Packing Them In.

The outdoor adventures and the kids, that is:

Above: Monday's 80-degree-weather-inspired trip to the beach.

Below: A pre-April 15th hiking attempt, foiled by seasonal closure. And no shoes. We'll save you for later, Sauvie Island.
Giddy over the zoo geyser, with friend Max, this past Saturday.

Sunday's walk:

And walk she does!

Restraining Orders

The Bogus was recuperating at the mechanics last week, carseats still inside. This was a problem, because we were now at home and I had tight plans for the morning that necessitated dropping Syd and Talmage off at Honey Jo's - about a 10 minute drive away. What to do?

I tossed the kids in the truck, seeking to secure at least one carseat from nearby friends. I also considered possibly sneaking over to Jo's without one. That drive around the block, with Syd scrambling out of the lapbelt, me elbowing her aside so I can shift, and she trying to climb on top of my head (think "cat in a car"), convinced me of the foolishness and danger of such a plan. Luckily, we found one carseat for her, shifted Talmage to the center lap belt, and off we went. Only 50% illegal (oh. and I didn't have my license... so make that, say, 67%).

My eyes darted everywhere, driving defensively ... but mostly looking for cops. Sure enough, as we pulled up to a stoplight, we came head to head with a police car. I, very naturally, placed my hand on Talmage's head and said (i.e. marshalled), "A cop! DUCK!" "Nose to your knees! Nose to your knees!" Whilst shoving my son's head down with one arm, I put on a patient, innocent, bored-looking face for the officer. In case he was looking. I wasn't sure how long Talmage would think this was fun and sighed relief when the officer's arrow turned green.

Now. To teach Talmage the police officers are our friends.

(for the record: the return trip with the kids was made in The Bogus. In carseats).

Two Lips...

... and some shoes that fit two, too.
(Syd with the girls: Lila and Annika; Sonya was down the lane)

A tractor ride with Di and Jed, T's best bud*;

Puddle-hopping, his pants soaked with mud.

(*A couple days ago, Talmage had spent some time at Jed's house. Driving away in the car, I said to T, "Jed's your friend, huh." To which Talmage clarified, "No. He's my bud.")

Huevos Fritos Con Friton

Gracias por los huevos en nosotros de blogamos basket. Sunday morning saw me smiling wide as I read his take on the week. His secret was out by Thursday. It's a toss up for which caused more anxiety: having to wait to see what Friton was writing, or experiencing the mental clogging of tidbits and thoughts that normally get flushed out here on the ribbity blibbity blog.

Detox Results:
1. I didn't die
2. The minis experienced quality attention; I didn't have to deal with the guilt, like I normally do, for making Sydney scramble her own eggs while I "checked my email"
3. There is no correlation between internet usage and The Wisdom
4. Still no projects finished. But the lawn got mowed, and once, I took a nap with the kids
5. She called EVERY SINGLE DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY.

The First Drink:
Computer on: 8:10-9:07 a.m.
New emails: 62
Number of new emails that were "junk": 25
First email read: From Briton.
Email I wished I hadn't missed: From long-time friend, Sara.
First blog checked: Ribbit.
Then, Goomba Shoe.
Then, Social Explosion.

Things I learned:
1. I feel more "present" with my kids when technology is taken out of the picture. That is good. I don't want them to grow up with their number one childhood memory being "mom at the kitchen counter, staring at a computer screen"
2. The world will not fall apart if I do not check email 5o times a day.
3. I do not need a computer to waste time. I'm really good at finding other ways to do it.
4. I am in *love* with Trader Joe's Greek Style Apricot Mango Yogurt. And Friton.

Huevo Seis Connubial

One apparently spurious explanation for the tennis score called "Love" attributes a cultural handoff/malformation of French's "l'oeuf" (the egg), because the zero resembles the shape of an egg: 0

I'll close my brief stint of stealth blogging along this aspect of the egg theme, begging pardon from those of you wondering if we're not really nearing a cheese-laden holiday (nevermind the "Con Queso Solo" blurb a few days ago...).

.You
Who cracks me up
Who puts Humpty-Dumpty back together again
Who has the creative bloggin' nog'gin
Who is always looking sunny-side up
Who goes the eggstra mile
Who beats me in a peppered game of scrambble
Who lives my moussed eggstraordinary wife

Huevo Cinco Con 3 Amigos

Today was the ward Spring Fling/Easter Party. We gathered for tasty sandwiches and the much-hyped egg hunt. T, J & J continued their fun on the huge lawn running wildly, and of course, crashing!


The keep-the-egg-on-the-spoon race ensued. T saw me do my leg according to the "adult" rules, with the spoon in my mouth. He chose to follow suit, and no monkey business with the egg's safety:

Huevo Quatro Con Junta

Every so often, like today, I make a business trip to DuPont, WA. I was excited this time to go running during the lunch hour --a new work acquaintance there had suggested a nice route down to the Sound and back that he does routinely.

I set out, cut through some woods, ran along a cement plant's fenceline and popped out onto a paved road. I began noticing signs posted every several hundread yards on either side of the road marking the woods behind them: "Do Not Enter. Small Arms Impact Area" Hmhh, I'd never seen one of those before. Eventually a red pickup slowed beside me and a gruff hulk in fatigues started barking at me: "You're not supposed be running on this road. This is a military base. And you're not supposed to have those things in your ears [my iPod]." I was more annoyed with his claim to musical sovereignty. I muttered some self-justification, planning to just continue down to the water. He showed no sign of moving his red (standard issue, surely) truck though, and so I did an "about-face!" and continued back from where I'd come. Lame-o, they never bothered my friend.

On the run back (music playing), my thoughts went to the book I've been reading about 20th century Greece and the military coups, substituting Puget for Aegean...

Huevo Tres Con Queso Solo

As has been blogged before, T will often sing, loudly, to himself late at night in his room, as he makes his own, prolonged, preparations for bed. Tonight through the walls we got a slightly new rendition of an old classic, spurred no doubt by the library book we got themed around the song:

The cat takes the rat
The cat takes the rat
Hi-ho, the dairy-o
The cat takes the rat

The dog takes the cat...

The child takes the dog...

[pause]

The child takes the cow...

The child takes the cow... [again]

The cow stands alone...

Maybe because in the library book, the characters eat the cheese, and hey, the cow does seem to disappear. 'night T.

Huevo Dos Con Deja Vu

This wisdom have I seen also under the sun,
and it seemed great unto me: (eccl.9:13)

I've enjoyed having lunch with the family these last two days, by no especial arrangement--once at home, once at a park near my work. Comparing the two experiences, I'm left to think that it must happen everyday, for they seemed one and the same. Ah, and we see again the wisdom en action!

. T and J running wild in the new green grass
. Golden sun rays and blue blazing skies
. R yacking on the phone with H
. HJ&I (not HI&J) sharing the good stuff
. R not getting to her lunch
. T getting to his sunburn


(I don't have photos of this lunch fun --c'mon, I'm winging it here, but voici some shots of our hike/picnic on Sunday)

(and our neighborhood --it's springtime!)

Huevo Uno Con Sopapillas

tap... tap... "Testing..." tap... scREECH... more onomatopoeias... "Testing..." I admire my wife in many ways. Her detox experiment only adds to the collection. She has no idea yet that I'm going to try my hand at sounding the abacus this week, so barring one of you spills the beads [sic]... she may find quite a little basket of Easter Eggs here come Sunday.

Trick is, now I have to blog. M'oh boy... uh, OK, uh... let's see what happens tomorrow. Yeah. OK.

Detox*

Brenda's post inspired. Then, Hunny Jo's bishop challenged their ward members to not spend any money for a week. Jumping on the bandwagon, I decided to give up something meself for a week: the computer. Sunday to Sunday. This is a test to see if I will a) die, b) pay better attention to the mini-Abacus', c) spend more money as a substitutional diversionary tactic, d) actually finish projects, and e) see if Heather calls more often.

I've spent the past couple hours retrieving every bit of info off of the internet that I could possibly need for the coming week (similar to taking that last giant swig of water before fasting). I warn't no spring chicken when I got my first email account: it was in college (remember "Route Y"?). So, obviously, I functioned fine for many years without the internet. It's just difficult remembering how. Here's to hoping the remembrance returns. And so, with that ... we're fading ..... off .... the .....................rada........r................................................ (*Post title inspired by NN.).

To Sum It Up

1 moss-padded, wooded, sun-speckled trail
2 nd place
3 hour time limit
4 running shoes
5 paintbrushes
6 hours without kids
7 bridges crossed
8 complimentary soup and crackers at the finish
9 :30 a.m. start time
10 minute-mile pace (to #2's 7:00)
11 mud puddles splashed
12 weeks of training

= 13.1 milesAnd a glorious day in Vernonia.

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