Priorities

There's nothing like a bloody seven-year-old to bring things into focus.

Saturday, George was working a ten-hour day of side jobs, so I decided to finish up my weekly cleaning, bake some bread and granola, and a nice big pot of chicken & dumplings from a new recipe I wanted to try (courtesy The Pioneer Woman).

I breakfasted the kids, cleaned the kitchen, put in laundry, cleaned the living room from ceiling to floor, changed laundry again, and made lunch for the kids (just a typical day, really). George asked if he could use a paper towel to make a cape for the Harry Potter LEGO character he found. I decided to do one better; I gave him some scraps of black cotton material and showed him how to draw the pattern and cut it out, then cut a hole in the top so it would fit over the neck.

"Wow, Mommy, that's really smart!"

There really is no higher compliment from a child who really believes he does know everything.

After cleaning up the lunch mess, I decided to give myself a break and sit down with my knitting for a half an hour. No sooner had I picked up my needles, when there was a scream from the basement. Now, if you are a parent, you know what I mean by 'scream'. Not a 'hey, you took the LEGO I was going to build with!' but a 'THIS IS SERIOUS' scream that makes your heart stop.

Georgie came tearing through the house, holding his hand, blood streaming, crying and screaming incoherently.

I made him calm down and show me his wound. It looked like the top left side of his middle finger was gone at an angle, but it was hard to tell with all the blood. I herded him to the kitchen sink, still trying to calm him down, trying to clean up the cut so I could gauge the severity. Stella and Ethan were in the kitchen, too; Stella crying and Ethan upset, but trying to keep from crying. After finally clearing away enough blood to see the actual wound, I sent Stella to the bathroom and Ethan to get shoes and jackets, then into the van. I called George, told him I was taking Georgie to the ER, and tried to explain what had happened to his finger. Upon hearing that we were going to hospital, Georgie started wailing again.

"George. GEORGE. Stop crying and listen to me." I tend to sound angry when I'm worried or afraid. "Am I freaking out? No? Did I call an ambulance? No? Then there is nothing to freak out about. You are only allowed to freak out if I freak out. Now slip these shoes on and go out to the van."

It's funny, ERs tend to see you quickly when you have blood streaming down your arm and dripping onto the floor. The hospital staff was excellent, each nurse, Child Life Specialist, doctor and records clerk listening patiently as George recounted (for the tenth time) how he was trying to cut out a cape for his LEGO guy and used the Really Sharp Scissors to cut a hole for the head and cut the skin off the side of his finger. After the bleeding finally slowed, they used a gelfoam covering for the area where the skin had been sheared away, bandaged him up and sent him home. It bled off and on all night, but finally stopped sometime Sunday.


I had been fine, in complete control, until George showed up at the hospital. While he talked to Georgie, I went out into the hall, had a little cry, then squared my shoulders and went back in. After we were discharged, I went to Chick-Fil-A to pick up dinner, and we headed home. After eating, I crashed on the couch with the kids and we watched a few movies, waiting for George to get home from work. I could not believe how absolutely drained I was.

What do you do when faced with an emergency with one of your children? I go into Total Control mode: Do this, get ready, go here, get it fixed. Who cares that you're wearing sweatpants and a bleach-stained hoodie and that you haven't brushed your hair today; your focus is to care for your child. And then fall apart later. Everything changes, and priorities are brought brutally into focus: care for this child's needs immediately. Dinner plans, cleaning, changing into 'outside' shoes; everything goes by the wayside as we focus on what Really Needs Done.

There's been a lot going on lately, both within our immediate family and with our extended family. My mother-in-law is ill, requiring round-the-clock care. As with anything, there are some disputes with regard to how best to proceed. I see this and think, What really matters? Caring for mom. Not egos, not opinions, not 'well this is what I would want if it were me.'

Priorities.

Focus.

This extends into so many other areas of life; what matters most with our home? Should we expand it, or make the existing size suffice? Should we sell and move somewhere else? Friends who have been downsized in this economy have said that losing their job really brings life into sharper focus. Needs vs. wants become jarringly clear, and it's much easier to make decisions based on necessity.

Priorities.

Focus.

This situation was a reminder for me that, ultimately, the safety and well-being of my kids is my paramount concern. They're so small, and still dependent upon us for unconditional love and protection. I want to make sure that those needs are always met to the best of my ability, that I never get lost in the minutiae of The Little Things and lose that focus.

Crock Pot Epiffy-what

I'm kind of obsessed with my crock pot. I hoard slow-cooker recipes and collect cookbooks dedicated to the subject. I'm always looking for ways to improve on the already simple method of slow-cooking.

The other day I was flipping through "Make It Fast, Cook It Slow" by Stephanie O'Dea. One of her recipes is Lazy Chicken, which calls for dumping some frozen boneless chicken and pasta sauce into the crock pot and cooking until done, shredding the chicken and serving over cooked pasta.

I've made gallons (no; seriously... GALLONS) of pesto over the past six weeks, and it's all cubed up and sitting in my freezer in Ziploc bags. Since I'm trying to 'eat what we have' this month and shop minimally, I had an epiphany (or, as Smee says in "Hook", 'an epiffy-what?').

Slow Cooker Chicken Pesto
4-6 chicken breasts or tenderloins, frozen
3/4 cup to 1 cup pesto, frozen
1/2 lb short pasta, cooked according to directions
1/2 cup pasta cooking water, reserved

Toss chicken and frozen pesto cubes into slow cooker and cook on HIGH for 4 hours or until done. Shred chicken and mix well with pesto.

Cook pasta according to directions, reserving about 1/2 cup of cooking water. Add by the tablespoon to the pesto/chicken mixture if it needs thinned.
Drain pasta. Serve with chicken pesto mixture. Garnish with Parmesan cheese or sliced cherry tomatoes.

You can add frozen vegetables to the cooking water about 4-5 minutes before the pasta finishes cooking (I usually serve broccoli with chicken pesto).

VERDICT: Good! The kids love pesto, and aren't turned off by green food, so this was a hit. My oldest didn't care for the consistency of shredded chicken -- he prefers to have it sliced -- but ate it just the same. Everyone else agreed it's a definite keeper!

First Day

Today was our first day of preschool. Stella and I dropped the boys at their respective schools and came home. While she put on her necklaces, (an obvious prerequisite for educational ventures) I unloaded the dishwasher and poured myself a second cup of coffee.

We started at 9AM with the Pledge of Allegiance (which she kept calling "Pledge of the Cool Things"), did the date/calendar and weather, then started in on the workboxes. We were finished by 9:55AM. She wanted to keep 'playing school', which is a good thing -- she obviously enjoys it. I think the fact that she has 100% of my attention for that hour is almost more important to her than successfully matching up the clothespin letters to the letter wheel.

I still have trouble wrapping my brain around the idea that she's four today. It seems just yesterday I was taking pictures of her smooshy little face when she was barely 24 hours old. How big my little girl is already.

Taking the plunge

Summer is winding down and I'm preparing for the boys to go to school; George will be in second grade and Ethan is starting Kindergarten.

A few weeks ago I started figuring out what my school schedule would be, and felt my blood pressure start to rise. Here's what a typical day would be for me:

5:30 AM -- Up, treadmill, shower, pack George's breakfast/lunch
7:00 AM -- Get kids up, breakfast, lunch packed
8:15 AM -- Drop George off at school
9:15 AM -- Drop Stella off at preschool
11:00AM -- Leave to pick Stella up from preschool. Ethan eats lunch in the van
11:15AM -- Pick Stella up from preschool
11:35AM -- Ethan's bus pickup. (I'll have to drive him when he misses it, which will be almost daily.)
2:10PM -- Leave to pick George up from school
3:30PM -- Get Ethan off the bus

This does not take into account me going to tutoring for my Math class, or doing errands, or cleaning, or any of my other daily work. Needless to say, I was starting to stress out considerably.

George, in a fit of logic, said: "Just don't send her to preschool."

What? Oh. That's right. That is an option, isn't it?

So I looked at the situation and asked myself, 'What is going to work out best for our family as a whole?' (In other words: What is going to keep me from stressing out, in return stressing out the rest of the people who live here?)

Me being me, I started thinking. And doing research. My thinking led me to realize that my best solution would be putting Ethan in morning Kindergarten. He's much more focused early in the day, which is very important. Plus it makes for a less-stressful day, which benefits everyone.

My research led me to realize that lots of moms homeschool their preschoolers. Some have a structured curriculum, some organized play, some keep it simple with books and playdough and trips to the nature center.

I found a simple curriculum online called K4 Curriculum, and I'm using a modified workbox system to help keep me organized. Not to mention less stressed.

Are you sensing a theme here?

Stella seemed a little bummed when I told her she wouldn't be going to school this year. When I asked her if she'd like to do school at home, she thought for a minute and asked, "Can I have a snack every day?"

Yes, little girl. Yes you can.

So I hope to post some pictures of her school area once I have it set up, and I intend to detail our homeschooling experiences.


By the way, I got an A in my Algebra class. Perfect example of how study and hard work pays off.

In which I come to terms with my shortcomings

I have never been good at math. Struggled all the way through school and resigned myself to the idea that I would never do well in it. Failed Introduction to Algebra Part I. Twice. Never stepped foot into the Math Lab at school because I was too embarrassed to admit that I needed help with math. The only A I ever received was in Business Math, and to this day I think it was largely because the teacher liked me and saw that I put forth real effort. Despite that success, I never took a math past my junior year in high school.

The irony of this choice is that I have used math ever since. Regularly. In all of the jobs I've had -- marketing, retail, tech support -- I've used math. And I've actually used more math since I've become a stay-at-home-mom than I ever did before. Adding and subtracting fractions, maintaining a budget, reconciling checkbooks, figuring gains/losses on investments, cost per pound, figuring the payroll and taxes for a small non-profit business; you name it, I use it on a regular basis. Fundamentals like this are not bad, but when the subject turns to negative numbers, my brain turns to gelatin.

In my Composition, Psychology and Anatomy/Physiology courses, I was the Super Obnoxious Student; the one who reminded the teacher about our quizzes and kept track of just how 'big' of an A I was getting. I'm very proud that I worked hard and received the highest marks in both my Psych and A&P classes, and was in the top 5 of my English Comp class (RIP, Mr. Kassebaum). Words are easy for me; intuitive. It's like there's a small itch behind my eyeball that tells me when something isn't quite right on the page.

I don't have that same itch in math. Math gives me the distinct feeling of being set adrift on a small lake in a kayak without a paddle, where everyone else is standing on the shore watching me. Somehow they all seem to have located their paddles, whereas I'm the only one who just didn't get one. And I'm too embarrassed to ask for someone to lend me theirs.

I have to pass MATH 1200 (Intermediate Algebra) in order to complete my prerequisites for nursing school. When I took the assessment test, I placed in MATH 950 (Beginning Algebra I). Which means I have to study my arse off, score high enough, and beg the instructor to place me in 1200. I don't see him doing that unless I achieve an A.

I'm three weeks in, and the information thus far has been basic review (as the whiny d-bag who sat behind me on Saturday put it, 'how come we gotta review all this stuff that we already learned in the fifth grade?' with my response being, 'if you're so smart, how come you were placed in a remedial math?'), but already I sincerely doubt my ability to achieve an A.

In comparison to high school, this is substantially different. (I almost said 'quantitatively different' but I didn't want to be that nerd.) First, I am paying for this course out of my own pocket, which changes the amount of effort I am putting into it. Second, I did something that I never have done before:

I went to the math lab.

This is a bigger step for me than you might think. I have a serious, deep-seated, almost pathological problem with admitting when I cannot do or handle something. Going to the math lab at the college required that I humble myself, admit that I need help, and go talk to someone who is 15 years younger than me and get some direction on the basics of Algebra. Not an easy feat for me.

One of the greatest benefits of this little adventure was finding out that the tutor (Lou, who I can already tell I will like very much), did not start out as a math major. In fact, he wanted to become a nurse. He hated math, always did poorly in high school, and never had an intuitive understanding of numbers. So he understands where I'm coming from and can help me to grasp concepts that are difficult.

So, although I know that this will be a struggle for me, I'm meeting this challenge head-on. I will put forth more effort than anyone else in my class, and I guarantee that I will not fail.

Boycotting Valentine's Day

I hate Valentine's Day. HATE IT. To me, it's the most offensive holiday ever invented. Men are bombarded by advertisements for everything from jewelry stores to flower delivery to stuffed animals and crappy pajamas, all in an effort to say "You aren't capable enough to be romantic on your own, so we're going to stick a date on the calendar in order to force you into it."

Valentine's Day is the equivalent of telling your husband or boyfriend, 'You know, it would be nice if you brought me flowers' and having him come home from work with them that very day. That's not romance; that's coercion.

Valentine's Day is about guys making Grand Gestures and overspending for things that we really don't need. Teddy bears? Heart-shaped filigree pendants? Ugly pajamas?

And the worst part is that women buy into it! We have expectations for receiving presents from our significant others just because American Greetings and Hallmark like to pepper the airwaves with vignettes suggesting that men can't possibly think of their wives and girlfriends on their own.

Now I'm not suggesting that people who celebrate Valentine's Day are automatically unromantic. I'm simply stating that romance is about more than picking one arbitrary day and placing importance on something that should be part of your relationship year round.

You know what's romantic? My husband makes sure that I have money in my wallet, gas in the tank of the van, and windshield wiper fluid. He scrapes the snow off my van and asks if I need anything from the outside refrigerator. He shovels the sidewalk and puts down salt to make sure that I don't fall. He brings me a beer and builds a fire so that we can sit and talk about our day while I knit. He tells me my hair is pretty (when it isn't) and that he likes my face when I'm not wearing a stitch of makeup. He offers constructive criticism on my meals and calls to thank me for packing his breakfast and lunch every day.

That, my friends, is romance. It cannot be shouted from the radio or played out in a sappy television commercial. Real romance is the bond that makes you want to do for your spouse, to give to them, to make their needs and wants important to you. Romance is in the small details of daily life, not just in the grand gestures of holidays.

Bruiser Knits

Took the kids to see Tangled. Favorite part? One of the ruffians (aka 'Bruiser') knits socks.

The Horse Tie

I've seen a lot of complaints online about this commercial for the 2011 Toyota Highlander.



The commercial depicts a boy who feels sorry for his classmate, whose dad is picking him up in a 1980s-era wood-sided Buick station wagon. The classmate hides so as not to be seen getting into such a heap of junk, and finally catapults himself through the window. The idea being, you shouldn't embarrass your kids, so you should drive a sporty new Toyota Highlander.

Unsurprisingly, I hate this commercial, too. Surprisingly, it's probably for a different reason than you'd expect.

Most of the kvetching I've heard has to do with materialism, disrespect, waste, etc. I'm of the 'if it's paid for and it runs, then I'm ahead of the guy with the perpetual car payment' class. Toyota is pandering to the touchy-feely 'we can't harm our kids' self-esteem' types. And frankly, if you're stupid enough to fall for it, then you deserve to be jacked on an overpriced mode of transportation.

But my irritation with this commercial is completely unrelated to the kind of car you drive. It is simply this: As a parent, you have the absolute, unequivocal right to embarrass your children.

When I was growing up, one of my dad's friends was a regular at The Mens' Store (aka Goodwill), and used to buy his ties there. He'd end up with a grocery bag full, and offer them to Dad. Some of them were really nice, but which one did Dad select?

The Horse Tie.

The Horse Tie was a wide, brown, polyester tie with horse heads painted on it. (Please, mom, if you have a picture of it, you have to send it to me. I swear, I will knit you a hat if you do.) This was the ugliest, most horrific tie known to man. I cannot effectively express the abject awfulness of The Horse Tie. The person who made this tie deserved to be tied to a racehorse and dragged through a sheep field, have his right pinky finger cut off and be subjected to a intensive fashion evaluation by Bravo TV. This tie was so terrible, unlike Dad's snow-white suit and (I kid you not) blue suede shoes, it was NEVER in style, so would never have an opportunity to return to being in style.

Most guys would wear it to a costume party, or give it as a gag gift or something. My dad? HE WORE IT TO OUR CHOIR CONCERTS. And parent/teacher conferences. And meetings. And dinner. Anywhere you could imagine your friends being, Dad would be putting on The Tie. My sisters and I would beg him, PLEAD with him, not to wear The Tie. I remember crying, being so mortified that he would be in the audience and somehow the cute guy in my 7th grade Math class would see him and somehow KNOW that he was MY dad, and I would forever lose any chance of him asking me to go with him. (Go where, I have no idea. But in 7th grade, 'going with' someone was all the rage.)

Invariably, he would relent, and change ties, and as I got older, I realized that he was simply torturing us. Purposefully torturing us by making us think that he would wear The Tie and we would spontaneously combust from embarrassment. Because deep down, just like everyone else, he didn't want to look like a dork. He just wanted us to believe that he was willing to look like a dork for the sheer purpose of our instant and total mortification. (This doesn't explain why he wore sweat pants and cowboy boots, but that's a whole other story.)

Now, of course, I see the future. I see pairing yoga pants and sweaters with appliques of kittens; wearing my hair in two pony tails with the smears of night cream on my face to drop them at school. (And I don't wear night cream. But I would put it on for the sake of upping the embarrassment factor.) I imagine broken jelly shoes and white athletic socks, fanny packs and sequined ball caps. While the other moms discuss hair stylists and Zumba and swim lessons, I talk about Neti pots and acidophilus and the mileage on my running shoes. Oh, the possibilities are endless!

We can't let Toyota talk us out of our inherent right to be lame parents! We must accept our love of spelling bees (me) and astronomy (George) and genealogy (my Uncle Ken). We must pull out a CD of The Greatest One-Hit Wonders of the Eighties, turn it up and reenact the video of Fischer-Z's "So Long" while the kids cower in the back seat, praying that no one can see in the tinted windows. And just maybe, my kids will look back on their childhood with a mom who is obsessed with knitting and a dad who tweaks beer brewing recipes for a hobby, and will learn to accept that lameness is an inherent part of our lives, no matter how hard we try to mask it.

I, for one, am embracing my inner lame-o Horse Tie parent.

Making sausage isn't that ugly. Politics is much worse, I think.

It's been over eight years since George and I made Hungarian sausage with Mary Jo & Mike Fodor. It seemed time to try it again, so yesterday we made around 50 lbs.; a lot of work, but worth it.

In the 'old days,' Mary would buy 120 lbs. of pork butts and we'd show up at her house at 8AM, spend four hours cutting the bones out, trimming some of the fat, and double-grinding the meat. Then we'd pour all of the meat out onto the table, add the seasonings (including paprika, garlic, salt, pepper & caraway seed) and mix the meat. Then after cleaning and prepping the casings (that's pig and sheep intestines, for those unaware of what 'casings' are), we'd stuff all of the sausage into the casings, weigh and package and figure out how much our totals were. The detail-orientedness of the task means no drinking of alcohol, which makes for a decidedly somber experience.

Fortunately, the good people at The Sausage Shoppe (thanks, Norm!) agreed to double-grind the meat for us, which saved us so much time (and so much cleaning of Kitchen Aids). we were able to season and mix the meat, stuff it, weigh and total the amounts within five hours, which is a record.

I love that the sausage stuffer is an antique that our brother-in-law found in a shop somewhere... made by the Enterprise Manufacturing Company in Philadelphia, this stuffer is close to 100 years old. The times we've made sausage, we've always used this stuffer. I can't imagine ever making sausage with a $2500 stainless-steel motorized stuffer. We have to use the Enterprise stuffer, where the only piece on it that isn't cast-iron is the aluminum stuffing tube.


George preparing to work the stuffer while Mary Jo preps the casings.

It's a lot of work to make 50 lbs. of sausage, but it pales when I consider the company. We talked and laughed, took breaks to play with the kids, fried up a sample here and there, drank a few beers, and had a good time. I wonder if it was like this fifty or a hundred years ago when farming communities would get together to preserve large quantities of foods.

We have such a disconnect from our food today; most of what we buy comes from the grocery store, not a small specialty proprietor (like the Sausage Shoppe) or directly from a farmer or grower. When you spend hours preparing your very own sausage, don't you appreciate the flavor and texture more than you do the Hillshire Farms links that you can pick up in the refrigerated Meat section at Cub? Don't your own tomatoes from the garden taste sweeter than the 'vine ripened' ones on sale at the Giant Eagle?

George and I spent hours peeling and cutting pears in order to make pear butter and pear sauce. I swear it's the best thing on peanut butter sandwiches and the sauce is so good on ice cream... are my taste buds affected proportionately to the amount of work that I put into preparation?

I don't know. What I do know is that I'll enjoy this sausage every time we have it, and when next March rolls around, I'll probably call Mary Jo to see if we can set aside a day to do it all over again.

As long as we don't have to grind.

Etsy!

I've started an Etsy shop. So far I've made a few diaper/wipe pouches, and plan to add knitting project bags. Please check out my store if you're interested!

http://www.etsy.com/shop/rasch

Support the Doctors Without Borders relief effort in Haiti

The things her brothers teach her

The Activity Box

George and I have been kicking around the idea of homeschooling Georgie, and one of the big questions we have is, How do we keep the middlest and the littlest occupied while George does schoolwork?

I started doing research on crafts and projects for preschoolers during homeschooling, and found a lot of really great ideas. The most important aspect of these activities is that they must be self-directed. Optimally, they'll be self-checking. This way, Ethan doesn't require instruction beyond the initial explanation, and if he does it incorrectly, it's immediately apparent.

Now, we aren't certain that we're going to homeschool, but I need some activities for Ethan. He gets easily bored in the afternoons when Stella is napping and George is at school. He doesn't want to read or do worksheets or play with toys, and he nags me to watch television. So I'm hoping that this will give him some alternatives and will keep him interested.

After a visit to the craft store and re-purposing some of the craft materials that we already have on-hand, I spent the afternoon planning stuff for our Activity Box.

Here's a log of the activities, many of which I found from the Preschool Activities page at Redshift.

Scissor Skills: Scrap paper with straight, angled, and wavy lines, ending with a sticker. Ethan uses scissors to cut along the lines until he gets to the sticker. These are easy to copy or print from online templates, so they aren't difficult to replenish. Plus, they all fit into clear, gallon-size zip-top bags so the kids can see what they want to choose.

Bead Sorting: I took three empty votive candle tins and hot-glued four different colored pony beads inside, then hot-glued the tins to a piece of cardboard. I put a selection of pony beads into a plastic container and included a set of tweezers from my old PC toolkit. Ethan stays occupied for at least 15 minutes, using the tweezers to sort the beads into the correct tins.


Bead Patterning: I bought some plastic craft laces and strung pony beads on them in patterns, knotting both ends to secure them. Then, I cut several laces and knotted one end to use for replicating the patterns, and added a plastic container of beads.

Shape Matching: I cut shapes out of foam sheets and stuck strips of self-adhesive Velcro on the back of each shape and wrote the name of the shape on the front. Then I took an 8.5" x 11" piece of stiff felt and traced the shapes onto the sheet in permanent marker. Stella really loves working with the flannel boards, so this will be a simple, self-correcting activity for her; if she puts the wrong shape on the wrong outline, they won't match.

Transportation Flannel Board: I found a set of transportation-oriented flannel-board cutouts and packed them with a collapsible flannel lap board.

100-piece Puzzles: Great for motor skills and shape differentiation. Usually good for at least a half an hour of play.

Foam Sheets with Stickers: 8.5" x 5.5" half-sheets of foam and peel-off stickers in an assortment of sizes and shapes. Helps with fine motor skills.

Self-correcting Puzzles: I bought a puzzle with 24 pieces. Each set of two fits together; baseball goes with glove, toothbrush goes with toothpaste, etc. If the items don't match, the puzzle doesn't fit together.

Felt Letters and Numbers: An assortment of felt letters and numbers to be used with their flannel boards.

Flannel Board Sets: I absolutely adore the flannel board sets from The Teacher Express. We have several story sets, including Goldilocks and the Three Bears and Old MacDonald. I just ordered Stellaluna, The Little Red Hen and Red Riding Hood. The children love to do the stories on the boards.

Lacing Craft: I cut several sections out of a large fabric softener container, rounded off the edges, and had George drill holes in various spots. I put several lengths of yarn and plastic lace into the bag with the cutouts and let them practice lacing through all of the holes.

Flash Cards: I took index cards and numbered them 1-20 and put stickers on the cards. I included 20 pennies in the bag for use as counters; he counts out enough pennies to cover the stickers in order to figure out which number he's looking at.

I'm still on the lookout for more ideas, if you have one, feel free to leave it for me in the comments.

Summer is GONE...

Summer's over.

George is in PM Kindergarten and bored. Kid has been reading since 4 1/2 and is not being challenged at all; we have to decide if we are going to homeschool him or supplement his current education.

Ethan is attending preschool two mornings per week at our Cooperative Preschool. Even though he just turned four, we elected to put him in the threes class, and he is doing fantastically. Kid is funny as ever... and has a temper... well, let's just say he comes by it honestly. Ahem.

Stella is two, and boy is she a little sponge; picks up on all of the good (and bad) behavior of her older brothers. She's a girl through and through, but loves to play baseball and kickball with her brothers. I love when she's wearing a tutu and little play heels and tries to ride a skateboard. WIN!

I'm running. I started running six weeks ago, and have dropped between 10-15 lbs. (I don't know exactly how much, since I wasn't really weighing myself. All I know is that I'm back in my size 8 jeans, and in my book, that's ALL that matters.) I'm training to run the Lakewood Reindeer Run 5k in December, which would be my first race ever. I've been doing well at running daily, with rest days here and there, but the concrete sidewalks are killing my knees. Fortunately I can use the treadmill when the weather gets really ugly, but I need to stick to asphalt tracks.

The garden did well this year, considering. I made about 4 gallons of pesto from our basil plants (frozen in ice cube trays, then popped into gallon-sized bags for use throughout the winter) which should take us through most of the winter. Since the chipmunks/squirrels got our pea plants, we didn't get much out of them. Our two bean plants supplied us with enough beans for dinners and snacks (the kids kept eating them before they even got into the house, so I'm sure we would have had more if they hadn't 'helped' to harvest them). We had a lot of tomatoes, but not really enough to preserve. I got a quart of sauce out of all the romas I cooked down in the crock pot. Meh.

The zucchini, however, was overwhelming. I have loaves of zucchini bread, 2 dozen muffins, 5 quarts of shredded zucchini, and several gallons of sausage soup w/ zucchini all in the freezer right now. This from one plant. Plus, the zucchini cross pollinated our spaghetti squash, and the spaghetti squash looks like... well, big orange zucchinis. Not spaghetti squash.

We had one hill for potatoes, and got about 30 lbs. of Kennebeck and Yukon Gold potatoes. We planted our onions a bit later than we should have, so there are only a few large, softball-sized onions; most are racquetball-to-tennis-ball-sized. We'll do more onions next year and NO zucchini. None. Our cucumbers produced well at first, but cucumber beetles took out all of the plants. We know what to do for next year, so hopefully it won't happen again. The peppers did well once we staked them, and I got enough reds and yellows to make in my various recipes. Considering that they run sometimes $3-$4 per pound at the grocery store, it was worth the investment of time and money.

We accidentally grew two pumpkins; my sister-in-law gave us a pie pumpkin last year, and it went into the compost pile. We saw the vine start this spring, and let it grow just to see what it was; we ended up with two good-sized pumpkins! They're sitting on the front porch, on a bale of straw, along with several of the spaghetti squash mutations.

We also ended up with 3 compost tomato plants from the Ugly Ripes I bought from the grocery store (Ugly Ripes were the only halfway flavorful tomatoes at the store over the winter). Since we grind all of our fruit/vegetable scraps and put them in the compost, a couple of plants ended up taking root. The tomatoes we got off of them were pretty good, especially in salads and on sandwiches.

George has almost finished the backyard fence; we only need to put the gate up next to the garage, and he wants to do a decorative corner on the side we're not enclosing. Next is the first floor molding and (I can't wait!) the kitchen & hall floor. He's promised me we'll have a finished play space in the basement before we work on any projects upstairs, which would be wonderful. We're thinking that we'll move the kids upstairs once the second floor is finished; plenty of room in the master for them and their toys, and Stella will have her own bedroom. They can share a bath (ha! We'll see how long that lasts) once it's completed.

"Completed" and "house" are two words I've learned to never use in the same sentence. Sigh.

First Harvest

Since the chipmunks dispatched the sugar pea plant, we have been waiting for our first beans and zucchini. Today the kids got to help pick them. They ate the first beans immediately (thank God we garden organically) so there are a few missing.




And here are the boys, doing what they do best; helping screen compost.

Governor Palin is stepping down

About 20 minutes ago, media outlets reported that Alaska Governor Sarah Palin is resigning from office. Speculations run the gamut of personal problems, health issues, and a bid for the Presidency in 2012.

A few minutes after the initial announcement, this tweet came from the Ohio Secretary of State, Jennifer Brunner:

Maybe Pres. Obama is appointing her Ambassador to Russia, since it's in her backyard.
15 minutes ago from mobile web

Now, this is the kind of tweet that I expect to see from some of the Liberals that I follow on Twitter, or a MSM pundit, NOT from the Secretary of State of Ohio. This was my immediate response:

@JenniferBrunner I would have thought that the Secretary of State of Ohio might be able to rise above the snark. I guess not.
7 minutes ago from TwitterFox

Now, I'm not going into the whole "I can see Russia from my window" thing, as anyone with half a brain knows that this was a line from a Saturday Night Live sketch, and was never uttered by Gov. Palin.

Let me be the 23,567th person to admit that Gov. Palin's interview with Katie Couric, where she stumbles over the answer to a question about Alaska's proximity to Russia and how it relates to her foreign policy experience, is less than articulate. And I don't plan on rehashing the argument of President Obama's limited experience as a U.S. Senator, Vice President Biden's firm position as a cog in the 'old school' Washington wheel, etc. But those are logical arguments that tend to fall on deaf ears.

I don't expect everyone to like Sarah Palin. Some Conservatives I know voted for Obama just because they couldn't stand her. I understand when you don't like a particular person in the political arena, but I'm amazed by the personal attacks from so many on the Left. She is a pro-life, pro-Second Amendment, pro-drilling, fiscal and social Conservative, and because of this she's attacked as ignorant and stupid. Just before the election, I overheard a woman in a coffee shop telling another woman that "someone should revoke Palin's female card," and went on to say that she should be taking care of her baby instead of running around the country. Why was the same argument not used against Joe Biden, when he took office as a U.S. Senator when his wife and child had just been killed?

As if being a Conservative and a woman is mutually exclusive.

I'm the first to admit that I don't agree with her on a lot of issues (I think she's very myopic with regards to developing multiple forms of energy sources instead of focusing on oil), but I respect her. I think she's a strong woman who has shown her ability to organize and lead. I admire her tenacity and strength. I think she's received a lot more negative press than is called for.

I wish her luck in her future endeavors.

Garden

I've had this digital camera for over 5 years now, but haven't really learned how to use it properly. Of course, with digital zoom and auto focus, there isn't much to pointing and shooting pictures. But when I see photos like the ones my mom takes, I'm in awe of her eye for detail and how amazing her pictures turn out.

I want to master this camera and all of its functions before we get another one (George has mentioned several times that he wants a new digital video camera, and I figure we'll get an all-in-one video/still cam to save space). In the meantime, I'm going to figure out how to work this one to achieve the kinds of photos I want.

Oh, and if you find that some of the photos on our online album are out of order, it's because some weird German appropriated a photo of Georgie and was posting it on myspace. So I moved it in order to break links. Sorry for the inconvenience.

And now, some photos from the garden this morning:


cherry tomatoes growing well


Kentucky Wonder pole bean blossoms


Sugar Snap peas


cucumber flower

Library Funding

In addition to writing Governor Strickland about the library funding cuts, I also emailed my state Senator (Tom Patton) and state Representative (Nan Baker).

I received this response from Senator Patton's office this morning:

Thank you for your email. I appreciate you taking time to email me. I have always been a strong supporter of public libraries. Ohio’s libraries are some of the best in our nation and I will do my best to minimize these devastating cuts. Thank you again for your email.

Sincerely,

Tom Patton
State Senator
24th District

Dear Governor Strickland

Governor Ted Strickland
Governor's Office
Riffe Center, 30th Floor
77 South High Street
Columbus, OH 43215-6108

Dear Governor Strickland:

First, let me start by telling you what I am not: I am not a librarian. I am not a employed by any public or private library, and although I do have a sister-in-law that works for the Cleveland Public Library, I do not.

I have three children, the oldest of which is starting kindergarten this fall. All three have their own library cards, in their own names, which we applied for as soon as they had social security numbers. We are regular (read: weekly) patrons of the Fairview Park branch of the Cuyahoga County Public Library here in Fairview. We have attended Baby and Me classes, preschool reading time, met other young mothers, formed friendships with them and their children, learned vast amounts of information... all from our local library.

I have personally witnessed the positive impact our library system has had on my children through their love of books. Your proposed fifty-percent cuts to the library budgets will be detrimental to hundreds of thousands of families across our region; families like mine.

Libraries provide us with much more than books. From summer reading programs to story times, computer access to the toy lending library, we have come to know our children’s services librarians, circulation clerks, management staff, and the lady who cleans daily. The jobs and families of these individuals will be detrimentally impacted.

I am not a library employee, but I am a patron. I love my library. I am proud of my library. It has helped to educate our family and foster a love of learning. A love of books.

Please, do not threaten the future of my children by limiting access to this imperative resource.


Respectfully,

Deanna Rasch

Baby Magic

When I was a kid, my Mom used Baby Magic baby wash on us. I don't know if it was because it was cheaper than the Johnson & Johnson brand or what, but I always remember the clear Baby Magic bottle with the yellow cap.

When Georgie was born, his first bath was with Baby Magic. Ethan and Stella's first baths were in the sink and I used Baby Magic.

Not long after Ethan's birth, I was at Target to buy some more baby wash, and I noticed that there were new bottles with a different logo. I opened them and smelled; it was different. It might have said Baby Magic on the bottle, but it was most definitely not Baby Magic.

I panicked. I went to the grocery store, Wal Mart and Walgreens. No Baby Magic. I went online and Playtex's Web site only showed the strange new bottle. I called their customer service line and the representative confirmed my fears; they had discontinued the 'old' Baby Magic and had a new formula in new packaging.

I almost broke down in tears. How could my babies smell like anything other than Baby Magic? The smell of damp hair and skin, bundled into pajamas, snuggling into the crook of your neck, ready for bed after reading Guess How Much I Love You and Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus. The smell of peanut butter and jelly and sun and dirt and laughter in the sandbox washed away, replaced with the smell of bedtime giggles and stories and prayers.

I did what emotionally postpartum mother would do: I went on eBay. I bought a case of my Baby Magic, and have used it since for every bath of every one of our children.

I went downstairs tonight to get another bottle, and I saw that I only have one left. On one hand, I'm deeply saddened to know that my babies won't smell like babies for long; they'll want goofy kid soap that smells like Willy Wonka threw up on them. On the other hand, I'm happy that it's lasted this long, that they all have borne the fragrance of babyhood for this long.

So tonight, after we've tucked them into their beds after stories of firefighters (George) and lifeguards (Ethan) and horses (Stella), I will dig out three of my travel bottles, pour my precious Baby Magic into each one, and put them into their memory boxes. I'm sure that the formula will change over the years, and it won't smell quite like it did when it was newly made, but I will keep it.

And I will remember.

Pork Hash Recipe

Pork loin roast in the crock pot on Tuesday, and the leftovers were used in hash. I prefer the Cuban flavors (sans olives -- ick!) but I left out the spices and raisins to please child palates. I use what I have, and although this is based on another recipe, I've done my best to make it my own.

Cuban-Style Pork Hash

Leftover pork roast, cubed or shredded
2 cups cooked rice
2 cups cooked potatoes, diced (leftovers from crock pot are fine, or frozen potatoes w/ onion)
chopped fresh or frozen vegetables (carrots, peas, green beans)
medium onion, diced
several cloves garlic, minced
28-0z can diced tomatoes, undrained
cumin, cinnamon, sliced green olives, raisins (optional, to taste)
olive oil

Heat oil in deep skillet, saute onion and garlic until softened. Add refrigerated diced potatoes and spices (if using) and cook until potatoes are tender.

Add canned tomatoes w/ juice, olives and raisins (if using), pork and rice. Cook (stirring gently so potatoes don't come apart) until mixture is heated through.

If hash seems dry, add broth or stock to moisten.

The kids don't like the spices, olives or raising, so I omit those. It's a bit blander, but they like ketchup, so I guess it doesn't really matter much. ;)

Code Yellow

Ever have one of those days when you just know you should stay home, drink tea, read books on the couch with the kids, chores and meals be damned?

Next time I'm going to listen to my instinct.

I took the children to Target today, and as I was pulling in, I noticed an older couple, probably in their sixties, loading something bulky into the back of their brand-new Jeep Cherokee (or whatever the full-sized Jeeps are called nowadays.) I looked again, and realized... it was one of the Target shopping carts!

They were stealing a cart from Target.

I was shocked... and then I was pissed. And I mean pissed. Like they were stealing my kid's bicycle out of my front yard pissed. Because of jackasses like that, prices go up and I have to pay more.

She was just getting into her Jeep by the time I got out of the van. I yelled, "That's theft, you know!" but she slammed her door and drove away.

I wrote down her license plate, description and the time, then went inside to talk to a store manager. (I have an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong, I guess.) I gave the manager the information and explained what I had seen, and she assured me that they'd contact the police.

(In fact, I just received a phone call from one of the officers in our city confirming the information. I'm glad to see they followed up on this.)

I took Stella and the boys to find the things on my list. Halfway through the soap aisle, George said, "Mommy, Ethan's gone."

I sighed. "You know, I'm really tired of Ethan not staying with me. He knows he's supposed to stay with the cart."

I waited a minute, then sent George to the next aisle over to find him. He wasn't there.

I walked several aisles in one direction, then several aisles in the other direction...

No Ethan.

Now, those of you who know me know that I am NOT a panic-stricken mother who dissolves at the sight of a minor cut. It takes quite a bit to get me worked up, and I was afraid. I went into Worst Case Scenario mode and made a beeline for the front of the store.

The Target team member I found (I think she's a manager of sorts, although not the manager I spoke to earlier) asked me for Ethan's age and description and called a Code Yellow over her walkie. In effect, every team member drops what they are doing and looks for your child. They station two team members by the doors to make sure that no children matching your child's description leaves. They keep the parents at the front lanes to watch for their child.

"... three-years old, blond hair, blue eyes, wearing a blue Buzz Lightyear shirt and brown shorts and blue tennis shoes..." It struck me odd that all of the clothes he was wearing had been purchased here at this store. The Buzz Lightyear shirt says "To infinity... and beyond!" when you push a button.

Around the corner holding the hand of a girl comes Ethan. She'd found him in the womens' clothing department, which is clear across the other side of the store. I think he started following another cart, not realizing it wasn't ours.

I thanked them profusely, then took Ethan behind one of the registers, and broke down. In tears. In the middle of Target. Which made Ethan start to cry,of course. He's more sensitive sometimes than I realize.

He apologized, nodding solemnly, big blue eyes shining and serious. "I won't ever walk away from the cart again, Mommy. And if someone bad tries to take me, I'll kick him. See, Mommy? I'm OK."

We're spending the rest of the day on the couch, reading books. Laundry and meals be damned.

Musical control

I've been listening to Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black" the last few days (the only thing that has gotten me off this "Dr. Horrible" kick I've been on for the past week.)

I can't stop singing the chorus to "Rehab."

And every time I sing "They tried to make me go to rehab," Stella says "no no no!"

It's hilarious. Finally captured on video.

(Photobucket is full of fail, so I'm linking to the FaceBook video.)

In which I speak too soon

So just this morning I blogged on how fortunate we were to avoid going to the ER last Tuesday.

And this afternoon, Ethan pushed George off the back steps and he landed on his elbow. Broke the ulna.



Took all three kids to Lakewood ER, and he's got a temporary cast until we can follow up with the orthopedic.



I texted George to let him know what was going on; he replies with "Broke crown on tooth." Great. So now I get to try and schedule a dentist appointment for him in addition to dealing with these three at the ortho tomorrow.

Wish me luck. No, wish me patience -- this kind of luck I can do without.

Veres visit veritas

OK, I know that 'veritas' means 'truth.' But I just can't let good alliteration get away from me.

Aunt Linda came over for breakfast today! And brought treats! Bagels and fruit and Panera pastries.

I had a cheese danish. Nom.

Stella warmed up to Auntie Linda when she saw that (a.) Mommy wasn't leaving; and (b.) there was chocolate.



So thank you, Dear Linda, for the tea and company.

Making our beds

In case you haven't heard, I'm the birdshit-tomato girl.

Last year I read a book on Square Foot Gardening. Great book, good reference information.

I bought containers, mixed my peat and vermiculite and compost, planted my tomatoes and basil. And watered. And fertilized. And waited.

A bird ate a tomato and shit the seed into the ground while flying over our yard. It landed under some ivy and trees and took root.

We got more tomatoes off of the birdshit tomato plant than all of my plants combined. I was irritated and decided I couldn't garden. So I had no plans to plant this year.

Until George decreed that he would take over. Fine. I'll weed and water and turn the compost pile and pluck rocks, but I'm not making any decisions that would inhibit the growth of plants.

We decided to do raised beds. So after clearing out a few (OK, eight) trees, hundreds of pounds of English ivy, brush and brambles, we cleared a spot for our garden.

George tilled



Then we raked and shoveled raised beds



And Stella tried to eat rocks



I screened some compost... which looks phenomenal, if I may say so.



So now we widen the beds a bit, put up the fencing and plant. Tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, beans, zucchini, and maybe some red peppers. And basil and parsley and a few wildflowers and flowering perennials to encourage bees and butterflies.

I'm looking forward to it. As long as the birds don't try to show me up again.

Spicy Eyes

Last Tuesday, Ethan came barreling into the house. "Mommy! George is in the poison ivy!"

I sighed. We've been cleaning out the back yard for a few weeks now, and there is one (ONE!) single poison ivy plant in the back yard now. George pointed it out to the boys last weekend and said "Stay away from this. It will make you itchy."

I told him to tell George to come inside and wash his hands. Who knows if he even touched it? I didn't want to take any chances.

Georgie came into the dining room. "Mommy? My eye hurts."

And this is what it looked like:


(this was taken at the Pediatrician's office with my cell phone camera.)

I felt my heart start to beat a little faster, but I didn't want to freak him out.

"Georgie? Did you get into the poison ivy?" Of course, he denied it. Finally he came clean, and I took him into the bathroom, had him wash his hands and face, then put cool washcloths on his eye. And called the pediatrician. And when they told me to bring him in right away, I called George to tell him what had happened.

Fortunately, Stella was just getting up from her nap and I was able to get her changed and the boys into the bathroom, close up the garage, grab a box of goldfish crackers and a few juice boxes in about 10 minutes. Which is miraculous, since it normally takes an absolute minimum of 1/2 hour to get out of the house. I texted my friend Dawn, and she suggested putting mittens on him to keep him from scratching at his eyes; we had a spare pair in the van, so I had him put them on and hold Boo Boo Bob the Builder on his eye as a cold compress. I kept asking him "How are you doing, George?" on the way, planning to take him straight to the ER if he stopped breathing.

Our normal pediatrician wasn't available, but one of the peds in the practice saw us, and as soon as she saw George's eye she asked, "Are you sure that there wasn't any other sort of injury? Like a stick in the eye?" I asked George and he said, "No, I just touched the poison ivy."

She sent us downstairs to the ophthalmologist, who told us it was the worst case of acute chemosis she'd seen in twenty years. She started him on eye drops, which he took very well. Dr. Thomas said she was surprised by how well he did; she's seen 8-year-olds cry and refuse the drops, but George didn't cry once. He didn't seem to respond to the medication at first, and both doctors thought we might be sending him to the Rainbow ER.

Finally the swelling started to go down. So they sent us home with a prescription for oral steroids, eye drops, eye ointment, an antibiotic, Benadryl and instructions to take him to the ER if he started swelling at all. I stripped him and put him into the tub as soon as we got home, and threw his clothes and tennis shoes into a Sanitary wash cycle.

When George got home, he looked at George's eye (the swelling had gone down considerably) and said, "If I'd seen this, I would have told you to go straight to the ER."

Yeah. Well, fortunately everything worked out, the doctors saw him immediately and we were able to avoid an ER trip. Which would have been terrible, with three little kids.

I made it until just after dinner before I started crying.

Follow up visits the next day were fine; his eye was almost 80% back to normal, and it was obvious the medication worked. On Friday we had several trees taken down in the back yard, and when they ground out the stumps, the poison ivy was eradicated.

Let's hope we don't have to deal with this again any time soon.

Epic wardrobe malfunction

Friday night, George & I bottled the replacement Dead Poet IPA that The Brew Kettle re-brewed for us. (We think we got the wrong beer, they say they overcarbonated... whichever, we didn't get the beer we brewed. Which was suck.)

Regardless, we went on Friday to bottle the new beer, and after washing our bottles we were waiting for them to open up our bottling station. I noticed that my sweater was wet. I figured I'd gotten water on me from the bottle washer, but when I ran my hand over it, it didn't feel like water... it was oily.

Strange.

I looked around and didn't see anything that would have gotten on me, so I went to the bathroom to try and clean it off. Thankfully, it was a dark brown sweater and didn't show too much.

I'm paper-toweling but the oil isn't coming off.

Then it hits me.

Do you remember about ten years ago, when water bras were the rage? They were supposed to look real, not like padded bras that smash inward like the top of a plastic L'eggs pantyhose package when someone hugs you. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bought myself one of these said water bras way back when.

So, if you don't already know, let me be the first to tell you.

Water bras aren't filled with water. They're filled with some sort of mineral oil.

And how do I know?

'Cause mine sprung a leak.

I cleaned up as best as I could, thank God for the dark brown color of my sweater, and debated what to do. Stuff paper towels and tissues in my bra to sop up the oil? Not good; pointy and oily breasts are the stuff of hard core anime. I already had a beer in me, so I decided 'what the hell' and chucked the bra into the garbage can. Fortunately I was wearing a camisole, but it was probably obvious to anyone who cared to look that the girls were going commando.

I called my BFF Dawn to lament, but she wasn't available, so I left a long and rambling message on her voicemail. Which I'm sure she laughed heartily at and replayed on speaker phone to anyone within hearing distance.

Which is fine, 'cause it really was funny.

Really.

Poopy Bathtub

Stella had a major-league blowout diaper this morning when she woke up, so she went straight into the bathtub. She and Ethan were so funny, I grabbed the camera and took some video of them. Hilarity ensues, of course.

A Bird in the Hand

Yesterday George runs in the back door, yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! Come here and see what I got!"

"What is it, George?"

"Just come here and see!"

I go to the back gate, and he's holding a Carolina Wren. I can tell by the little brown eyebrows.

"Look what I caught, Mommy!"

"Oh, Georgie," I say. We've told you not to pick up dead birds. Go put it on the compost pile."

"No, Mommy! It's not dead. It's alive!" The bird gets a wing free and I see it start to flap.

Whoa.

"Um, Georgie, take it back outside please."

The wing is flapping a little more fiercely.

"Georgie, PLEASE open the door and take it outside."

Georgie opens the screen door and the flapping has unnerved him slightly. He drops the bird, it flutters against the glass before making its way to freedom.

I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to him.

"How did you catch that bird?"

His eyes are alight with excitement. "I sneaked up on it at the bird feeder and grabbed it!"

Seriously? My five-and-a-half-year-old ball of continuous energy has the ability to stalk a full-size Carolina wren? And catch it? Something the neighborhood cats could only dream of doing?

I'm laughing. I can't help it.

"Georgie, why did you want to catch the bird?"

"I wanted it to sit on my finger, but it didn't want to."

I nodded.

"Those are wild birds. They don't want to sit on your finger. They don't know you won't hurt them. Did you feel how fast it's heart was beating when you were holding it?"

Wide eyes and big nod.

"It was scared. It didn't understand that you just wanted to play. So next time, we'll just leave the wild birds alone, OK?"

Another nod.

"Hey, Georgie."

"Yeah, Mommy?"

"THAT WAS SO COOL!" I am laughing again, can't help it. "I can't believe you CAUGHT a BIRD!"

Where's the phone to call Daddy?

What a difference a day makes

I love my kids. More than anything, in fact. But sometimes you just need a little break.

We found this great little cabin in Hocking Hills, Ash Ridge Cabins in Laurelville, OH. Three cabins, all set about 500 feet away from one another, which offers great privacy. We stayed in the Lover's Loft cabin, which they happened to have available for one night -- perfect for us.

After checking in and unloading our gear, we headed to The Rock House to check out an awesome rock formation. We also got some great photos of George and me inside.



Then we went to Conkle's Hollow and hiked a 2.5 mile trail around the rim of the gorge; very rugged, difficult terrain, only for the experienced hiker. One misstep and you fall 200+ feet to a certain and painful death.

Unfortunately, I forgot my sport sandals at home, so ended up wearing a cheap pair... and I sustained an injury.



Thoroughly tired out from our hike, we headed back to the cabin to eat dinner and have a few drinks. Then, the lovely hot tub on the back porch was perfect for our sore legs.

We had a relatively decent night's sleep -- some joker decided it would be funny to set the alarm in the upstairs bedroom to go off at 1AM, which was decidedly unfunny. So much for sleeping well.

We were up early this morning, and I spent some time with this.


Tea, knitting, and the birds... I was content for the entire morning.

George was right there with me.



Coffee in hand, he pointed out a pileated woodpecker that was probably 16" in length! Nuthatches, goldfinches and Carolina sparrows were also sighted. We also saw about 10 deer, and an opossum that came to investigate the bird feeder last night.

All in all, it was a nice, relaxing weekend. We spent the entire trip talking about how much the children would love this place, the hiking and the rocks. We'll be bringing them back this summer.

I should be at the grocery store

I really should be at the grocery store right now, but I'm not. If I don't go, there's no bread for lunches, no lettuce for salad, no breadcrumbs for the fish tonight.

The boys were really misbehaving last night; fighting with each other, their sister, refusing to clean their room, etc. I took away privilege after privilege (no playing outside, no videos, no Uno) but nothing was working.

Finally I set the timer and said, "If this room is not clean by the time this goes off, YOU DO NOT GET ANY DINNER."

That's a real, honest threat. In our house, food is currency. These kids eat more than I ever imagined they would at this age; I am not looking forward to their teen years if this is what they consume now. So I thought they would take me seriously.

They didn't.

Five minutes left on the timer, I gave them The Warning. And they continued to play, throw toys, etc.

The timer rang, and all hell broke loose.

But I stood by my words, and they didn't get any dinner last night. Yes, they went to bed hungry. And they were starving when they woke up this morning, which was to be expected.

I hope we don't have to go through that again any time soon.

On top of spaghetti

Stella does her own thing with "On Top of Spaghetti."

On common sense not being so common

Georgie has been playing this weird game. He covers his face with a bandanna (kind of like a Mel Brooks villain), puts on his cowboy hat, and walks around trying not to bang into things.

(Preparing for a career as a low-rent Criss Angel, perhaps?)

This morning, he walked into the steps and banged his shins. Hard. And then cried with pain and surprise.

It took all I had in me not to laugh. Which is terrible, but normal, I guess.

Haircuts and various injuries

Friday I went to have my hair cut, and came home to this.



The kids were playing on our bed, and Stella had a face vs. headboard incident.

You can't really see from the picture (what self-respecting 16-month-old sits still for anything?) but she bit through her lip in two places and has a two-inch bruise across her right cheek. It was a lovely shade of purple yesterday, but now it's lightened to a pukey bile color. Complements her skin color nicely.

There was blood all over George's shirt, the blankets, pillowcases, sheets, floor... I spent the evening stripping the bed and washing all of the bloody laundry.

And then I experienced an epic hard drive fail. EPIC. I had to do a complete system reinstall, which is not a big deal since all of my data is stored on a secondary 250 gig hard drive. The secondary drive was inadvertently partitioned (did I mention I'm a bit of an idiot?) and I lost years of data; archived files of correspondence I’ve typed for George; tax records; some knit patterns; my huge collection of audiobooks; most of my 10+ gig mp3 collection; white papers I wrote in my former job. The worst loss is… most of the digital photos that I took from Oct. ‘07 through last week are gone. Fortunately I had uploaded the best photos to our Photobucket album, but there are some that I'll never get back. (I managed to recover some of them that weren't archived.)

On the bright side, I kept the old 100 gig hard drive will all of my software and files on it, so I was able to pop that one in and retrieve some of my archived data. I won't be making the same mistake again; Norton Ghost is already installed and regular backups engaged.

Amongst this I have been knitting (of course; how could I handle the stress otherwise?) and am working on Stella's pants and another pair from the Yarn Harlot's basic sock recipe. I haven't had a chance to photograph my progress, maybe I'll get my act together this week.

Today is a snow day; all area schools (except for Cleveland Public, naturally) are closed. I plan on making a batch of bread dough, some granola, and building a fire. The storm will hopefully blow itself out by tomorrow. George's class tomorrow is canceled (conferences) so I'm thinking about taking them to the Science Center. We'll see how it goes.

Ice

It's 2 outside with a wind chill of -15. So you know what I braved in order to get this. At 7AM.



This really doesn't do justice. I wish my Mom could photograph it.

In which I try to explain divorce and disappointment

So Georgie asked me the other day about divorce. Totally out of the blue, as he has no experience with the subject (unless you count a random Mister Rogers episode a several months back).

Me: "Do you know what divorce is?"
Him: "It's when the parents don't like each other and stay away."
Me: "Are your parents married or divorced?"
Him: "Married!"

I'm learning that one of the hardest things about being a parent is not obsessing with sheltering your child. I don't want him to be exposed to bad behavior, violence, pain, suffering, disappointment... but is that realistic? What good am I doing him if I shelter him from everything? I think it's more dangerous to overly-protect a child, then toss him out into the world at 18 and say, 'there you go!'

So, as hard as it is to do, we've chosen to allow them to be exposed to things. Kids can be mean, and don't always share. Art classes get canceled,* play dates get changed, Nature Center programs get postponed and the wolves aren't always on exhibit. They have to learn to deal with disappointment, and understand that these things happen.

It doesn't make it any easier on the parent.




*That reminds me; Thanks so much Fairview Park Rec, it's fun to explain to my two little boys that you canceled their art class but didn't tell us until we were in the reception area waiting for the room to be opened up. Mr. Youth Program Coordinator, do you have any idea what it entails to have to bundle up two preschoolers and a toddler and have them at the rec by 9AM? (Probably not, since it's probably been years since you've had little kids, and even then your wife likely took care of everything ) Do you have any idea how irritating it is when you cancel a class without the courtesy of a phone call informing the parents? Do you have any idea how angry I am that this is the second time this has happened? The first time, the instructor called me, and I never heard from the Rec until I had to call to have my money refunded?

That $300 a year increase in my taxes was just so worth it. /sarcastic diatribe

Elf Yourself 2008

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I am a superior housewife

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My favorite question:

Reacts with pleasure and delight to marital congress.

Boule!

My first batch of boule bread, from a recent recipe in Mother Earth News, turned out great. Like, so good that I will actually make this bread several times a week for sandwiches and soup.

The Story of Pear Butter

Once upon a time, there was a man who decided to pick the pears off of his tree.


He picked more pears that his family could possibly eat.

(like, twice as much as you see in this picture.)

So, his wife, knowing how much her husband and children like pear butter, decided to put some up.



(This is the first of three batches of peeled, seeded and cored pears that went into the 5.5 quart crock pot.)


And after cooking down, blending, spicing, cooking down again, and processing in a hot water bath, this is what we have.


And the final tally
(Three jars are missing; one is almost gone already, and two are in the freezer.)


Did I mention, I do not like pear butter?

First Day of Preschool

We decided to sign George up for a "Kindergarten Readiness" class at a local preschool. It's one afternoon a week, for 2 hours, which is perfect; gets him used to separation, allows him to socialize with a small group of children, and gives me a nice block of one-on-one time with Ethan.

Today was his first day, and he did great.



On the way home tonight, Daddy saw some firewood on the side of the road, so he took the truck to go and pick it up. The boys went out to help, which of course meant that a 20-minute job took almost an hour. But, I think they all had fun.

Dentist!

The boys had their fist dentist visit today. No cavities, clean teeth, everything is great. Yay!

Their favorite part? They have gloves and masks to play dentist at home.

Baby Surprise Jacket

So I finished my Baby Surprise Jacket, which looked really, really odd when knitting. I made a few mistakes, which are visible on the front (of course) so I was thinking about ripping back to the neckline and adding some more striping. Then Stella decided to pull the buttons off, so I've decided I'm definitely ripping back, getting rid of the buttons and doing a little i-cord buttonhole for one button at the neck. Much safer. George says he doesn't like the one-button look, so he wants me to keep at least three. We'll see what works.

Ethan's First Visit to the Eagle's Nest

Ethan got to go into the Eagle's Nest now that he's three. He had a great time.

50% off beats all

Several months ago I was complaining about the cost of yarn swifts and ball winders. One of my Ravelry friends suggested that I wait for the 40% off coupon from Joann.com, then order the swift. Wait until I get another 40% off coupon and order the winder. (You can only get 40% off of one item.)

George called me last week to tell me he found a Joann coupon, and did I want him to bring it home. Good man.

I ended up finding a 50% off coupon code online, so I got both swift and winder, with tax and shipping, for $95. So guess what I did yesterday? Pictures to follow.

Is Summer Really Gone?

So much has happened since my last post in May. My father-in-law passed away; my sister had her first baby, as did my neighbor; I brewed beer for the first time, my container garden mostly died. Birthdays, anniversaries, you name it.

So I will not lament that which I did not document. I will share from here on out.

George took the day off today and we took the boys fishing.


Ethan caught the biggest fish, but George made up for it in volume.



Other fun things we did this summer...



went to the beach


visited the Memphis Kiddie Park with Aunt Mary


checked out the fire station


went to Stan Hywet Hall
(this picture is the exact spot where George proposed to me eight years ago that very day. How far we've come.)


visited Brandywine Falls (two photos, eight years apart to the day.)

I've also finished some of my knitting projects, which makes me very happy.

As sweater weather looms around the corner, I hope to have more time to blog. It's just been so beautiful, we've been outside as much as possible.