quick paper boats. Until I get to direction #6, that is. I'm sorry - fold what corner where? Does that particular corner even exist because I'm pretty sure directions #1-5 never mentioned anything of the sort. And why is my daughter continuously grabbing at the paper that I'm pathetically attempting to fold, repeatedly asking if it's done yet? Why do I, a semi-intelligent, somewhat handy person feel like I'm trying to land aircraft and all the directions are in German? Surely we can do this before my son's nap ends, which is very, very soon (*note to self - stay cool and carry on even though I'll hear his wail any minute now and I'll have to disappoint my oldest by failing to complete quality mother-daughter project) and before I have to answer, once again, "NO, IT'S STILL NOT DONE YET! BACK OFF, MUNCHKIN". Breathe in, breathe out. Remember that this is a fun and precious memory in the making and I am an occasionally mature adult. But seriously, what the hell?! I find an alternative website and set of instructions. My daughter has since moved on to playing with toys but now I'm determined because I can't be possibly be outwitted by paper folding, so I fold and re-fold until finally, the simple paper boat - that is anything but simple - is done. Like an idiot, I decide to make another. Because I can now. I pleat corners in order to soothe my tattered and bruised ego and convince myself that I'm not a complete dipshit incapable of folding paper according to direction. We put red and yellow sails on them and sit them on the fireplace for a not-so-rainy day. Quality craft time has officially ended for the day.

A few days later we are fortunate enough to get a slight break in the action; the sun shines brightly even thought the ground is water-logged. We decide to take the boats out to the small pond in the backyard. The ominously opaque water and safety hazards notwithstanding, we launch the ships. They float and move with the wind. As I watch my daughter pick up the boats and place them down again in the water, I am beaming. Not because they are floating successfully (my husband predicted they would sink instantly) but because I see my sweet, gorgeous girl in her matching blue dog rain coat and boots crouching over a pond to set sail her paper boats. And it's as innocent and lovely a moment as a parent can ever imagine.

I love my kids. I love their curiosity and I love that in their world anything is possible. The crafting of the boats wasn't exactly my finest moment, but this unexpected burst of sun and sweetness is more than my sappy mothering heart can take. It's so good. It's hot fudge sundaes, newborn puppies, long afternoon naps, and rock-hard abs all rolled into one spontaneous, glaringly beautiful moment and I love that I am this lucky. In this moment I have all that I need. I am full.

Jumping in Puddles

2009-03-25T22:01:00.000-07:00

We recently changed our whole life, my family and I. Careers that stalled out, the slow and painful loss of money that was never really there to begin with, and a move from a warm and sunny spot on the coast to the rainy Northwest. It's been a big transition for all of us. Starting over in your 40s is truly unnerving. But we're here now and making our way; rebuilding our life and hoping for the best. We now have two amazingly wonderful and exhausting little ones (promise your weary mother that one day you'll both sleep through the night, pleeeeeease?!) and we've landed in a place that we think will work for them in the short-term but is wholly foreign to us. The 1970s house we're renting, the strip mall suburb we're living in, the rain, the cloudy days, and oh, did I mention the rain?

This is new ground and I admit that I'm pretty uneven in my dealing with this new ground; this unknowable future. My tendency of say, 40 years or so, is to go negative. I'm a life-long pessimist with worries that spiral in my head so that I can't sleep at night, even in the hours when my kids are actually sweetly snoring. I want to change this, I really do. I try. I heard a line in a song the other day - it was Lou Reed's version of "What a Wonderful World' and the line was "buscando la luz". Which I really want to do. I want to find the light in every day. I want to recognize and record those moments of pure joy, beauty, art, and love that occur like a flash of brilliance but then sometimes slip through the cracks in an otherwise exhaustive day. My hope is to eventually have more moments of joy than fear, worry, or negativity. This is no small task for me but I'm commited to trying.

The other day it rained. It rained for what feels like the millionth time in the five or so months we've been here (have I mentioned I'm prone to exaggeration?). Somewhere deep down my groan became audible and primal. My three year old daughter rightly ignored it, stated it was a "beautifwul' day (I'll mourn the day she starts to pronounce her f's without a w' following close behind) and declared her love for the rain. I asked why and she answered, so simply, "because we can jump in puddles!". And it's true. And we did. And like my daughter, I too will try to look at the rain not as my personal nemesis, but as an opportunity to jump in puddles. And we will look for the light, jump in puddles, and try to navigate our way through this crazy world. Luckily, I have my husband and kids to help guide me. Maybe it will even inspire another pessimist out there to recognize the beauty in their life and put on a big ol' pair of rubber boots and splash with all their might until they feel light and young and dizzy on the inside.

So let us begin...