This n' That

Making music and taste-testing the drumsticks.

We *heart* Abram and Airie.

Our good friend, Karren, made a cake for Sonya to devour in celebration of her first birthday. She invited Lila and Syd to join her. The three girls were born within a few months of each other. This pic is from the photographer's blog and she gave permission to copy it here.

Pretty in Pink

Woowee. What a weekend. Briton and I started our love-fest-weekend on our Friday night date. After a hearty platter of Sveedish meatballs, we wandered the corridors of Ikea and admired the clever closet organizers. Then, on Saturday, we each went running (separately) and I spent some time hunting and gathering. Enter Embarrasing Story (if you are male and get skittish when reading the word “bra” and “lingerie”, do not read this next paragraph. Consider yourself warned).

It’s like this: I really needed a new bra. I’ve been wearing the same dingy, maternity bra for over a year. Victoria’s Secret has it beat when it comes to buying bras. For the uninitiated, you should know that buying a bra is a pain in the neck when you never know what size to buy because when you’re nursing and weaning and then getting pregnant again and nursing and weaning you’re carrying around a moving target. They’re like the cycles of the moon. Waxing and waning. Waxing and waning. Right now they’re waning and I’m whining because the bra I have just isn’t doing its job correctly. I will spare you further detail.

So there I am, in the Ooo-la-la Store because they measure you and then hand you that nifty box in your correct size. I really like that Box System. Plus, a lady stands attentively outside your door and asks how you’re doing. She's really attentive. I finally make my choice – a very industrial-strength, every-day type of bra. As industrial strength as VS can get, anyway. No lace. No frills. Plain Jane. And then I switch gears and think about my next item. Lingerie. Come on – it’s Valentine’s Day, after all – and I know I don’t really put much stock in the commercialization of love – but still – this is something I’d been thinking about long before Valentine’s Day. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to have time to go shopping for this sort of thing on said day. Well! Lesson learned: NEVER GO TO VICTORIA’S SECRET ON VALENTINE’S DAY … especially if it is the one closest to your ward boundaries.

So there I am, clutching a diverse selection of lingerie. I look up and unavoidably see and make eye contact with someone from our ward. The husband of my visiting teacher. He, too, is making his selections. He says, “This is embarrassing.” Embarrassing? Try, mortifying. I tell him, “Do not go to the cash register. Don’t follow me!” I make my purchases. The friendly cashier lays each piece in turn, the industrial-strength bra and risqué lingerie, on the counter to carefully wrap them in the bright pink tissue paper. I make small chat and decline acceptance into the Angel Program. I turn to leave and who is standing next in line, fully in view of what the cashier was wrapping up? Yeah. He'd followed me. The next day in church, my visiting teacher and I laugh about it. She told me that her husband had come home bursting with the news: “You’ll never guess who I saw at Victoria’s Secret. Someone you’d never, ever expect to see there!”

Hey! ...What the heck!?

Two Words

"The Office"

Two Going on Sixteen

Nutrition Action

Whereupon the blog administrator learns that scampi is a synonym for butter and after consuming both chicken scampi and German pancakes, one meal after the other, she determines to serve a more healthy meal to her nutritionally deprived family.

Quick* Cassoulet**

3 leeks, white and pale green parts
6 sprigs flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
5 oz. spicy sausage, diced (e.g. Wellshire Farms Turkey Andouille or Spanish chorizo)
8 cloves garlic, minced
2 carrots, peeled and sliced
2 celery stalks, chopped
4 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
1 15 oz. can no-salt-added diced tomatoes
2 15 oz. cans no-salt-added navy beans, drained and rinsed***
2 cups water
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
½ tsp salt

Halve the leeks lengthwise, then cut crosswise into ½ inch pieces. Rinse well and spin or pat dry. Remove the leaves from the parsley stems and roughly chop the leaves. Set aside the leaves and stems separately.

In a large, heavy pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Cook the sausage and garlic until the sausage beings to brown, about 2-3 minutes. Remove the sausage and garlic with a slotted spoon to a bowl, leaving the oil in the pot.

Add the leeks and cook, stirring occasionally, until they’re softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the carrots, celery, thyme, bay leaf, parsley stems, tomatoes, beans, and water. Simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are tender, about 20 minutes.

Discard the thyme sprigs, parsley stems, and bay leaf. Mash some of the beans in the pot with a potato masher or fork. Return the sausage and garlic to the pot. Season with pepper and up to ½ tsp of salt. Garnish with the parsley leaves. Serves 6.****

Per 1 1/2 cup Serving
Calories: 290
Total Fat: 12 g
Protein: 12 g
Fiber: 10 g

* "Quick" being a relative term.
** Nutrition Action, Jan/Feb 2009, p12.
*** Full disclosure: I used 1 lb dried navy beans, soaked overnight and then gently simmered in fresh water for ½ hour, until soft. I also did not use thyme sprigs. Umm ... and I put a movie on for the kids so I could sashay around the kitchen uninterrupted (sush!).
****Verdict: Yum! Who knew leeks could taste so good? Plus, it's a perfect blend of feeling both excellent for eating beans and naughty for eating sausage.

Note: no butter was used in this recipe.

Friday Fashion Show

One of Talmage and Joseph's favorite new activities is changing into pajamas. They disembowel the pajama drawer, digging for their preferred pair of the day. This activity keeps them concentrated, quiet and engaged for a good couple of minutes.

Today, as I spied them contorting themselves into pajamas:

Me: Are you guys playing dress-ups?
Talmage: No, we're playing jamma-ups.

Thursday Hide and Go Seek

Wednesday Outings

Blue-sky bliss. To the zoo we go.

In Taiwan it is not uncommon to see a family of five on a motor scooter. Not similarly, this two-person stroller comfortably fits three.We like going to the zoo (or anywhere) with Sonya because her mom always packs good snacks for us ... I mean, her.
Talmage, making sure Sonya's dehydrated fruit passes inspection. This was after her chocolate-chip banana bread got divvied up three ways and quickly snarfed.

Tuesday Tilapia

Recently, Cousin Dave got me thinking about fish. He says you're supposed to eat it three times a day. Since he's a toxicologist, he must know. But thirty times a day seemed like too big a change, all at once. As a dietary compromise, I decided to up our fish intake from once every few months to once a week. At least for February. This is what we ate tonight. It was tasty! And eeeeaaasy.

Note: I used frozen tilapia fillets because the whole, fresh, tail-and-head-included tilapia at the meat counter scared me. Maybe one day my sister will teach me to fillet a fish, but until that happens we'll take the pre-packaged stuff wrapped in individualized, vacuum-packed, non-biodegradable plastic; also, as a nod to mom's watchful eye over our arteries and in order to use up the expired jar in the fridge, I used reduced-fat mayonnaise. It was still very creamy and flavorful - it didn't taste "off" at all. Next time I'll mince the garlic instead of just chop it, though. I'll tell you what!

Monday Virtue

Aren’t Monday’s great? They’re like a new semester. Except weekly. I am frequently “turning over a new leaf” on Mondays. Granted, it’s the same leaf getting turned over. But over it goes. This morning I was up before everyone else; like the virtuous woman in Proverbs who darns socks by candlelight and is prized above rubies. That's me. On Mondays.

Running in the morning is also part of the new leafage. This one park I run through has a ducky pond and several bridges. The bridges have been closed for a long time for repair work. Like a year. People have compensated by going around the bridges, subsequently wearing a path down and up the embankment of the waterless river. This morning the bridges were open! I pranced across the first one, feeling pretty yippy-skippy about the whole new bridge thing. I mean, this morning had a theme going, you know?

Approaching the second bridge on auto-pilot, my feet took their habitual turn off the pavement so as to follow the grooved path down the muddy embankment. It took a conscientious reorientation to stay on the high road. The instinctual tendency to follow old habits, the grooved path, runs very deep - even when the easier way is right in front of me. This is not necessarily discouraging. Especially when a Monday is just around the corner.

Sunday Lesson

This morning I was wrestling with a wiggly Sydney, who is at her slipperiest and fastest, when she has a poopy diaper. Talmage was in the same room, voicing contrary comments, as 2 year-olds may be wont to do. Exasperated with them both, I asked outloud, "Why does everything have to be a battle?!" In the quiet that followed, Talmage's quiet voice pipes up, "Mommy, be patient." Yep. A correction can't come any more clearly and be any more humbling than one like that.

I'm not sure how Talmage knew to use that phrase. It was like that one scripture in action - the one that goes "little children do have words given unto them many times, which confound the wise and the learned" (Alma 32:23). And so I approach this week with heightened awareness of the need for this mom to offer more patience. More patience, more love, more good humor. More of all the good stuff.

"One ought every day, at least, ...

...to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, speak a few reasonable words." ---Goethe.

William Samuel Parrott, Mount Hood, 1875/1895.

If no reasonable words passed my lips ("Talmage! Leave Sydney alone!!!"), today, at least, I made sure we saw some fine art. Jo and I took the kids to the Portland Art Museum for a kid-style tour.

Jolynn, you may or may not know, used to teach at a ritzy pre-school in New York. So ritzy they were not pipe cleaners, they were chenille stems. Jolynn is great to go to museums with because she knows all the tricks from her pre-school days. She brought a bag with objects in it that she pulled out one at a time. T and J were supposed to find the object represented in any of the works of art. For example, when she pulled out the small dog, they found a dog in the room. This took a small degree of hinting ("do you see any dogs [pointing to display case housing said dog] here?") and/or modeling ("oh, look! I see a rectangle right here.").

While Talmage and Joseph were receiving their advanced art lessons, the little kids gazed at the spotlights, high in the ceiling; Isaac flashed his wide grin and Sydney ooh'd really, really LOUDLY at the Native American baskets.

The above pic is kiefed from the PAM website and I hope I don't get in trouble for posting it here. It was one of my favorites.

(If you'd like the unedited version of what it's like to take a 2 and 3 year-old to the art museum, contact me).

Mad Libs on Our Lips

Talmage and I have discovered the magic of making up stories. Before naps and bedtime, we lie down, side-by-side in his bed and by the soft-yellow light from the wall-mounted moon, we spin our tale. This is a very magical moment. Nothing fancy with the actual story; but the emotional closeness, at least to me, is palpable. I pause at various junctures in the story and he supplies the noun, destination, etc. One of our first stories went like this:

Me: Once upon a time, there was a ...
T: race car.
Me: The car was driving down the road and met all his friends, like ...
T: Sally-car, Lightning McQueen, the Digger and Dumptruck.
Me: And they asked the race car where he was going. The race car said, I am going to ...
T: the Playground.
Me: The Playground. And did you know, the playground was on the moon? It was! "Can we come, too?" asked his friends. "Sure," said the race car. Come in my rocketship. etc.

The words swirl around us and spin their own webs in our heads as we both get droopy-eyed.

Yesterday, upon him waking from his afternoon nap:
Me: Did you sleep like a rock?
T: I slept like a rocketship.

Ah. Magic.

Some Dec and Jan 2008

Happy Birthday, Sydney!

Her one year check-up clocked her in at 18.8 pounds. Briton weighed 19 pounds at 12 months old – so I guess she takes after him in that department. She’s eating really well now: oatmeal/ten grain, Costco samples, pizza, crayons, Karren’s filet mignon (she's got 12 teeth - 4 of them are molars), green beans, broccoli, pretzels. She really digs Yo-baby yogurt and Godiva chocolates. She still pretty much refuses a bottle but is taking a lot more fluids by sippy cup and straw. "Fluids" does not include milk. She doesn't seem to like it all that much - which is too bad, since we are down to twice a day nursing. In about a week we’ll cut out the night-time nursing session. Keep your fingers crossed.

She does this “ooooh” sound that is delightful. Sometimes when I neglect her, after awhile I’ll wonder how she’s entertaining herself. When I spy on her, sometimes I’ll find her in the book corner, absorbed in turning page after page and “oooh-ing” at each picture.

She crawls fast. Super fast. It seems like every other kid at church who is younger than she is, is already walking. But Syd prefers the crawl mode for now. Or the carry mode. I carry her a lot. She is cuddly. My heart melts when she relaxes her head against my shoulder. She loves music and being danced. She shakes and clicks together any shakeable and clickable object. Her verbal skills, besides fussing, include babababa-ing, mamamama-ing, and a sound that I swear means, “What’s that?” It’s a sweet “Whattsat?”

Sydney has beautiful eyes. She does this thing when you’re holding her, where she grabs your chin with her fist and turns your face so that you are staring straight at her. Then she grins and laughs. If you turn your head away again, she will immediately grab your chin and turn your head back to face her. Repeat. She also pat-pats your arm or shoulder when you hold her; her face absolutely lights up when she’s excited; she enjoys pushing the shopping cart around; she sucks her two left main fingers; she locks her legs together, at the ankles, with incredible force.

She is very playful. She’s been interested in putting toys into buckets. She is not interested in stacking blocks. She gets by with a one-hour nap at noon. But she also goes to bed at 7:30 p.m. Practically every night. Without a fuss. That is waaaaay cool. She sleeps until 6 a.m., because she is in the habit of having her early-morning nursing session. But then she’ll sleep again for another hour. We love you so much! You bring light to our lives.

(Written on February 17th)

Nursery Rhyme Time

One Misty Moisty Morning




Jack Be Nimble

Here She Comes!

Apple Core! Baltimore.

Remember that childhood ditty? I lived it today. Particularly the "cored" part. Not to get too graphic, here, but it seems I've developed a sort of ... spotty rash ... uh, all over, well ... you know....

The grandmotherly nurse handed me a tissue-thin hospital gown. "Sorry it's so cold," she apologized. I clutched the teeeny tiny robe around me (when did they get so small?) and explained to the wide-eyed Talmage and noninterested Sydney what was about to happen.

The lanky, grey-bearded dermatologist whipped out a magnifying glass, just like a real detective, peered at a few spots, then ponderously said (and I quote), "Thaaaat's unusual." Hmh! To which I have to say, "Thaaaat's reassuring." He thinks it might be an allergic reaction to something. "But we'll have to do a biopsy." That's where the coring part comes in.

The accommodating receptionist watched Talmage and Sydney while I was whisked to another room (the operating room, I guess). The nurse flipped on the radio to calm my chattering nerves, and layed a thick blanket on top of me to still my chattering teeth. She chattered about upcoming Christmas plans, her fiance (!), whilst gathering supplies. I listened to her with one ear and listened for Sydney out front with the other.

The dermatologist entered and peered again at the spots, choosing his favorite two and circling them with a purple "pen". He showed me the biopsy tool aka coring device. Really. A small metal, hollow cylinder that he punched into my ... and removed a foot-long tube of skin layer. He reaffirmed that this could be an allergy and asked that I think really hard about any changes in my diet, etc. during the past week or so (just so you know, I am drawing a blank).

We won't know the results until after Christmas vacation - so stay tuned. But I tell you what, if I had a choice, I hope I'm allergic to sugar. Wouldn't that be great? I think a deathly allergy would help me kick my sugar addiction.

If you had a choice, what allergy would you prefer?

And 12 Makes Half-way There

The advent calendar (an Airie Craftie) is a highlight of each morning for us. It is especially fun now that Talmage is old enough to be excited to see what is in each pouch and to anticipate the next day.

"Suzy Wants a Doll"

The Best Seat in the House

Holiday Music Group

Today Talmage participated in his first performance. For the past 10 weeks, he has been attending Stephanie's music group. One hour a week. No parents allowed. I'm not sure if Stephanie swore the kids to secrecy, but Talmage was decidedly mum about all the songs they were learning. "What did you learn in music class today, Talmage?" I'd ask when I picked him up each week. "Itsy Bitsy Spider" was his standard, matter-of-fact reply. In fact, Stephanie did not teach them Itsy Bitsy Spider. She taught the kids, like, 14 songs for the performance. To a group that had a 2 1/2 year old. I was impressed. Steph did an awesome job not only teaching them new songs to sing, but also with teaching them rhythm, listening, music theory ("quarter note") and instrument recognition ("oboe"). The performance was very entertaining and endearing, and you can watch all 30 minutes of it. Just ask.

With Teacher Stephanie :)

Small Sampling of the Singing

A man works from sun to sun...

...but a woman's work is never done.

Hello, Mr. Mud Puddle,

How are you today?

Me? My ears feel fine. In fact, they're up for some splashin'!

Video: The Mud Puddle Shuffle:

Saturday Sickness and Sunset

From midnight onward, Talmage cried off and on because his ear hurt. In the morning we took him to Urgent Care, where he was (surprise) diagnosed with a double ear infection. Last year at exactly this time, he was taking antibiotics for an ear infection. It's like, a tradition. Anyway, he's been feeling pretty lousy today, as you can tell:
Later today, Briton was out doing yard work and enjoying a fantastic, fiery sunset. This pic doesn't quite capture the colors, but check out the shapes of the clouds:
Goodnight, mush. Goodnight, adult ward Christmas party. Goodnight, everybody.

And so, Lafawnduh...

... we say farewell to you.

Ever since she lost her roosting companion, Fraulein Biff, Lafawnduh has been a lonely, lonely bird. Is there any thought more chilly than a chicken alone on her roost during the winter? This has bothered me. A lot. To her small coop, however, I was dubious about introducing another young bird. Lafawnduh, as you know, has a sketchy past, and is certainly skittish and aggressive enough that a new companion would have doubtful tenure. I’ve been thinking it was time to give her up.

This morning when I broke the ice in her water trough, I let her know that she was bound for, if not greener pastures, at least more pasture. And more fowl-lowship. Harnessing my chicken-catching acumen, I waved my arms around, trying to corner the freaked out bird, since she was not totally getting the idea of entering the Size 3 diaper box on her own free-range will. Once inside, however, she hunkered down for the slippery ride out to the farm.

Lawfawnduh In A Box and A Farmer Leg

We were greeted by the sight of several chickens pecking around the yard. I knew Lafawnduh would be much happier at the farm ... as soon as she finds her place in the pecking order. I wonder what went through her head when she, after months of winging it solo, was suddenly dumped into a huge pen chockablock full of fowl. She dashed for an open spot in the run and soon after was accosted/welcomed by a rather large, fluffy white chicken. Their scuffle reminded me of the Mother Goose rhyme: the fighting cats of Kilkenny. They had no sooner broken things off, when Lafawnduh turned on an unsuspecting guinea. At least it looks like she will be able to hold her own. And maybe even get a spot on the roost tonight.

Giving up Lafawnduh brings me to another point. Ever since starting in on the fresh egg venture, I’ve been the recipient of a diverse collection of chicken paraphernalia. Friends and family have bequeathed such things as a motherly ceramic hen that sits atop our stove, a flashlight chicken that makes a “lovely” cock-a-doodle-doo whenever you turn on the flashlight, and a maniac chicken that drives a battery-powered car with the radio turned onto some hard rock station. Probably my favorite piece is from my in-laws (not to diminish the others). I really like it: Cute, huh? However, now that Lafawnduh is gone, I'd like to take this chance to announce that I'd like to put the acquirement of chicken items behind me. It’s just too (gasp, sob, sputter) painful to receive chickenware. It reminds me of a much gentler, free-ranging time.

So, really, I appreciate the stuff and, even when some items were given in jest, I appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the chicken-themed gifts. Really. But now, it's time I move forward. Chicken-free. Will we ever get chickens again? Maybe. Will I ever want to take up collecting chicken items? Nah.

Zoo Lights

Train ride: "Hi, Sonya. Fancy meeting you here."

Christmas lights illuminated various animals (not real). The cockroaches (real) scuttled around, the polar bears kept out of sight, Mama elephant nudged baby Sam awake, K&C reminisced on their proposal, the crocodile jaws squeaked, Africa and her bats were off-limits, and we munched on warm, heavily sugared Elephant Ears (mmmm!), under the glow of a gingerbread house pumping out a Nutcracker tune. See you next year, ZooLights!

Christmas Comes Early Sometimes

I found a classic Tonka dumptruck on craigslist and picked it up after Talmage went to sleep. It was secreted away into our closet in our bedroom, there to hide until it got wrapped. The next morning as I was getting dressed, I had an unexpected visit from Talmage, who wandered in to the closet to say Good Morning. He immediately spied the dumptruck and said, delightedly, and with complete conviction, "Oh, look! A dumptruck for me." Indeed.

The Thankful Tree

"The tree ... is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men..."
(1 Ne 11:21-22).

As the leaves fell off of the outside trees, we taped leaves on the indoor tree. Doing this, though out November, would leaf us with increased gratitude to Him, from whom all blessings flow.
Some blessings:

Beautiful World; Music; Friends; T and Necklaces and Butternut Squash; 'Jammies; Electricity; Family; Backrubs; Freedom; A Roof Over Our Head; Quiet; Trucks; Health; Diversity; The Restoration; Naps; Clear Skies After Rain, Morning Runs, Hawks, Post-Run Lungs, Breakfast; Clean Diaper; Temple; Running; Sunsets with Sydney; Cars to Play With; 6 p.m.; the Gospel; Legos; The Bogus; Yummy Food.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Day

MORNING: The First Annual International Hillsboro Turkey Trot (complete with random prize drawing) started off with a kids' 50 (or so) yard dash down the street. The big kids had their choice of a 5K (or so) run or 1 mile (or so) walk. Heidi and Briton set course records for their respective genders.Gearing up for the big race.

Thanks, all y'all (especially our international participants) for making the Turkey Trot a smashing success.

MID-MORNING: After the trot, we all scattered to our divers homes to make final food preparations. This is where it got (more) fun. Here, Ellen is making the thickener for the gravy...right next to a can of polyurethane. Uh, yep.Actually, the secret to Ellen's lumpless gravy is Lego People, which act as effective friction points for breaking up lumpballs in the thickener. Like a real Pilgrim, she made do with what was available. The gravy turned out perfectly.

AFTERNOON: Then, feast we did. The standard menu, plus pies. Pumpkin, bumbleberry, banana cream, and apple, please. I had a slice of each. For starters.
Jo's dad cutting into the apple pie (apples courtesy of Mrs. Z's organic tree).Dad eating the blumbleberry. From a camp chair. We didn't have the fanciest set-up (except for the table decorations, thank you, Jolynn), but the meal was tasty and the company was par excellence.

EVENING: Digest.

Soooo GWOS!

As in, "the Goodwill Outlet is sooooo GWOS!" As in, I am a Goodwill Outlet Snob. Briton and I ducked into the outlet in search of a new phone last night (heady date-stuff, I know). I left with a strong desire to find the nearest decontamination unit.

If you've never been to a Goodwill outlet, then permit me to paint a picture. The outlet is a cavernous, warehouse-type room with about five aisles of waist-high, 6 foot long bins on wheels. The bins are full of piles of Stuff, haphazardly thrown together in a soupy mix of clothing, electronics, vintage suitcases and ... phones.

A large sign, hanging from chains attached to the ceiling, indicates that Stuff is purchased by the pound. Once we figured out the System (none), we began our search; strategically splitting up to maximize our time. I discovered one phone, half buried under a pre-Pentium computer monitor. Holding the prize at arms'-length, pinched between thumb and pointer finger, I wandered across the room to Briton who was elbow-deep in a phone cord spaghetti ball. He was trying to find a matching handset and base. The number pad on one handset was held in place by scotch tape. Another handset required batteries. (We want one that doesn't need batteries to avoid our current problem).

As we pooh-poohed various phones, I got to thinking about used phones and how, even if they're given a chlorine workover, is it possible they are ever really clean? All that stale spittle and bad breath conversed into used phones. And rough whiskers, earwax, sweaty heads, etc. Does it ever come out? We left without a phone.

Snug as a Bug in a Rug...

...when Briton goes out for a jug.

Two Little Turkeys

notice the beak above the eyes;
also, the young artist perceived the turkey needed a shirt. he requisitioned the orange feather to serve the purpose.
we're very excited to dress another bird next Thursday!

An Improv on "Wheels on the Bus"

It's 10:40 p.m.
Talmage is still at it in his room (remember, he's immune to sleep). Through the wall that separates our bedroom from his, I hear, at a quite rapid tempo:

"The underwears on the bus go, 'I am cool. I am cool. I am cool.' The underwears on the bus go, 'I am cool'...."

Subsequent stanzas highlight the "Big underwear", "Lightening McQueen", and then "the Big Lightning McQueen" - all of whom are "cool".

Care-free Sundays

Except for choir, there were no post-church activities. The day was unusually wide open. A relaxing afternoon morphed into a relaxing evening. Taking advantage of our private resort amenities, we all jumped into the back-deck hot tub. Syd was so tired from her hit-and-miss naps that the warm water lulled her right to sleep by 6 p.m. (until 10:30 p.m. ... now what?).

Talmage, on the other hand, is a different creature when it comes to sleep. He's immune. Despite the curative sleep-powers of the hot tub, he was still raring to go. Sometimes (a lot of times) I prefer it when he entertains himself. But today we were just hanging out, going with the flow, doing whatever.

The video (from a few days ago) is of the T and B driving the car to Costco. Leaning back, they go up the hill. Right after our fancy camera cuts them off, they lean forward and "crash" the car. Then T runs to the cupboard to fetch the "toolbox" to fix the car. Repeat.

Their other car routine occurs on the other couch/bus. They both pretend they're asleep on the bus. Talmage says, "Wake up! It's time for school!" They wake up, run around the house, jump on the couch, Talmage commands, "Go to sleep on the bus!", compliance. Repeat.

Rassling with him tonight, we discovered a new game. Briton was the dump truck (on all fours), I was the dirt, and Talmage was the digger. He'd scoop at me with a little bowl and dump the bowl on Briton's back whilst I simultaneously threw a limb o' dirt on to the dump truck. Once the pile of dirt was completely loaded on top of the dumb truck, it'd get dumped back on the ground (next time you can be the dirt). Anything involving vehicles, especially diggers and dump trucks, is a hit with the T-ball. But also, sometimes, I wonder when he will discover his parents are weird.

Seeing

Sometimes, when the Light is just so, you see things as they really are. These I swept away:
These, I'll keep:

Details of a Dental Visit or Slippery Teeth

This morning I went to the dentist.

1) How many of you out there start flossing religiously, and I mean, religiously, the week or so preceding your scheduled visit? The truth is, you didn’t even know where the dental floss was hiding until now. But here you are, trying to harden up those gums in hopes you can trick the dentist into thinking all along you’ve been a daily flosser. Dental Visit Eve you may even floss twice a day. Your gums bleed from the frantic sawing. But it’s okay because you know it’s bleed now or in the chair when they poke that sharp tool against the edge of your gums, i.e. the periodontal data collection. You start reading your scriptures every day, too.

2) The hygienist, Joyce, taps her appointment book and asks me if Briton is two-timing them. “Is your husband … seeing someone else?” she asked, peering over her appointment book through her designer glasses. Apparently she’d last seen his molars eleven years ago. I explained that he wasn’t being unfaithful, but that semiannual checkups weren’t his thing. She asked if I would make an appointment for him. I did a double-take before giving her a resounding, “No!” Maybe y’all have different ideas about “taking care” of your husbands, but for me and my house, I figure they are his teeth and it’s his job to take care of them. I don’t brush them. I don’t floss them. I don’t make dentist appointments for them. Joyce appeared a little dismayed and then asked if it was okay with me if the dentist office called him. When I got home, Briton said they’d already called.

3) It seems like every time I go to the dentist, technology has been there before me. The newest gadget this time was how Joyce documented the periodontal thingy. Instead of calling out the numbers to a scribe as she pressed each tooth, she tapped her foot on a pedal on the ground that recorded the numbers on the computer screen. It was kind of like Dance Revolution at the dentist.

4) A. had asked who my dentist was and I told her. Awhile later I received a letter in the mail thanking me for my “referral” and as proof, they were crediting my account with so many clams. When the receptionist calculated my bill, minus the credit, the balance came to a whopping 10 cents. Ten cents! What a deal.

5) If you live in an area without fluoride in the water, start giving your kids fluoride drops at age six months. Supplement until the are 6 or 7 years old. This is not a conspiracy.

Here's the Kicker(s)

Have wanted to post this for a while, finally figured out our Mac: the kids, each at around 3 months old, showing off what little legs can really do.

Little T, tracing the tuners:


Syd, following in her brother's footsteps:

Underwear and Boys

In elementary school, I walked home for lunch every day. One afternoon, upon returning to the playground, I inadvertently walked past the basketball court where my fellow BOY third-graders were playing basketball. In their underroos. They gave me a shout out and I wanted to die.

Remember underroos? [start jingle]: "Underroos are fun to wear. You can wear them anywhere." They took that to mean, anywhere, even without pants. I don't remember where their pants were. I do remember feeling acutely embarrassed and scurrying past them as quickly as possible.

Now, with a boy o' my own, I am starting to understand that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Boys, it seems, just like their underwear. The more, the merrier. Lately, Talmage has been real keen about wearing multiple underwears at a time.

Case in point:
Setting: Today, mid-morning. In bedroom, folding laundry. Enter, Talmage.

Talmage: Mommy, I did it!
Me: [aware he had been busy putting on underwear in his room]. That's great! How many underwears do you have on?
Talmage: [without skipping a beat] Three!
Me: Let's count them.
[bending over his backside, filing through each level of underwear elastic band]
One, two, three, ... four, five! You've got five underwears on!
Talmage: Yeah!

He was so happy about wearing five pairs of underwear that I tossed him two more from the laundry pile. He put those on, too. I mean, seven. One benefit to multiple layers is the insulation factor. Briton came home for a run at lunchtime and took him out in the jogging stroller. His buns were toasty warm the whole time.

"I dinosaur."

As requested:


(The tail kills me):

If You Chance To Meet A Frown

The outside drizzliness reflected my inside gloominess. The day dragged on and on. Boredom and such. What do you do when you feel sad and it's raining? Ah, the distraction served by Consumerism. I took Talmage to Target and said, waving my hand airily, "Buy anything you want." He certainly wasn't feeling sad as he clutched his Matchbox cars, jiggity-jog, all the way home. My glumness remained, though.

Then, soon after arriving home, H. and H. called, one after the other, and they helped break the spell. You can't put a price on a good chat. Especially on rainy days. Heid - you're right, that talk helped ("Finding Joy in the Journey"); and I hear, Heather, you found your cat. And your mittens. That makes me smile.
Other things that make me smile:

Talmage Gems, like:
"Helicockter" and "Torque-a-tee-a" (tortilla)
"May I have some more [insert requested object]? ... Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese?"
"It's time for school!"
"Mommy, I'm so proud of you!" (when I go on the potty).

Sydney Gems, like:
Enthusiastically raising both hands above her head and giving her toothy grin
The Razz Game, back and forth
When she crawls on her hands and knees
Going to bed every night at 7:30 without ever crying

Briton Gems, like:
Right now he's wearing the same green/blue tartan plaid pajamas that he wore in high school
He gets excited when the Lego magazine comes
His nightly "Fix" (Adam's PB and Bread/Tortilla and milk).

The Envelope, Please

For the second general election in a row, I forgot to place my ballot in the secrecy envelope before sealing it in the outer envelope. Does not using the secrecy envelope invalidate your vote? My Help Line told me how I could tamper with my ballot without making it look like it was tampered with. Steaming.

B and I laughed to tears over one of the candidate's write-ups. Some people are so ... paranoid.

Anyway, the deed is done. On a local level, please, please, please let the Parks and Recs measure pass. On a federal level ... tomorrow will tell. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Steady as she goes, America.

First Homophone. Sort of.

Setting: On couch. Briton reading a book about instruments to Talmage.

Briton, pointing to an oboe: This is an oboe.
Talmage: It's a oboe. (pause, then, pointing to his elbow) I got an oboe on this.

Update

(Note: we kept losing and finding and losing our camera this past week; not many pics to document an action-packed week)

Last Thursday we experienced Trunk or Treat for the first time. Talmage, once he got the procedural rules down, walked from trunk to trunk voicing the obligatory, "Trick or Treat!". Then, between cars he shouted to no one and everyone, "Thank you everybody! Thank you!" Such exultant jubilation. A kid's first Halloween must be incredibly mind-boggling. All of a sudden, people are handing you fistfuls of candy. Not only that, but then your parents turn a blind eye to it's unrestrained consumption. Now that's sweet.

On Halloween, Talmage and Joseph paid their oblations to the Halloween Gods again. I got a kick out of T's dinosaur tail bobbing behind him. Yep. No picture. Watching T's delight in the festivities, I learned what lots of you already know: holidays with kids are the best.

Saturday morning, Sydney and I drove to Quincy, Washington for an Apple Smashing party. After 5 1/2 hours in the car, we arrived at the resplendent, tidy apple orchard of the Yeates family. They're Mark and Marianne's aunt and uncle. HAYRIDE with KA, Hazel, Emma, Kate

Every year the cousins get together to glean apples and make apple juice with an Amish cider press. Uncle Carl drove the tractor up and down the rows of trees, pulling the wooden box behind him. All the cousins poured buckets and buckets of Fuji apples into the box. A box holds 900 pounds of apples. We filled it in about 20-30 minutes. The apples got a cold wash, then we threw them into a huge metal tub where they got a hot water bath. The rest of the afternoon was spent turning the grinder on the press. Thirty seconds on the wheel did me in. It was hard work, but everyone took turns, as it were. I wish I had pictures of the step-by-steps. The result, anyway, was a thick, rich, dark brown, apple juice. The sweetest, purest juice I've ever tasted. We brought home 8 gallons. The juicing was followed by a large chili and sandwich dinner and Halloween games. Sydney and I cut out around 7:30 p.m. for the long drive back home. I loved getting to know the Yeates and Marianne's side o' the family. Thanks, M&M, for the invite.