Loafin' Around

They say it is so easy, even a six year-old can do it. And a grandpa. We churned out artisan bread non-stop the past several days, testing the variables in the recipe: oven temperature, loaf size, white/wheat flour ratio, rise time, cooking time. Kneadless to say, the blog administrator has since been carting around a doughy Carbo-belly.

First Batch:

Second Batch:

Third Batch:

"Hey! Get those kids off of there!"

Talmage and Sydney watched cars whiz underneath them. The fun ended when a professional lady reprimanded me for allowing Tal and Syd to crouch on the metal grating of the skybridge. Too dangerous. Against the rules.

Dad has been here the past several days. He came for Ruth's funeral (mom's dad's cousin's wife). Her son quoted the last lines of a poem by Mary Oliver, "When Death Comes." It goes like this:

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Children inherently understand this. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, the natural ease of living life fully can be discarded. Or forgotten. Or counterfeited. We are too busy or too embarassed, too restrained by convention and rules, to get not just get down on our hands and knees, but to prostrate ourselves against the earth, and Look.

Einstein said, "Never lose a holy curiosity." And so. I shouldn't have apologized.

Barreling Forward

Concentrating on Construction

Men of the West

This is where we wined and dined and grooved to the tunes. Men of the West is an Irish music group. The lead musician, Hanz Araki, is a sixth generation shakuhachi player. He was phenomenal to watch and listen to. We were obviously novices in this genre when he rolled his eyes at the suggestion to play "Wild Rover" (overplayed?), whereas we enjoyed it immensely. It was the kind of evening that makes you skip in the parking lot when you leave the building. Take home message: listen to more Celtic music.

Nursing Home Story #1

Do they even call them that anymore?

Anyway, the Nursing director and I were walking down the hallway of the long-term care wing of the Rehabilitation Center when, from one of the bedrooms a female voice calls out, "Nu-urse! Nurse!"

We enter the room to find a disheveled-haired, silent gentleman, concave in his wheelchair, just inside the doorway. The woman, perched at the edge of her bed, bare legs dangling down protests his presence with, "There's a man in my room!" The nursing director redirects the man out to the hallway. As I turn to leave, the woman - who must be accustomed to these uninvited (?) encounters pertly says, "He likes my legs."

Given my references pan out and all that, this will be my new place of employment. One to two 8-hour shifts a month. I'm already looking forward to getting to know The Residents.

Evolution

Sydney's mode of locomotion is evolving upward. Then, last night, she stepped away from her shopping cart and seemed as surprised as we did to find herself standing upright, unsupported. She experimented with taking a couple steps, but still prefers crawling. She is just tickled about the whole thing. We are, too. We LOVE watching her learn to walk.

Two Sides of the Same Coin

When I was an ideal parent (before I had kids), I did not believe in television, and, by extension, videos. Since Talmage and I were out of ideas of what to do this morning, we consulted an activity book that suggested playing "Mad Scientist." The "little chemists" (isn't that cute?) were given various cups, measuring spoons, etc. and some salt, flour, water, etc. and told to go to town. This was a good idea. In theory. Sort of like making a pudding puddle on your kitchen floor (the above link, in green, will show the proof is in the pudding).
"I'm making cookies!" Talmage said. Two seconds later the salt container was empty, a floury paste was spread all over the stool, floor, and clothing, and they were done. It took ten times longer to clean up than it did to set up and play with. Now what? The truth comes out. This is what they did this afternoon:

Yeah. Their own private viewing stations, to boot.

Why is Corned Beef Corned?

If the above image makes you want to throw up, then you definitely will feel glad you didn't eat at our house tonight. We perpetuated the familial tradition of eating Corned Beef and Cabbage on St. Patrick's Day. (except, to be honest, it was Corned Beef and Soggy-Disintegrating-Mush-Cabbage. Yum.).

The answer to today's question is here.

Talk About Five Guys

We ate burgers instead of pie (3/14) today.
Help yourself to a handful of peanuts while you wait in line.

Gotta hand it to Five Guys:
Your burgers are waaaay better than Red Robin's.
And the name of your chain is cooler.

Lessons for Life

Look Closely

TOUCH SOFTLY

Clear Obstacles

LISTEN CAREFULLY

Enjoy the ride

As the weather warms, I aim to spend more time exploring Portland's abundant nature parks with the kids. First on the list was Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, established in 1988. It is Portland's first urban wildlife refuge and home to the Great Blue Heron.

A Commentary on a Walk and a Near Death Experience

Talmage picked through the items I had thrown out of the Bogus onto the garage floor and put his selections into the Fisher Price shopping cart: several pairs of Lightening McQueen underwear, pajama bottoms, lots of pens and pencils, a hat, etc. (It was getting pretty deep in the car).

The lure of the azure beckoned him outside. He moseyed down the driveway, pushing the shopping cart and calling out over his shoulder, "Come on a walk, Mommy!" The blue sky and departing child won. As we strolled along, I listened to his chatter:

That's a tree lollipop.
Oh! A pinecone.
Look at that truck.
Let's go straight. Not left, mom.

Neighbor guy to Talmage: Are you running away from home?
Talmage: I'm going on a walk.

Those are sharks (the exposed tree roots he was four-wheeling over).

Towards the end of our walk, a neighbor gave us a fistful of daffodils and a crocus. Earlier in the walk Talmage had gnawed on a fallen palm frond. So maybe it was a nod to scientific inquiry, because when he took a bite of the crocus petal and declared, "Yum", I didn't stop him when he stuffed in the remaining petals in two big, satisfied bites.

Briton came home 15 minutes later and said maybe Crocus are poisonous. He found this on the internet:

"Most forms of Crocus are extremely toxic, it has been used to treat rheumatism, arthritis and gout... Crocus poisoning is similar to arsenic poisoning, symptoms appearing 2 to 5 hours after ingestion include burning in the mouth and throat, diarrhea, stomach pain, vomiting, and kidney failure followed by death from respiratory failure."

While Briton was reading scary stuff on the internet, I was calling Mrs. Z, my gardening guru who eats flowers. She said to call Poison Control and she would pray for us.

Poison Control: Did you try to wipe his mouth out after it happened?
Me: Uh, nooo ... I thought it was funny that he was eating a flower with such relish.
PC: What's your name?
Me: Alfreida.

It didn't occur to me that the lovely harbinger of spring, the season of new birth, could also bring on sudden illness and death. Luckily, springtime crocus are not the killers that their autumn cousins are. Sheesh! It was very panicky there for a moment. Poison Control said to always call them first before looking stuff up on the internet. And also, don't be a dumb mom.

How to Draw a Car

(and so on)

Finished.

The two inner-most circles are 1) the steering wheel, and 2) "the guy".

A Walk in the 'Hood

Syd's Great-Grandma Davis made this hoodie - maybe 30 years ago - for one of Jeanne's kids. I didn't know it existed until it arrived in the mail with Jeanne's explanatory note attached. It has funky multicolored cuffs and not one seam of serging. I like the colors. Very vintage. Very "Grandma Davis".

Ralph Waldo Emerson said,

"I am not much an advocate for traveling, and I observe that men run away to other countries because they are not good in their own, and run back to their own because they pass for nothing in the new places. For the most part, only the light characters travel. Who are you that have no task to keep you at home?"

It is us, Emerson. It is us. (or is that, "It is we"?)

Whoever it is, we'll keep running away to other countries as long as we may. We started planning our trip to Greece in earnest. By which I meant-tersay, we went to the library tonight and borrowed some books about Greece and now Briton is skimming through a book on mountaineering (not in Greece) and I just finished skimming a book on kid-friendly places to visit in Portland. Greece, ready or not, here we come! Because we ain't got no task to keep us at home.

I think our lack of anxiety about planning our trip stems from the success of one of our most favorite vacations. We arrived in Belize a couple years ago with a very general itinerary. We walked out of the airport and said, "Now what?" A guy offered us a ride from his friend, who would be arriving shortly in his truck. We accepted, having decided that their destination sounded just as good as anywhere else. Plus, the ride was free.

There began our 10-day-ish journey of supreme luck and odd adventure: camping with roosters; watching the morning mist rise from the ruins of Tikal; tubing in the National Jaguar Reserve, canoeing through a cave where ancient human skulls were "naturally" displayed; riding a jeep past a Mennonite village (on Sunday, while they were attending their meetings. I felt very irreverent); snorkeling; eating tuna fish out of a can on Christmas Eve in our tent that was pitched in the dark, only to discover in the morning that it was someone's front yard. Etc.

This is all to say that I think Greece is going to be a blast because I am traveling with my favorite person in the whole entire world and we travel well together. We two good-fur-nothin's.

We Wean!

#1. Sydney is weaned.

When she woke up crying at 5 a.m. this morning, I went in with the intention of nursing her back to sleep, as has been our habit in the early morning. Unfortunately (or fortunately), there was no let-down. Talk about let down! Briton tried consoling her and offering a sippy cup. Sydney was not cool with that. After an hour of howling, she eventually fell back asleep. When she awoke at 8 a.m., she was cheerful and ready for a big bowl of oatmeal.

#2. Talmage is potty-trained.

For urinating.

There are no sweeter words in all the world than "I have to go to the bathroom!" As you may know, he was "potty-trained" last fall. Two weeks in diapers during Christmas vacation was the perfect formula for regression. Recently, Talmage took the initiative for giving PT'ing another try. He really wanted to wear underwear(s) again.

Big progress over here.

In Hot Water

I was talking with my sister today (yes, you). We touched a little bit on managing money in a marriage. She's got "His. Hers. Ours." My dad has his piles of gold. My mom has "The Ship" that arrives each month. Similarly, I've got "The Wisdom."

The Wisdom is a beautiful thing. It started back when we were first married. We were both working full-time, although my full-time schedule alloted for free weekdays. (That's Nursing, for you). One particular day, I industriously cleaned our little apartment, did the laundry, made dinner, read a book, exercised, ate five fruits and vegetables, and finished my fine needlepoint. Perhaps I was still a little newly-wed-starry-eyed about all the domesticity and the idea of taking care of The Husband. When Briton came home to our immaculate apartment, dinner was ready and waiting. We sat down to our homely meal of and Roasted Duck with Raspberry Glaze and Carottes Juliennes, and clasped hands as we gazed adoringly at each other. Now this part is true. "Briton," I said, "I can see the wisdom of our church leaders in encouraging us to be homemakers" (or something to that effect). I honestly felt very fulfilled from the day's work (and play).

Briton, being Briton, raised a dubious eyebrow and then made fun of me, "Oh! The Wisdom."

So, the idea of staying home and taking care of the house (and one day, the kids) started being referred to as "getting The Wisdom." As in, sitting on Heidi's porch, chatting, while the kids played happily and the sun shone benevolently upon us while The Husbands slaved away in their dark, isolated cubicles - that was The Wisdom in all its glory. The Wisdom also later became a synonym for the finances I'm in charge of for running the house. As in, "Did The Wisdom balance this month?" The beauty of The Wisdom is that I use my wisdom (or lack thereof) in its general reallocation to the local economy without being necessarily accountable to The Abacus. As long as our needs are taken care of, we're good. Right? Riiight???

Inevitably, I use The Wisdom in ways Briton would not (he still wears the same clothes he had in high school). But I'm the one with The Wisdom so he's not supposed to gripe. But things come up every now and then. Case in point happened tonight. I needed to go running. I decided to treadmill it at the rec center. It was a great workout, I talked to a lady who showed me how to do a stretch for my hip, and I listened to some cool tunes. Very much worth the admission fee. I came home, covered in dried-up sweat. Conversation ensues:

Briton: You went to the SHARC?
Me: Yeah. I had a great workout.
Briton: You paid four dollars. Why didn't you take a shower there? ... (this is the part that kills me) ... You could have used their hot water.

(This post is giving me deja vu. If I've posted about "The Wisdom" before, please forgive me. If I've posted about The Wisdom and the facts differ from this post, then bear in mind ... "never let facts get in the way of a good story).

Clusters of Crocus...

...and clusters of utility boxes.

Spring is around the corner. These are psychologically trying days for Portlanders. Sunny, clear, blue-sky days have me itching to turn the soil. But the sun is inevitably followed by rain. Lots of rain. I bide my time, watching the beautiful crocus confronting the elements until I don't have to.

A Step in the Right Direction

Stacking blocks is one of my favorite skills to see the little 'uns master. For the past bit, every now and then I'd see if Syd was interested in the blocks. Not so. Until Sunday, out of the blue, Syd demonstrated said skill. Masterfully. Her highest tower was five blocks. Her usual is 2-3 blocks. However high, she gets a kick out of it.Especially when it crashes down. (And yes, that is gummed up fruit leather on her collar. At least I dug the sticky wad of it out from under her chin after she woke up from her nap).

Another favorite skill is learning to walk. Sunday, she balanced on her own for a couple of seconds. If you trick her, she'll walk with you holding just one hand for a few steps. She is super cute barreling around the house with the shopping cart. She'll push it full speed ahead, with her little bum sticking out, having to move fast to keep up with the cart. She stops when it hits a wall or other obstacle. Then she navigates around the cart so she's facing the other direction, and she's off. Back and forth. If this skill is like her approach to stacking blocks, I'm guessing one day she'll just decide, "Today I am going to walk." Walah.

For Jolly Ann

Where does the king keep his armies?

Pretend

So this is the world of play and pretend. Joseph and Talmage can entertain themselves for hours. They go from game to game to game. Last week they were parading around the house wrapped in blankets and bedsheets and bears. Joseph announces, "I'm the Holy Ghost!" Talmage says, "I'm the Holy Ghost, too!"

Then they were pretending to take a nap. They went through the whole routine, carefully selecting where they would sleep (in the front room), arranging their "beds" with pillow and blanket (somewhere in there they swapped "Holy Ghost" attire), then choosing their pre-nap story and reading it to themselves. This is not posed. I swear.
More pretending: Talmage the accountant. The machine is from the office store my grandpa owned (circa pre-Office Max). You'll notice in all these pictures, Talmage is wearing various pairings of pajamas. None of these pictures were taken at bedtime. He LOVES pajamas. Loves, loves, loves them. His wardrobe is enhanced by Joseph's pajama collection. There is serious pajama trafficking going on between our house and Joseph's.

Talmage will wear every pajama piece in his pajama drawer - and Sydney's - in a single afternoon. He's really fine-tuning the skill of undressing and dressing himself...
... and Sydney. Below, he is about to try putting Sydney's pants on her.
A natural consequence of all this clothes-mongering is, I suppose, his attention to fashion. Tonight at dinner he studied my over-sized, bright orange Cheetos t-shirt, and declared, "Mom. I like your shirt!" Poor kid if his fashion sense derives from the selections in my closet. He's doomed.

And finally, it should be noted, Talmage is in good company when it comes to pretend.
Watch out for Glad Baggie Box Robot Man.

Wheat Thins

This recipe will save us bundles in the snack department. It is from a good friend, who shared it with us at Doomsday Divas and Dudes. Next time I am going to try it without adding any sugar - since they turned out too sweet for Mr. Abacus' taste. Also, when the recipe says roll the dough out thin, it means THINNY THIN. Most of ours were still too thick - and I even used a ruler to measure out 1/16th.

Ingredients: (1) one-year-old

Plus:

1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2T + 2 tsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1/4 cup butter, softened
1/3 cup + 2T buttermilk

Mix together dry ingredients. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add buttermilk all at once. Stir with fork until dough comes away from sides of bowl.

On floured surface, roll out dough to 1/16 inch - THIS IS VERY THIN. Cut with biscuit cutter, prick tops with fork. Sprinkle with seasoning. Place on ungreased baking sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes.Seasoning options: garlic salt, onion salt, sesame seeds, parmesan cheese, cinnamon sugar

The Question

What did the Budhist say to the hot dog vendor?

The Answer

Make me one with everything.

Lesson Prep

I'm teaching Relief Society this Sunday. Preparing a lesson alters things around here. In efforts to be more "in tune", I am watching only two episodes of "The Office" a night instead of three. Also, I was looking through old journal entries, trying to find applicable life experiences. The below paragraph describes a moment during my Psych rotation in nursing school. I was working in the lock-down unit for people with severe mental illness:

Today a lady with paranoid/delusional schizophrenia was sitting next to me on the couch. We had not met before and had not, to this point, talked with each other. We were both looking straight forward, not making eye contact. After some moments, I turned casually to look at her, wondering if she wanted to talk. Then she, turned deliberately to look at me and said, with a straight-face and in all seriousness, “You are from the family of Satan."

Probably won't be using that one in the lesson.

"Bear"

Sydney and I have been attending a sign language class together for the past six weeks. Tonight was the last night. She has been signing "light" for awhile; but a couple days ago added "bear" to her repertoire. Grrr!

A Picture For You

Today was just a regular day.

Where Would You Move?

I recently finished reading The Sex Lives of Cannibals. It is not about sex. Or cannibals. It is about the author’s experiences on Kiribiti, an equatorial, Pacific atoll northeast of Australia. It was a very good read. With this book on my mind and having read a friend’s post, I got to thinking (again) about the benefits of leaving behind the Routine and moving Elsewhere. A paragraph from the book describes one aspect of it:

It is one of the small pleasure of living in Kiribiti, that the foreigners one meets tend to live life in a vivid and eccentric sort of way, and when you listen to their tales of high adventure in the South Seas, you find that you are subsequently ruined from a conversational point of view, that you can no longer even pretend to be remotely interested in someone's trip to the mall, or their thoughts about the stock market, or their opinions about the relative merit of a football player, and soon you will be branded as aloof, simply because once, on a faraway island, you heard some good stories.

However, our five-year plan (inasmuch as we don’t have one) does not include moving. Anywhere. But I remain hopeful that it will happen one day. I feel the whisperings of opportunity every now and then when, having had a stressful day at work, Briton comes home declaring, “Intel has a job opening in Cordoba.” Or, “I could apply for this such-and-such a something in Germany.” (That was a good one. By the end of that night, thanks to Google, I had an apartment in Munich picked out). I’m crossing my fingers and hoping to die that something For Real comes up while our kids are still at home and could come with us. There is a “power on” (Intel-speak) going down at work the past few days, which means long, long hours for Briton. Maybe we’ll see where we’re moving to next when he comes home tonight! (Kiribiti! Kiribiti! Kiribiti!)

Serving Sizes

I received a box of Thin Mints from someone, who shall remain nameless. I ate them all. In one day. Well, let's be honest. In four hours. Or so. It reminded me of this Brian Regan clip. In my world, one serving of Thin Mints is one box.

Chain Gang

I got this from Mrs. Moo, who got it from her friend's blog, a Greek Goddess, who got it from her friend's blog, who begat Zorobabel, who begat ... This is my first blog-land chain letter (strike chime). As Mrs. Moo says, "It's a chain of giving and I like this idea." Me, too.

The first five people to respond to this post, saying they have joined the ranks by posting this "chain of giving idea" on their blog, get something made by me.

Fine Print:

1. It will within 12 months.

2. It will be something made specifically for you - tho' perhaps not even tangible.

(I may have messed up the rules, in which case, any blog cursings will fall on my shoulders, not yours, should you break this chain that has been going since 1957).

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.