Concho Dandy

Word.

2012-01-31T09:48:00.000-08:00

O.K. Here's the situation....
The kids have been discovering music and expressing likes and dislikes. I both like and dislike this phase. I'm glad that they are developing and exploring but I really, really want to take Katy Perry and Bruno Mars and smack their heads together Three Stooges' style. I'm not a complete music snob. I don't hate pop music or refuse to listen to country. I pretty much like every kind and then pick who I vehemently hate within the genre (I'm looking at you, Jack Johnson). Obviously I have my favorites which I like to refer to as "required listening" since I retain full control of the radio while in the car. I make no apologies. But I'm kind of excited to see the kids explore new music. And then it comes back and bites me on the ass.

Recently Flannery decided to write a rap song because that's what little blonde 7 year old girls do when they need to express their inner turmoil and rage. It's hard out there for a 1st grader. Actually hers was more about how great it is to live in Portland. Apparently she even survived her vicious English teacher parents attempt to ruin it with talk of rhythm and meter because her living room debut trickled into a constant stream of questions. It also got Emerson beat boxing. Yup. It's been interesting around these parts.

I guess this is a good time to mention that any inclination towards rap or hip hop can be blamed on me. And I should also mention that once when the kids were very young, Reg may have come home to find us all dancing to a song with let's just say questionable lyrics but they were VERY young and not yet really all that impressionable. I've learned a great deal since then. So when I wanted to share an example of a rap video, I did not start with 50 Cent or Tupac or Eminem, thank you very much. But I did face quite a dilemma. How do you find an example of rap that is also kind of kid friendly. If you are like every person I've posed that question to, you answer it the same way every time: Will Smith.

So while I am not necessarily endorsing Will Smith the Rap Star, I am delightfully amused that they not only liked this video but they loved it with the radiant intensity of Lil Jon's smiling grill. They love it so much, we've watched it several times and had in depth discussions about it. I'm pretty sure I could teach a course entitled Parents Just DO Understand: The Dimensions of Discourse in Will Smith's Oeuvre. But I won't. I've encourage enough of this craziness.

Recently we went to the library and Flannery loudly asked me if they had any Will Smith cds there and I had to quickly redirect her because, you know, I've got a rep to protect.

Word.

Flan Couture

2012-01-27T06:20:00.000-08:00

Let's play a little game. This week at school is Spirit Week. Yesterday was Mismatch Day. Want to guess which outfit is Flannery's "mismatched" one?

Not as simple as you would think. But she was pretty proud of herself for putting it together. In the morning she cheerfully announced that I could pick out anything I wanted for her to wear because it was Mismatch Day. I gathered that the implication was I often pick out clothes that don't match for her. Is this the definition of irony?

Basketball Jones

2012-01-21T11:04:00.000-08:00

Flannery and her friends start Basketball today. When reached for a comment, Basketball replied, "What did I ever do to you?"

And Basketball was never the same.....

The Emerald City

2012-01-14T06:25:00.000-08:00

It was their first time to Seattle so to say they were excited would be the understatement of the moment. Flannery declared she wanted to live there when she grew up. And both of them were up with much vim and vigor on Saturday morning, declaring they were ready to go.

We walked from our hotel to the market and ran into this giant mechanical sculpture out in front of the Seattle Art Museum. They both were pretty impressed until Flannery saw the back had exposed moving parts and then she thought it was rather chintzy. She's quite the demanding art critic.

Then we headed off to Pike's Market. The kids loved the free samples, giant fish and ceramic pig statues. Unfortunately we were there very early so it was not the bustling marketplace it usually is and we had to find a place to warm up with hot cocoa and wait for more bustle.

Although it was pretty cold, the sun was out and the sky was blue. It's such a rarity that we really had to take advantage of it. After we fortified with hot beverages, we walked along the water and found this totem pole. We had perfectly clear views of Rainier and the Olympics but we really like the totem pole best.

As an aside, I had to add this picture in since I love the fact that there are a) working pay phones with b) bright yellow handles and c) matching graffiti. Beautiful.

We came upon a Garden of Remembrance for those lost in wars since World War II. I liked this quote.

Eventually we made our way to the Space Needle. There was much running and screaming and excitement. Then when we got to the top, I think there was a bit of disappointment that it didn't launch into the sky or have some sort of roller coaster like ride or drop. But they maintained their composure. We looked out across Seattle. Emerson found all the sports stadiums. Flannery noticed they sold hot cocoa up there too. It was magical in its own way.

It was a short trip but we'll be back since it's only 3 hours away and the kids did not get to see any fish being thrown at the market. You simply can't miss the fish.

Articulate the Positive

2012-01-05T16:53:00.000-08:00

Oh, the joy....

A friend sent me a link today to a mommy blog about how everyone keeps telling her to enjoy every single minute of parenthood because it will be gone in the blink of an eye. And I appreciated the writer's response of HUH? Every minute? Because a) I feel like that and b) it's actually a much nicer and less profane response than I usually have. Mine is usually more along the lines of, are you high? It's strange but true that people fervently believewe should loooooove every aspect of our children and motherhood and that's the definition of insanity. It reminded me of a note I once left for Reg who was working late. For years he kept it pinned up in his office for a constant reminder. It read:

The boy sucks. The girl kind of sucks. I'm going to bed.
I'll just tape The Office.

It's a good reminder of how far we've come because, you know, now we don't tape The Office anymore. We DVR it. Everything else is kind of the same. Sometimes they switch on who kind of drives us crazier. Sometimes they tag team. Sometimes they double team. And sometimes it rains. Actually it always rains. It happens, people. And it happens enough that when one mother admits to another mother that this is difficult and sometimes harrowing, nine times out of ten the response is a deep sigh of relief and a knowing smile.

I will be the first to admit that there are amazing moments of complete and utter joy. Unfortunately they don't always look the same. You really need to squint and be open to the shots directly out the left field. I like them most.

Last night we were listening to Emerson practice reading aloud. We were all on my bed. Reg was packing for his conference in Seattle. Flannery and I were doing our nails while Emerson read from Tuck Everlasting. It was quite the family moment you hope for. Not the winning touchdown, class valedictorian, my kid is playing a tree in the school musical kind of moment. Just a sweet family moment. And then someone apparently farted. Yeah, that's the every single minute part of HUH?

So Flannery accused Emerson of the dirty deed which, let's be completely honest, is so obviously her attempt to deflect blame and we all know it given her rabidly pro-beans for breakfast stance. So Emerson duly replied what we all would:

Whoever smelt it, dealt it.
An oldie but a goodie.

To which she replied:

Whoever said the rhyme, did the crime.
Their new favorite.

And his response:

Whoever names it, claims it.
Kind of like this one.

But he wasn't quite ready to quit so he added:

Whoever articulated it, particulated it.
Okay, color me impressed.

You may not realize this but that moment was one to cherish. Because even though their excessive gas is the stuff of nightmares and their contentment with it is something I don't want to delve into, at least it brings out the verse in them. That boy was pretty smug about his poetry smackdown. As he should be. I can't tell you how many sizes my little heart grew in those moments. There we were, the four of us and someone's unbelievable funk, learning about words and busting rhymes.

You don't have to love every single moment of anything. You just need to take a moment to recognize the ones you do. And don't forget to squint a little bit.

Sun + River = Sunriver

2012-01-04T14:51:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I hope you all made it through to the other side. I know I had a great vacation that ended just like it always does.....with visions of school opening dancing in my head. We had a jam packed holiday schedule so I'm not ashamed to admit that I was ready for some semblance of normalcy to return. I'll let you know what that looks like when it finally does.

The holiday break was especially interesting this year since we had my birthday which I've successfully stretched to most of the month, Hanukkah overlapping Christmas, a quick un-holidaying of the house and then we left soon after that for our New Year's Eve in Central Oregon. For the past three years we've been heading out of town for New Year celebrating. Two years we went to the coast and this year we headed to snow. And sun. It says a lot about Portland that I was even more enamored with the sunshine we found than the incredibly beautiful snow. We've had some dark winter days lately. And Central Oregon is quite an incredibly sight. The combination of snow and sun brings me back to Flagstaff.

We braved a snow pass by Mt. Hood with my lovely Scion xb and it's teeny tiny tires. Luckily we didn't have to put on chains and we didn't slide or roll or any of those other dangerous verbs. Plus, we braved three or so hours in the car with kids and the dog. A dog who had to be experiencing the best vacation ever: no kitten, no fences, no rules and unlimited access to the bed and couch. The kids were pretty elated also. Six kids unleashed on the snowy hills of Bend. They went skiing and sledding and tromping through the snow. They made snow angels and snowballs and snow cones. One day we took them on a walk to find the Deschutes River. We never found that river but we enjoyed the two hours of walking. 'We' (read-the adults) may have loved the journey, but the kids waffled and wailed and whined a bit too much so that eventually they had to be dragged on the sled back to the house. Luckily we had a hot tub to soothe their tortured bodies. And, for some, the promise of nachos.

I love ringing in the New Year this way. I am surrounded by friends I love and so are my children. We eat rich and amazing food, drink Spanish coffees and margaritas, play endless games, laugh, yell, sing and dance. It is exactly how I want to end my year....and begin my new one.

St. Lucia Girls

2011-12-27T13:11:00.000-08:00

As many of you know I'm a)always happy to celebrate and b) proudly Swedish thanks to my grandmother's influence. Luckily I got the chance to combine those two aspects of my life. We had a Swedish St. Lucia celebration on Christmas Eve. We ate pickled herring, Swedish meatballs and gravlax. We drank Glogg and Aquavit., sang songs and put a crown of candles on the girls' heads for our twist on a Swedish tradition. I made the saffron bread crown called the Lucia bread (or buns). We ate until we could eat not more. It was a beautiful evening filled with good friends happily enjoying the company. It was kids anxiously tracking Santa's route on the computer. It was a night filled with song and laughter and dance and love. It was something I would have liked to share with my grandmother.

Holly Days

2011-12-19T18:29:00.000-08:00

The Holiday season is upon us. I say holiday since we celebrate a vast many of them so it's appropriate and also exhausting but well worth it. This year is a little different because the last week of school ended up being a week of work for me. Yup. Sometimes I work. And when I do, I can barely do anything else. So the cupboards went a bit bare. The fridge lightened up considerably. And the laundry. Well, actually the laundry was done the same way it always is: poorly and with a great amount of grumpiness.

So one night Flannery and I had a little spa night which would be somewhat relaxing what with the face masks and all except part of it involves Flannery doing my hair in a way that I would only wear out of doors if I were on the way to my sanity hearing, hoping for a by reason of insanity ruling. Hence the lack of a picture of me in my mask.I did enjoy the part of the night when Flannery's mask dried enough to tighten up her pores and more importantly make it pretty difficult to talk. I can totally withstand bad hair in exchange for difficult to talk.

And now I've rebounded from the surprise week of working and the Hairstyle of the Damned. Just in time because we've had many a celebration for many a holiday. There was my birthday which means I get to keep everyone in line by consistently playing the It's My Birthday card. It's pretty shameless actually but I don't care because it's my birthday. And then we had the Nacho Christmas party which afforded me the perfect opportunity to exercise my keen parenting skills. When the kids caught sight of the Table o' Desserts, I had to authoritatively announce, "You can't have any desserts until you finish your nachos." I don't mean to brag, but that's just good parenting right there. We also had a night of festivities at the local street of lights where I got to say, "I just saw a guy dressed as Santa, riding a unicycle and playing the bagpipes" which turned out to be not nearly as odd as you think since the response was basically, "Oh, he's back again."

Next up? Hanukkah and a little Latkepalooza. Emerson is very excited to get his hands on the lighter and we're very excited for the consumption of fried potatoes. Then Christmas Eve we put a wreath of greens on Flannery and her friend's heads and light some candles in them. Again, excellent parenting at play here. What can I say? It's the holidays.

39

2011-12-17T07:48:00.000-08:00

I did it. I turned 39. Although I joked about it being my 29th birthday and I did feel a certain fondness for the student who prompted that joke by guessing my age a decade under my actual age, I'm feeling quite normal. Maybe even ready to finish out the 30s. I've been kind of thinking about what I want to accomplish this year before another year sneaks up on me (and they're getting sneakier). I think as I get older, my list gets loftier and vaguer. I used to want to learn how to ski or make a perfect roast chicken. Now I'm more about wanting to learn how to waste less time or be more patient. And some things I put on my list every year. Read more because it makes opens me up to new ideas or write more because I feel compelled to do so. And I like the super vague more as I'll probably achieve these ambiguous goals simply on a technicality. So with very little in the way of planning, I offer you a list of things I hope to accomplish this year

Read more
Write more
Find a job that is both fulfilling to me and my family
Start running again--at least once a week
Spend the few and precious quiet moments in the morning getting mentally ready for my day
Make lists and then use them
Take a deep breath and remember what it was like to be a kid before saying anything to mine
Make plans
Take a family vacation to someplace new for everyone
Learn a new and useful skill
Get the kids back in the kitchen more
Laugh out loud whenever appropriate
Try something that scares me
Enjoy the silence
Compare less
Let go whenever appropriate

Hirsute Happiness

2011-12-11T19:54:00.001-08:00

Captured a few shots of the kids at a friend's birthday party this weekend.

Here is what Emerson would look like if he was allowed to spend more time with his Uncle Cody.

Here is Flannery and her friends un-ironically sporting their ironic mustaches. Or is it the other way around?

It's a look worth a second look.

Life Lessons

2011-12-06T09:17:00.001-08:00

Things I learned this last week...

Flannery thinks "petting" the cat means enveloping it in her arms and maybe eventually just absorbing it into her being like some amorphous amoeba. I think we will one day find her and the lifeless kitten and she will have completed her transformation into Lenny from Of Mice and Men.

Giving 7th graders pudding as a midday snack is only a good idea if it's sprinkled with Ritalin or Ambien. Any other way is simply cruel for all other people involved.

Emerson learned very little from repeated viewings of A Charlie Brown Christmas because he became very emotionally agitated at the idea of getting a smaller tree even if our teeny kitten brings down a much larger one. The Christmas spirit, at least according to the boy child, comes in large or extra large only.

If you want to cultivate a reputation as the meanest sub in town, you need only refuse bathroom breaks for the --gasp-- entire 50 minute class. It has the added benefit of making the students plumb the depths of their logical arguments (which are considerably shallow) and amuses the other teachers.

My children will only wake up early and refreshed and ready to go on Saturdays and Sundays which means I need to think up elaborate ways to torture them.

I may need to wrap my bed and several chairs in bubble wrap until I get my depth perception back since I keep inexplicably running into things.

Getting to catch a glimpse of my friends' darling twins, Louisa and Ezra, makes the middle school antics and the early mornings and the shin bone bruises all melt away.

Mouse Face Killah

2011-11-29T12:40:00.000-08:00

We've had some new additions to our quiet little farm life.Unfortunately not all of them were desirable. We have battled the Kingdom of the Mice before and thought we had won but slowly they have been creeping back into the house. Most of the time I'd find them already dead and I have to admit that I wondered if maybe we were attracting some kind of Suicidal Mouse Cult (which would be a great band name). It's odd to come upon a dead mouse. No trap. No visible signs of distress (well, I didn't go all CSI on the corpse but it was all there). I always just cleaned up and hoped it was the last of the Mysteriously Already Dead Mice until I saw one run around a corner. And then it became glaringly obvious when they revealed themselves to the kids. At bedtime. Can't miss those screams. So we had to do the unthinkable.

Meet Astrid. Or as I like to call her Astrid the Killer. She'll be on an increasingly demanding training regimen until she reaches the age of the Vicious Warrior Cat. Then she will need to kill in order to maintain her place in the house. Much like my philosophy with the kids wherein doing well wins you the treat of being able to sleep indoors as opposed to the chicken coop, Astrid will need to prove herself. Cuteness only gets you so far at the Five Cent Farm. But a mouse-free house can win you catnip.

So if you meet Astrid, just remember that her cute and furry exterior masks the heart of a stealthy hunter. You hear me, mice?

Perky

2011-11-22T20:01:00.001-08:00

Time for another round of Special Friends Day. The idea behind this day is really bring your grandparents to school to show off the progress and singing. But for all of those kids who have grandparents in different places, we have Special Friends. The last time we celebrated this day was in Emerson's class. This year Emerson did not want to join in (fourth graders.....) but Flannery has been counting down the days until she got to show off our good friend, Jennifer Honaker. And I'm pretty sure the lovely Ms. Honaker was not prepared for what she got.
Please notice that Flannery is wearing her favorite pan-Asian outfit. Her Chinese dress is accessorized with her Vietnamese tunic and flowing pants. Please also notice that she is not wearing a sloped bamboo hat and carrying a fan which is what she wanted to wear. What is going on with my children and their incessant need for inappropriate attire? I'm thinking we need Cultural Sensitivity Training here at the Five Cent Farm.

Special Friends Day included our being serenaded with not one, not two but THREE songs in Chinese. I have no idea what the songs are about (Mao?) but we got the singing and the choreography. And then some...

Here's where Honaker gets the biggest gold star ever because she had to introduce herself to a room filled with strangers in Chinese that was just taught to her by a first grader because that's fun. And she did it. If you see her, please ask her to say My name is Jennifer Honaker and I am Flannery's special friend because you've never heard Mandarin until you hear it in a slow Southern drawl. She's my hero.

Then Flannery and Honaker made a hand print turkey who happened to have long legs (like these two) and be named Perky. Meet Perky the Turkey. Honaker is writing a song about him on her banjo and I can't wait to hear it. Maybe Flannery will translate it into Chinese and, well, these two are pretty unstoppable so I think the sky's the limit.

Lucille

2011-11-22T16:33:00.001-08:00

Our neighbors brought their baby, Lucy, to visit the other night. Judging by her facial expressions, I'm pretty sure she had a stellar time.We're very entertaining to the under one crowd.

Take the Skinheads Bowling

2011-11-15T06:06:00.001-08:00

On a day with no school, we gathered many a child and hit the lanes. We rolled, we stuffed our faces with pizza and french fries and drank lemonade and beer. We were loud, wild and mostly hideously unskilled bowlers. We had more than one or two meltdowns. So I would like to formally apologize to the bowling alley and also let you know that we'll be back next week. You've been warned.

The Sequence of Life

2011-11-15T05:11:00.001-08:00

I know it seems like I spend an enormous amount of time playfully mocking the insanity of my two children but you should know that
a) I'm probably mocking your children too....well, not probably, I am.
b) this is my way of pointing out the ridiculous in parenthood which no one realizes is so fraught with land mines and quicksand until they're choosing between the field of land mines or a nice dip in the quicksand.
c)it is all out of love and if you don't believe me, then ask any member of my family (and expect a semi-sarcastic remark because they're too busy for this kind of lolligagging and flapping of the gums).

The truth is parenthood looks nothing like the outside when you're on the inside which is why I was stunned the other day as we wandered around the waterfront. A biker saw one of our kids doing something he did not like ( I think it was throwing acorns) and he yelled at the child and then yelled to us to Say Something! all as he swiftly rode by on his bike. Ahhh, drive by parenting can give you such a rush a righteousness. Righteousness Junkie. But he's right. I should have said something. I should have said something along the lines of Dude, you really suck or Wear a helmet, you jackwagon.

So, yes, I mock in a sometimes vain effort to not lose what is left of my very tenuous grasp on sanity. Don't leave me, Sanity, you're all I have left! But I just don't do it all of the time. I bet it makes up a good 30% of my day although that figure really fluctuates depending on what Flannery decides to wear and if Emerson has regressed in his ability to open and then shut a drawer. And then there is a good portion of my life that is absolutely and unequivocally in awe of my children. And here's an example.

Flannery is a prolific writer. We have notebooks filled with songs (and some just good song titles) and half made chapter books that are loosely based on the Fairy series by the dreaded Daisy Meadows (who wishes she wrote as well as Flannery). But one night while still in kindergarten, Flannery sat in her room and without a single word from me or question for me, she wrote a "letter" to her future teachers. She had developed a little concern over whether she would be as happy in 1st grade as she was in kindergarten. It was one of the first times that I had seen her genuinely nervous. She does fake nervous like a champion...along with fake sad, fake indignant, fake sweet and fake confused about having to clean up after herself. She showed me this letter the next morning and I was stunned. She wrote it all by herself and she took it upon herself to share it with her teachers when school started this year.

Here is Flannery's Sequence of Life:

The Girlies

2011-11-12T18:33:00.001-08:00

Sometimes only your good friend understands you

Downtown Adventure

2011-11-12T17:29:00.001-08:00

Took the kids to downtown Portland for an afternoon adventure on a no school day. What kind of adventure? Yeah, that's what they kept asking. I told them that adventures don't always mean hiking through the dense dark forest but maybe just wandering down the streets of our fair city. They didn't really buy that. I offered to make it more adventurous by leaving them there to find their own way home but Emerson reminded me that I couldn't do that (I really appreciate that he said couldn't but not wouldn't).

Semantics aside we had a great time. The city is amazing and right now I love it even more during this season of exploding colors. Plus there was sunshine all around which is not ever guaranteed in November. We ate at the food carts. We watched street performers and kayakers. We wandered up and down the waterfront, dodging bikers and joggers every step of the way. We followed geese and saw boats being repaired. And we had an adventure whether the kids will admit it or not.

Leaves

2011-11-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

Many people don't know this but I was born in the Midwest. I was born in Illinois not far from Chicago and for a time we lived in Michigan. My mother always said that the most beautiful time of year there was Autumn. It's probably why I love this time so much. She used to send leaves back to Arizona for my grandparents to see. My grandmother pressed some of those leaves and had them in a living room drawer for years. My mom thought no other place had such amazing change of leaves and bright colors. She may be right but I thought I'd share these pictures with her (and you) of what yesterday looked like in good ol' Portland. Well, just the stretch of Portland I walked from my house to the end of the next block. Not too shabby.

Strange. Outlandish. Foreign

2011-11-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

Meet Olive.She's our Naked Neck Chicken. Also called a Turken. I'm not making it up. This picture is old but trust me, she's still very ugly and pretty awesome. She now looks like she's wearing a red mask. And I believe she's the one in charge despite Frida's seniority. Gotta like a chick who comes in and takes over.

Emerson picked her out at the farm store and the lady assured me that a) she'll be hardy in the cold Portland weather and b) when given the choice, boys always pick the somewhat uglier turken. Of course, at the time she simply looked like a tiny ostrich and that was admittedly kind of cute.

Now stay with me because it will all make sense in the end.

The other night I was driving Emerson over to a friend's house and we were stopped across the street from a club named DV8. Yes, we're crossing through that part of town. But also, Portland is filled with those parts of town since they have very lax zoning law and those types of places are simply here in abundance. It's part of the ol' Portland charm. I believe our city's motto is something like Come for the beer, stay for the boobs. Or something like that.

Before I go on, let me explain that I strive to answer my kids' questions honestly. I want to empower them with actual knowledge as they head out in the world. That being said, I don't always elaborate (meaning I sometimes just answer the question they ask) and I wouldn't tell them something I didn't think they were equipped to handle (meaning we're not discussing genocidal maniacs in graphic detail on a regular basis). But I do answer them.

So Emerson asked me what that place was. I answered DV8 hoping he just didn't get their clever letter/number combination name. But he asked what it's for. I said it's a club where people go to hang out and drink or dance. And then he paused and I knew we weren't done. So he asked what it meant by "exotic dancers" and I said that meant that naked women danced there. I braced myself for the next question to be Why? and thought about how I might answer it. But it wasn't. The next thing he said was about how he didn't think that was the definition of exotic. And he's right. Nothing really exotic about those dancers at this particular intersection. I explained how he was right but in this instance they were using the word exotic to mean naked. But then I added that you wouldn't say an exotic bird and mean it was actually a naked bird. That would just be silly.

"Yeah," he said, "like our Exotic Neck Chicken.''

Here at the Five Cent Farm, we like to keep it exotic.

Football.....of the Dead

2011-11-01T12:33:00.000-07:00

I know you are all wondering....Pygmy or Your Central Nervous System.

And the winner is.....Neither!

Football player won out. Wonder why? Well, Emerson knows that I'm not crazy about the idea of him playing football and I know he really wants to be a pygmy for Halloween. A trip to the thrift store found us standing right in front of a rack of football jerseys. So I just let him talk me into being a football player instead of the nervous system. Problem solved. Of course, it can't be all smooth sailing. Next up was Flannery deciding she wanted to change from vampire to cheerleader. Ugh. So I just let her talk me into a zombie cheerleader rather than just a regular cheerleader....

Behold

2011-10-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

The kids got their school pictures back and they both look wonderfully airbrushed, adorably clean and surprisingly happy which means a few things:
A) I've kept them relatively facial scar free for several years. Go me!
B) They like this stranger who is taking pictures of them much more than they like me.
or
C) They are planning something.

This is the biggest smile Emerson has ever produced in a school picture. I'm not lying. Look here. Or here. He looks relatively pain free and pleasantly at ease with being photographed. Baby steps.

Notice how Flannery is missing a tooth? She changed her pose choice the day of the pictures to get a close up so you really see she is missing a tooth. She also put her tongue there to accentuate the gap. Drama Queen.

Baby Ducks are Cute!

2011-10-25T21:32:00.000-07:00

Mornings around the Five Cent Farm are always a little bit of a crap shoot. It's dark and cold lately. Very dark. What used to be a pleasant time of day is now anyone's game. Emerson does not want to ever get up. After I've located his face under the pile of hair and books and Legos and other random bits of furniture, he starts the time negotiation while trying to stay as close to sleep as possible. And Flannery is completely dependent on AccuWeather's prediction for the day's weather which is so odd since I'm pretty sure that the "Accu" in AccuWeather does not stand for accurate and, really, Flannery has never been known to actually change her clothing choice based on something as ridiculous as the weather.

But the other morning was another kind of fun. Flannery could not find something to wear. Everything she had looked bad on her. AccuWeather was wrong. So far it's all very normal. I really should have just sailed on that knowledge and adopted a more laissez faire approach. Really I should have just disappeared. But no. I decided to help her through this whole traumatic getting dressed thing.

Me: Why don't you wear the puppy shirt you just bought? It's cute.
F: I don't want to be cute.
Me: What do you want to be?
F: Regular.
Me: What do you mean by regular?
F: Like you.
Me: Oh, you're confused. I AM CUTE.
F: No, you're not.

As you can guess, she was pretty much in tears by now. Her. Not me. I had to keep going because I'm nothing if not a mixture of curious, stupid and a glutton for punishment. Turns out she was not so much saying I'm not cute but that cute is not the positive word she is hoping to conjure in other people's minds with her wardrobe choices. Basically she does not, NOT, want to be cute. Cute is for little girls. She wants people to say she looks good and that was actually what she was saying to me That I look good not cute. No, really. She told me so. And I have to believe her because she's my daughter and also I AM CUTE, dammit.

Another Halloween Episode

2011-10-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

Halloween is in the air around here. There are the crunchy fallen leaves. Pumpkins. Spider webs that we thoughtfully leave out the whole year so as not to disturb the spiders.

And there is the obsession with this year's costume. Halloweens of past years have really taxed me in terms of costume making. Last year's robot was pretty damn cool especially if you asked any adult about my age who saw us trick or treating because they remember mom making their costume too. I am a big fan of the homemade costume. Actually just a big fan of the homemade pretty much anything. Other years have been a little less on the nose. One year Emerson wanted to be a three toed tree sloth so even if I did favor store bought easiness I was certainly up the creek without the proverbial paddle. I spent the whole night whispering behind him three toed tree sloth, three toed tree sloth. That was the same year that Flannery wanted to be a flower fairy princess something glittery or other. Oh, wait. That's most ~~years~~ days.

So what do we have in store for this year? Well, we started off great but then Emerson went haywire on me. First he wanted to be a zombie and that's sweet because most of his jeans have holes in them so I'm happy to rip them a little more and add some fake blood to whatever stain is actually on them. Then when he tries to wear them again, I could say no because those are zombie clothes and WE DON'T WEAR ZOMBIE CLOTHES TO SCHOOL! Everyone knows that.

But he threw me for a loop when he decided to change that to either the Nervous System or a Pygmy.

I'll wait while you process that those two ideas are SERIOUSLY what my son can't decide between for Halloween.

First of all, I had to clarify that it wasn't a Pygmy......goat....shrew....landshark. No. He wants the grass skirt/bone in hair kind of pygmy costume. That's actually how he described it. Okay. I feel like we're treading on shaky ground here. I'm about to discuss this with him when Flannery announces that her friend has a grass skirt so we're halfway to that costume. I'm concerned that he's alienating an entire indigenous population at such a young age. And I don't want it to seem like we're bashing because some of our best friends are Pygmies. I'm a liberal lady but I'm not quite sure how to discuss the inappropriateness of his choice without being inappropriate. And then I'm also going over in my head trying to figure out how the hell Pygmy got into his head and became a viable Halloween costume option. Also would like to figure out why Halloween makes him so creatively difficult. Last thing going through my head? If this is the boy's idea, what is the girl going to want to be?

Did you ever think the Nervous System would be such an easy costume to whip up? Well, I'll let you know when I'm done because I am not going to be the mother who gets called to school after her son shows up in a grass skirt with a bone in his hair.

Funny Is

2011-10-20T12:40:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that laughter is our biggest workout here at the Five Cent Farm. Here are two things that are cracking (the kids) us up.....

Do not leave bricks out for Emerson to play with since this post makes him laugh until he can barely breathe.

Also, we're big fans of Monty Python so this is one of their faves too. The kicker is to hear them do it in their fake Brit accents.

The Windy Pity

2011-10-18T21:16:00.000-07:00

Today looked like the kind of Autumn day you see in movies. Leaves blew around under a big blue sky and the air was crisp yet warm. It was amazing. And to celebrate, I got to spend the day with my neurotic dog while he shook and shivered and all but peed himself. So the beautiful day was merely a background to my main story. Dobler and a strong wind is a match made in the hellish dark circle that makes up his psyche. On a good day, he's pretty strange. He does this passive aggressive thing where he walks by his leash and sniffs it but then looks slightly towards me yet slightly away. I don't need to be pushed around by a dog who's afraid of the sound of rustling leaves. But he didn't need to guilt me into anything. I was hoping some physical exhaustion would push him over the edge. Miscalculation. Sometime around 11am after a long walk and some quality time together, I had to break out the Sleepy Time Cheese. A bit early? It was that or I was going to have to administer the Sleepy Time Cheese to myself. Or wine. Or electroshock therapy.

Whoever owned my sweet puppy before me either lived in a scary wind tunnel or a haunted house. Our dog came to us from the pound but he was a returned puppy. Poor guy did not make someone happy but he makes us happy except when it's windy, rainy, noisy or anywhere near any holiday that involves fireworks. And today was one of those days. Reggie is pretty sure he's afraid of ghosts which is not a helpful observation in the real world. But I admit that the wind was making the house do unnatural or possibly supernatural things. And as I've said in a post about my scary movie watching experiences, I'm no hero but I'm certainly more equipped to deal with the undead than the dog. I'm lucky that he scares most people who see him as he lunges and snarls like the meanest junkyard dog imaginable. But equally unhappy that he's actually a wiggly jiggly gummi bear inside. In fact, today he seemed very Scooby Doo with feet spinning but no movement and very much afraid of a shadow.

So I spent a great deal of my day trying to soothe the savage beast. I tried all my tricks besides, of course, the Sleepy Time Cheese. I tried singing to him. You know. Lloyd Lloyd/ All null and void/ Running from the things that you can't avoid.....I talked soothingly to him about how he's a strong, big boy dog who isn't afraid of any scary noises. I explained every noise in clear, logical terms. That's a door. That's the dryer. That's the mournful howling of the spirits who live in the walls. In other words, I basically fell off the deep end because I worked really hard on trying to encourage my dog's self-esteem. Worse than that. I failed miserably. Every time I walked out of one room and into another, guess who would show up? If he could have been any closer to me, he would have. I'm sure one of his looks expressed a desire for me to find a Baby Bjorn for a Rhodesian Ridgeback and haul his quivering butt all over.

Eventually he relented to the pull of the tranquilizers and I could sit with him without him panting over me and trying to climb on my lap. And I did. And I thought of all the things I could be doing. And I did nothing. Very quietly.

It's a Little Bit Funny

2011-10-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Emerson is working me. I knew it was coming but it still stings. He told me I wasn't funny. Now, we all know that's not true but more importantly he knows that he's funny when he says it. And so we all get a good laugh. Most the time what is the best part about his little dig is that he can't say it with a straight face. He tries. But the dimples always give him away. When he tells me I'm not funny, I usually tear off on a string of jokes that truly are not that funny but he thinks they are because he's 9 and then he twists and contorts his face and looks out the window in a vain attempt to convince me I'm not humorous. It never really works because I'm working him. He hasn't developed the control yet. But I see it coming. He's going to be the straight man. And then I'm in for it.

When he first pulled this "you're not funny" stuff, I came this close to reminding him about all the jokes he's been telling me since he learned how to talk where the punchline is simply the word "poop" or "fart"and how funny he still thinks those jokes are. Okay. A few are pretty good. But not great.

He recently pulled this play for about a week or so. And, like I said, he's getting pretty good at controlling the response. I think he's been practicing. So one morning I went to wake him up for school. My usual way is a soft whisper of a good morning, a kiss on the forehead or a little tickle on his shoulders. But this time was different. I walked into his room and saw upwards of 10 books scattered over his bed and desk, a plethora of Legos covering his rug, every single drawer in his dresser open and the clothes I had cleaned still laid out to be put away. And so his wake up was a frantic "Oh my God, Emerson! Are you okay?" and he stirred pretty quickly to assure me that he was fine. So I told him I was glad because his room looked like a tornado had hit it and I was worried about his safety. Then I smiled and walked back downstairs.

That'll teach him. Yeah, I'm funny. And I'm not afraid to use it.

Nice

2011-10-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

It's not easy to get a straight photo of Ms. Flannery.I just wanted to get a rare picture of her in an outfit that doesn't make anyone smile sweetly at me and my obviously disturbed daughter. But then she put on this face and that whole idea flew right out the front door. Screaming.

We've also reached a new phase. And 99% of the time that is not a good thing. Last night is a perfect example of this phenomenon. Flannery came home from class wearing a perfectly normal, color coordinated ensemble. We should have known. At the very least we should have checked her temperature. But we needed to get going to our dinner party and we were probably lulled into a false sense of security by her statement, "I want to wear something nice tonight."

Now obviously "nice" is a relative term but I think I can get most people to agree with me that it's most likely NOT cut off jean shorts, a t-shirt, jelly sandals and a hooded sweatshirt with permanent stains on it. Wow. Where did that come from? I think Flannery's world has been so distorted by her Flogic that she's not quite sure what is what. Up is down. Right is left. And apparently a night out is when you wear whatever is taking up space at the bottom of the barrel yet school or say a trip to the grocery store is a perfect time to don the fanciest duds.

Seeing her change of wardrobe nearly gave me whiplash from the massive double take I had to do and when I rewound our conversation back to her original intent, I thought my head my burst from the lack of connection between the intention and the outcome but I recovered quickly enough to send her back to her room to contemplate the actual definition of the word "nice" and then locate the corresponding outfit.

I would say I'm ready for this phase to end but I am pretty sure I'm not ready for the next one.

Birthday Shots

2011-10-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

A birthday party complete with photo shoot, Glee karaoke and costumes is the way to ring in the 7th year. Everyone knows that. Flannery's friend, Riley, wanted to have her friends come over in costumes for a photo shoot, some pizza and cupcake decorating. I was honored to be invited to witness this fiesta.

This is Riley as Dorothy. She has a vivid imagination, a large lexicon and a creative streak a mile wide.

Flannery is a surfer girl which is kind of funny considering she usually looks like she's in costume and yet when it's time to dress up.....

Selaam here is a jogger. That's her costume. And that's why she's "running" in the pictures.

This is Cooper. He makes me laugh. This last one is his best Spiderman face.

Little Girls in Fancy Dresses

2011-10-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

A little bit of the little girls. I especially love the way Delaney is eyeing that cake.

Wedding Fever

2011-10-12T13:53:00.000-07:00

A few more shots of the wedding from last weekend. But wait, there's more....

Introducing.....The Kempkas

2011-10-12T06:47:00.000-07:00

The most important part of the wedding?The bride and the groom and the love they exude.

This past weekend I journeyed back home to the place where I grew up, or at least where I started the growing process, and I got to see my beautiful friends get married.

It was a magnificent day filled with love and laughter and all the other key ingredients for bringing together the far flung people in your lives and announcing the start of a new chapter.

I wish them all the high adventure that life has to offer. I also wish them peace and ease in between. But mostly I wish for them to feel like they did that day long after that day is gone.

In the immortal words of the amazing Pablo Neruda.....

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,

We will, come to be.

The Vaccines

2011-10-04T20:39:00.000-07:00

What I'm listening to these days....

The Cure

2011-10-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

I'd like to point out, before I even get started on this story, that I did not take a single picture of any of this because that's what love really is....

The other night Reggie developed a wicked case of hiccups. These are the kind of hiccups that rack the whole body. He finally got rid of them enough to sleep but they returned with a vengeance the next day. And as you can imagine, this was really difficult....for me. So finally I decided that I would take the bull by the horns and fix this problem. That's what I do. I went to the internet to search for remedies. Of course by this time, we had already tried holding his breath, drinking water, drinking water upside down and my favorite one: scaring him. Scaring him usually involves me saying I want more children or that I'm pregnant. Sometimes I throw in that I'm actually a man living in a woman's body. None of these tricks worked.

Off to search the internet, starting with a general search through The Google. After weeding through web.md and something called earthclinic, I stumbled upon a website offering 250 cures for hiccups. Shazaam! I felt like I had hit the mother lode and then some. First of all, I have to admit that I'm completely fascinated (actually it's bordering on obsessed) with the author of this page because it seems that this person just thought to himself (really? it has to be a man) that he had some time on his hands and some hiccup remedies just taking up space in his brain so why not share this bounty with the world. And to that I say THANKS! The world owes you one, man.

The other thing I have to say is that I was also amazed that Reg was willing to try out half of these but that is just a testament to how annoyed he was with his condition. He was really at the end of his rope. How desperate was he? You be the judge. What started out as a quest to find a cure ended up as a delightful game of Truth of Dare. You know, the kind without any of that sissy Truth stuff.

The website is carefully organized into subheadings by types of cures, starting with Mental and ending with Hazardous. That's just beautiful. More proof that I truly love my husband? I did not go straight to Hazardous cures. I started at the top and made my way down carefully. Well, carefully at first but then I was struck by the absolute absurdity of some of the "cures" and I began to enjoy the circus freak show it was creating so I would hop, skip and jump around to the ones I found the most interesting because if you are going to spend a few hours trying to cure the hiccups it should at the very least be entertaining if at all possible and you better believe this was entertainment.

We started with Mental and made our way all the way to Hazardous. We did not try all of them whether they were Hazardous or not so just know that anything that contained the words digital and rectal and massage all in a row were skipped. Also skipped was Threateningly Holding a Gun to the Subject's Head you know, because we don't have a gun. I was, however, incredibly intrigued by the process in which these "cures" were "discovered" but then again there didn't seem to be a lot of actual science behind about 200 of the 250 touted cures. Also curious was that Jump Out of a Plane was not under the Hazardous heading. Strange?

Here are some of my favorites:

*Say Pineapple---that just seems too easy...but would just saying "apple" work? What about "pine" by itself?
*Think of all the bald men you can---I had to throw that one in
*Close your mouth and breath easily through your nose; swallow easily once; tell yourself: "The electrical system short you have experienced has been corrected and your hick-up is gone." --Apparently the electrical system was not listening.
*Repeatedly tell yourself "you are not a fish."---this one was so unusual that we stuck it into every cure we tried after that.
*Urinate; concentrate on both peeing and breathing.---how can you tell if you are really concentrating on just peeing and breathing?
*Have a conversation with someone about something unrelated to the hiccups.---why would we talk about something else when this is so entertaining? Can we talk about whether your are a fish or not?
*Stand on a chair in a crowded room and say, “I have the hiccups!” loudly.---aren't we supposed to be avoiding this topic?
*Slide a well-greased length of thin, flexible rubber tubing through one nostril to the point where it just barely touches the back of the throat (be careful not to hurt the sensitive lining of the nose). (This is known as "nasopharyngeal airway insertion," and is believed to work by stimulating the vagus nerve.) ---now where did we put that well-greased length of thin, flexible rubber tubing? I'm sure we just had it.....
*Eat a Hot Pocket.---that is simply disgusting and will probably make someone vomit which, by the way, was one of the suggestions.
*Eat a Slim Jim and drink a Dr. Pepper.---actually a less disgusting thought than the Hot Pocket
*Do three cartwheels with a Jolly Rancher (candy) in your mouth.---I simply wanted to see this attempted and I don't really feel bad about that fact.
*Sing loud and with heart. ---he tried this one and I have to admit that I kept telling him it just wasn't enough heart.
*Swallow a spoonful of chocolate pudding (as if it were medicine).---I'm not quite sure what is different about swallowing chocolate pudding and swallowing it as if it were medicine....like with a scrunched up face?
*Eat a dill pickle while you lie on your back with your mouth wide open; let your head hang over the edge of a couch or bed; breathe deeply and slowly.---is is just me or does that sound kind of dirty?
*Have someone deliver a swift punch to your abdomen.---I offered.

I know you are wondering what finally cured him. Shredded Wheat. I'm totally writing that guy. I want it on the list and I want it to say 250 Funny Things to Make Someone Do Before Eating Shredded Wheat to Cure Hiccups.

And if you don't believe me.....here's the link.

Good-bye, Tooth

2011-10-01T07:17:00.000-07:00

The tooth is finally gone. It came out on her birthday. She claims she was waiting for her birthday before she pulled it so she could get more money from the tooth fairy. Silly girl, I'm absolutely certain there was no deal on the table for that but I'll let her talk the talk. My theory is that it finally just leapt to it's death as opposed to her actually pulling it. Poor suicidal tooth.

The funny thing is it changed her face more than I thought it would. And now the one next to it is loose so sometime around 2012 she may have to let that one go too. That's fine. I'm growing accustomed to her new face.

Apparently the loss of the tooth did not diminish The Crazy all that much which is good. I can only take so many changes at once.

I Want to Party with You!

2011-09-27T12:21:00.000-07:00

If summer has to end, it should do so in this manner. With these people. On a beautiful night. With a table full of amazing food, a keg of tasty beer, music for the masses and some impromptu performances on a makeshift stage.

Bettie and the City

2011-09-27T11:42:00.000-07:00

My wonderfully talented friend took some pictures of me. I'm a lucky girl, for sure. We went downtown to Portland's gorgeous library. I put on my glitter shoes. I brought books. It was amazing. We got to talk about the intoxicating smell of old books, the images change us and shoes. We ate Thai food by a fountain. She shot on film. I can't wait to see them in her upcoming Art Show. Check out one of her shots at Little Paper Cities and you can see more of her work. Photographer. Lawyer. Mother. Artist. Wife. Friend. Blogger. She inspires me constantly.

Tales of a Fourth Grade Mother

2011-09-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

The times are inevitably a changin' and I think I forgot my crash helmet and seat belt. My boy is developing a wicked sense of humor. He quotes Monty Python because he has horrible parents who let him watch The Holy Grail (but in our defense, we are not horrible enough to let him watch The Meaning of Life). We are beginning to bridge the years. Part cartoon but part Monty Python. And when he started fourth grade recently, I knew something was amiss. But really it is one more step towards maturity. Third grade began the time when we entered the school building and he got to head off on his own. This year he has decided that he wants to park his bike way over on the other side of the building so I get a cursory head nod as a good-bye. Most days. If he enters fifth grade and wants to start shaking my hand, I'll need some medication.

Already I realized that his odd behavior on the first day of school was not nerves (exactly) or being overwhelmed (at least not completely). No, it was me. Or more accurately, it was having his mother come into class to check on him. Ouch. I thought I might be a cool mom but I am first and foremost a MOM and I'm thinking those two things are like two magnets that repel each other. I often joke that if he doesn't give me a little good morning hug or cuddle, then I will get one at school. And it will involve words like 'cuddle bug' and 'mommy' which brings out his dimples and lands me my hug. Now I know better. Apparently I need not put any effort into embarrassing him. I just need to show up. So Reggie banned me from that side of the building in the morning.

I think I've taken it quite well. No crying fits. No tantrums. Haven't been dragged out of the school. Yet. That's good, right? I know I have to focus on the positive. My boy is growing up. I want him to do that. We still have so much in common: a wicked sense of humor, a love of sports and, at least right now, some lovely locks.

Luckily we'll always have Monty Python.....

And The Award Goes To....

2011-09-26T19:16:00.000-07:00

Anyone watch the Emmy broadcast the other night? We did. I'm a sucker for award shows and a sucker for television so I could not resist. And for a short time, Flannery watched it. She watched it. She kind of studied it. She asked a lot of questions. She decided to become an actress. And I know consider myself a complete failure. I kept trying to point out the writers who were winning awards because they still get the fancy dresses AND the awards AND they can write. Isn't that the trifecta? Literacy in a designer gown with a gold statue? Apparently only in my mind. And she's right. Their dresses were not nearly as fancy. Damn.

So she asked how kids get to do that. That meaning be on TV. I told her that first they needed to probably take acting classes and then.....too late. I need to learn how to talk faster than her flogic can flyl. She asked to take an acting class. (Notice the singular--acting class--as she's pretty confident that there will not be a need for a series of them.) Since Flannery's birthday is just around the corner, she actually had money from a grandma to take a class. And I do mean it's to take a class. Flannery had singing aspirations recently but when I checked in before finding the class, she said nah. And I carefully explained that the money would not be spent on Littlest Pet Shop or Squinkies or anything else that I would just vacuum up in the very near future. But she was serious. She wanted an acting class. Okay. I found a class at Oregon Children's Theater. Great. And when I told her that I set her up for a class, her response was "So now I'll be on TV?" And, folks, she's not kidding.

What does this have to do with a picture of my fabulous fringe boots? I'll tell you....

First day of class, I take her downtown to the theater and I sit down in the parent's lounge to wait. I am allowed to watch her through a glass in the front of the classroom but I a) have no desire to be an acting class spectator and b) wouldn't be able to if I wanted as there was no more room. Twice when I walked by, two women were eagerly vying for space at the window while rattling off their children's resumes. It was a little too Toddlers and Tiaras for my taste. So I decided to keep to myself in the parent's lounge.

Unfortunately the parent's lounge was located just steps from the door to the Musical Theater practice room. I know they were practicing Into the Woods. I also know that they actually only practiced one part of one song twenty gazillion times before I was forced out of the lounge, out of the theater and out into the streets. I wandered aimlessly which is not even close to a complaint since the verb to wander and the adverb aimlessly have not had much to do with my life in the past decade or so. They are the stuff of daydreams and Christmas wish lists.

I did not wander too long before I stumbled upon Nordstrom and visions of boots filled my head. First of all, I was charmed by the perfume sniper who introduced me to a wonderful scent that I did truly love but I was more impressed that she thought that I would be persuaded by her comment that the bottle was only $95. I would only say that if I was buying like a car or a house. I do not own things that are small enough to fit in my purse that cost that much money if I can't take a picture on it and then text it to my friend. I'm not afraid to say that I'm firmly in the camp that believes a smell should not cost that much money. But I do like to visit those worlds occasionally. And definitely aimlessly. Finally I made it to my nirvana. I strolled through the shoe department and ogled boot after glorious boot. It was decadent. It was intoxicating. It was my own leather and suede heaven. Eventually I had to leave before I developed a tic or worse, my credit card was released from my wallet and all Hell broke loose. I had to remind myself that I was already wearing boots that I loved dearly and I didn't need all the boots. And I'm keenly aware that I should probably find myself a nice 12 step program.

So I headed straight back to the theater. The moms were still watching their kids (yes, that's one and one half hours of standing and staring and it's as frightening as it sounds). Flannery came out of the class to tell me she had a good time but really they only learned how to introduce themselves and she already knew that. But she wants to keep going. And I support her spirit and her sense of self and let's face it, she may end up on television and then, forget those fancy dresses and the awards, we're going to get some sweet ass boots and that perfume because it's only $95.

Funny Face

2011-09-21T06:54:00.000-07:00

Trapped in a car. Two girls impatiently waiting. One mom with a camera. What could happen?

Apparently this....

Dynamos

2011-09-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

Saturday was the official start of the soccer season or as we like to call it around here Say Good-bye to Saturdays (we weren't using them anyway). The big difference this year is I'm helping to coach Flannery's team she said with a gulp. I'm pretty sure this "volunteering" of mine involved a grandiose sense of self, a glass or two of wine and a misguided desire to get to know my inner Mia Hamm. It could have also been exacerbated by watching the Women's World Cup this summer. Okay, I also like the idea of wearing a whistle. Regardless of the road I took, I'm there. Luckily I'm simply the assistant or else the kids would be running laps until they vomited as I tend run out of entertaining ideas after the first 15 minutes or so especially when facing a firing squad like this one. I'm not too proud to admit that there is something about this age group together as a group that is truly frightening.

These are my minions. My ragtag band of little kickers. Soccer at this age involves two types of kids: the kids who have very little clue which direction they are heading and who is on their team and the kids who kind of know but just don't care. I love watching these games since it's mostly a group of fairly identical children grouped together in a tight knit little bundle, kicking each other but missing the ball. And then every few minutes I will be subbing in new kids to kick some shins and miss the ball. The kids learn the importance of teamwork, sportsmanship and physical activity. And I get to wear a whistle. I need to find myself a whistle.

Name That Tune

2011-09-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

If the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results, then I am the definition of stupidity. Or at least I am when it comes to doubting my husband and his vast knowledge of songs from back in the day. I hate to admit it but he knows more than I do. About that one category only. Wait, and math. He knows more about obscure songs from the 70s and math than I do. That's it. And I feel the song thing can be chalked up to different ages. The math thing is simply an opposites attract thing because he has the problem solved before I've even started counting my fingers.

But for some reason, I still challenge him. Time after humiliating time. I cannot count the instances that he has mentioned or even sang a song and I've simply claimed he was making it up. This response is ridiculous on more than a few levels. First of all, he has been right more times than he has been wrong about it. In fact, I hate to admit this too but, he has never been wrong. Also, he's not so much of a songwriter which makes even me wonder why I think he has the ability to just whip up songs on the fly. I have heard him sing the occasional made-up song to the kids. It's really quite pitiful yet adorable. But it is in no way even remotely close to the songs he mentions and I accuse him of conjuring up on his own. Even as painful as those songs are. And they are.

Last night we had the same discussion. I told him that I've had Wilson Phillips' Hold On in my head ever since we saw Bridesmaids the other night. He topped that with the fact that he had Island Girl in his head and then he sang a bit of it. I can honestly swear in a court of law that I had not ever heard a single note or wayward lyric that sounded anywhere near what he was singing. So I challenged him. And he told me it was an old Elton John song. And, of course, I was incredulous because I had never heard of that song. His claims are a little bit easier to believe when it's some random one hit wonder. Elton John? And so he sang some more as if it would jog my memory which it wouldn't because I have never heard that song before in my entire life. Wanting to prove to him that it was stranger that he knew the song than it was that I didn't, I went to facebook and put the call out. Much to my dismay, it was identified and discussed immediately. I lose again. When will I ever learn?

This morning, Reg was singing the song again with a certain tinge of victory in his voice. And just to hit it home a little more, he pulled the song up on the computer to give me a listen. Now I'm no vocal stylist but I can carry a tune in a bucket. All I can say about this little turn of events (and maybe with a slight tinge of victory in my voice) is that I may have had a fighting chance at identifying said song if he had sounded more like, say, Elton John and less like Sebastian the Jamaican crab from Disney's Little Mermaid. I'm just sayin'.

I Love School!

2011-09-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

That wonderful time of the year is back.....it's school time. It's like Christmas but only for parents! I love my children very much but I have to admit that I love them even more when they are scheduled to be somewhere else from roughly 8am to 2:30 or so. It's what keeps the bonds of our relationship strong and healthy. It also keeps me sane and much less likely to commit homicide.

The Language of Love

2011-09-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

And so we are at the front gates of fourth grade which for me is the beginning of my most solidified memories and that means the boys is becoming so much more. He even smells boy-like. He has the pre-pre-adolescent smirk and snarl down pat. He will soon be a tween and then a teen and then I will most likely slip into a vegetative state of denial.

Luckily we have not lost any ability to communicate in that special way that moms and sons do. Here is the conversation we had this morning.

Me: I have bananas that need to be used. Would you prefer banana bread or banana muffins.
E: (without the slightest hesitation) Banana muffins!
Me: Do you think you look more like your dad or like me
E: (with even less hesitation) Dad!
Me: I agree. Must be why I love you just a little less.
E: Must be why I love you even less than that.
Me: Then I'm making banana bread this morning.
E: Actually I love you more.

And I made banana muffins because he may look just like his father but he talks just like mom.

The Magical Fruit Defense

2011-08-12T08:49:00.000-07:00

The other morning, Flannery wanted beans for breakfast because, you know, that's normal. I know that lots of different cultures probably have beans for breakfast without a second thought. But we're not really one of them. And I know I have very little wiggle room in the whole glass houses/throwing stones thing as I tend to have sandwiches for breakfast (and not breakfast sandwiches, mind you, because I don't do eggs but actual turkey and cheese, hold the mayo, open-faced sandwiches). But it struck me as odd. So I asked. Do you really want beans for breakfast, Flannery?

And she insisted that YES, she wanted beans because (and then she sang)

Beans, Beans the magical fruit
The more you eat the more you toot
The more you toot the better you feel
So why not eat beans for every meal.

And with her definitive emphasis on the word every which included opening her eyes wide enough that her eyeballs could have actually fallen out, she left no room for argument. I see a fine law career in her future.

Objection, your honor, the song clearly states "So why not eat beans for every meal" and although it's in the form of a question, I think we all know it's really a statement of fact.

At the Five Cent Farm, beans are now the most obvious Breakfast of Champions.

Cousins

2011-08-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

Lest you think we just sat and stared at the newest member of the family during our trip, we have proof of other activities that we did in between staring at Juniper.

Some cousins set up a zip line for the kids to satiate their need for speed. My kids were immediate zip junkies. We also rode horses and Cody's quad. Even my mom got a ride on the four wheeler. It's obvious by the look on her face that she loved every minute of it. She's definitely feeling the need for speed.

The horses weren't as unanimously enjoyable. Again, my mom got on a horse for the first time in 40 years but, if you can imagine, she didn't seem as at ease as she did on the quad. Flannery loved riding. Emerson was less thrilled. I'm chalking it up to the difference between boys and girls and leaving it at that.

In our attempt to provide the ultimate riding experience, Cody and I set out on the horses each with a kid in front. When we got just beyond the fences, past the corral and away from the mill, it started to drizzle. Then it sprinkled. Then it poured. Then it hailed. Big hail like you see in disaster movies. We ended up running the horses back to the family land. When I finally had a chance to peel off my soaked clothing, I dumped about half a boot full of water onto the ground. Real cowboy stuff going on.

In the end, the kids were infinitely pleased with pretty much every aspect of the adventure. It was not always easy, with daily rainstorms and having to navigate the massive amount of new family members they encountered. It probably didn't help that my answer to every Who is that? was Your cousin. But it's hard to deny that running around pretty much fence-free, playing in the forest, speeding down zip lines, horseback riding, campfires, a live version of Minute to Win It, fancy dutch oven cooking, s'mores, quads and impromptu softball games makes for a pretty fine time.

We even wore out the poor dog.

The Promised Land

2011-08-05T13:29:00.000-07:00

Apparently we hit another milestone age here at the Five Cent Farm. Not sure if it was the kids or me but it was obviously time to introduce the beasties to the cowboys and I had no idea who to bet on.

Even though I had spent many summers on my family's ranch in White Mountain area of Northern Arizona, my children had not been up there except for one family reunion back when Emerson just a year old. Time, distance and also the realization that there are so many places we want to visit each summer, kept us away. But this year marked a big change. Namely my brother and his wife had a baby and I was dying to get my hands on the little bundle of cuteness. I'm a sucker for a baby especially another person's baby.

So I spent a bit of time preparing the kids. Mostly I told them that whatever behavior they were displaying (lying, tattling, fighting--wow, my kids sound awful) would not be acceptable on the ranch and someone would yell at them. This is not exactly an exaggeration. Okay, maybe not yell at them but there is a direct correlation between wearing a cowboy hat and a considerable lack of patience. Mostly it's displayed when there is work to be done and someone is doing the wrong damn thing. But I felt like it was a) helping me out and b) kind of fair warning. It's very Lord of the Flies meets Bonanza with a bit of Little House on the Prairie up there. But it did help me out that I could say tell them about the yelling and the behavior improved. I don't feel bad about it at all.

The kids definitely enjoyed the trip. These pictures are from the day we drove to the ranch house looking for horses. They got to climb up into the rebuilt treehouse, search through a crumbling old house and see where the horses and cows are kept. Of course, I made the kids get in the calf chute for the obligatory picture of a kid in a calf chute. What? Your family doesn't do that? Huh.

Welcome to our crazy world.

Babes in Wonderland

2011-08-05T12:38:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't say we're obsessed. Maybe we'd cop to a healthy infatuation. We're smitten. We simply can't get enough. But you can't blame us.

I mean look at this face..the eyes...the eyelashes (which, by the way, grew longer every single day). Her cheeks also got fuller. Her smile got bigger and brighter.

And since we had waited several weeks before we finally got to meet our little Juniper, I'd say we did a pretty good job.

Okay, that's a lie. We're completely obsessed with our cute little Junebug. She's got us wrapped around her tiny fingers. And we're totally okay with that because anyone would be helpless around this one. She's a keeper.

Hair Today....

2011-07-24T19:26:00.000-07:00

Strangely I scheduled my haircut appointment on the hottest day Portland has seen since last summer. It felt good to shed some layers. I have to admit that this was a spur of the moment decision brought on by my couch bound day of mourning my inability to be mobile for the next few weeks and a strong desire to 'do something' which usually leads to no good. But I always figure, eh, it's hair. It grows back, well, I mean for most of us it does.

Without further ado.....

Before

After

View From the Cheap Seats

2011-07-20T07:08:00.000-07:00

Here's what I'm sporting for the next 3-6 weeks. I figured summer just wasn't exciting enough. But I need your help. I'm looking for a good caption for this photo of me and my new accessory.
Some contenders:

You should see the other guy
Just my stock answer whenever I've managed to hurt myself and someone asks what happened

It's what all the kids are wearing
Actually I am looking to float this trend so keep your eyes peeled for some storm trooper-like cast boots coming to a store near you

Buy you books and buy your books but you never learn a damn thing
This is what my grandfather used to say to me whenever I did something stupid which was pretty much all of the time but the truth is he never bought me a book about how to not do stupid things and it really would have been a good investment

Luke, I am your father
Is it just me or does it look like Vader's boot?

Luckily black is slimming
I'm pretty sure my other calf has never looked so small

Bradi's boot fetish hits a new high (or is it low)
I think I should just ask for one for my other foot--a girl can never have enough black boots

Okay, folks. Your turn. Love to hear what you have to offer. No rush. Although it's simply a case of a little plantar fasciitis and Achilles tendonitis, I'm also cooking up some good stories of how I hurt my foot. I'm thinking it should involve a night on the town, an elephant, a car chase and possibly a case of mistaken identity. I don't have it all worked out but luckily I have time to think.

Summertime

2011-07-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

I did not make a big list of things I wanted to do or accomplish this summer like many people do. I had a vague notion of a list in my brain which meant it was ever changing and malleable like modeling clay. I can convince myself that what we're doing/planning to do is another check off the list that doesn't exist. It's a sort of fool proof way of acquiring a sense of accomplishment without the mess of actually setting a goal. It's the ultimate I meant to do that. And I'll admit that possibly one of the things on my list is to make a list.

But now the summer is taking shape yet I can sense the end is nigh which is funny to think about in mid-July since summers around here don't start until about July 4th. Basically I'm saying that one week in July was quite a summer. Unfortunately it's a bit true. This year seems a little rainier and grayer than most summers. It's a bit of a complaint but at the same time it's not. I spend less time watering the garden I've been building up. On the other hand, I've all but given up the ghost on growing tomatoes this year. Even as I sit here writing, the rain is coming down and the room is pretty dark.

Still there some things I'd like to do before the summer is gone for good and luckily most of them do no involve homegrown tomatoes.

I'd like to
Make about 5 more batches of jam but I'm still waiting for the fruit to bedazzle me. It's hard to marry the idea of capturing the tastes of summer for a trip down memory lane come the soggy winter when the summer looks much like the soggy spring months. Schizophrenic Seasonal Disorder is taking hold of Portland. We may get beautiful tomatoes sometime in late September.

Paint the stairs, the bathroom and several walls but I'm torn between wanting the extra help of everyone here and worry about the "help" of having everyone and the dog here. Painting stairs with a neurotic dog present is an exercise in patience and planning which are not really the virtues that come naturally to me. Add to that the kids' burning desire to assist and I become the neurotic mess.

Put dimmer switches in most rooms. Our old house has many charming features but it's lack of outlets and lighting options is not one of them. It would be nice to create more options than dark of midnight (especially in the early afternoons of our winters) and bright as the sun. Unfortunately our old house comes equipped with old wiring that we got to peek at yesterday when we made Dimmer Switch Attempt #1. There are no instructions that mention what to do if your wires are neither red nor green nor of this century. And electricity is something we're pretty sure we don't want to monkey around with when we know the "insulation" of our house is basically kindling--that's not an exaggeration as it's bark chips and newspaper.

Find a dining room table that will mark the next phase in our lives--the one that means we don't have to buy furniture based on the durability and resilience to our children's destructive behavior. Basically we want a dining room table sans markers, paints and burns. Our children aren't pyromaniacs but we do have a burn in our table from Hanukkah and it was Emerson learning how to light the Menorrah so we can still blame him for it which means maybe we can dip into his college fund to pay for it.

I realize all of these seem pretty down to earth. They lack a certain whimsy that summer is supposed to unleash. I have those too.

I'd like to
Help Emerson learn how to whistle with his hands
Teach Flannery to do a proper cartwheel
Build something
Take the kids to my family's ranch and ride horses
Camp under the stars
Take the kids fishing
Make ice cream with something we've grown
Go on a family bike ride down the Eastside Esplanade
See a concert in the park
Hike up by the Falls
Swim in a lake

My Model Children

2011-07-09T10:33:00.000-07:00

A friend of ours is a photographer who works at a gallery that has photography workshops. She asked if Emerson and Flannery would be interested in being models for the students to practice taking pictures of kids. And they would be paid. Money. The kids were four enthusiastic thumbs up about the plan for someone to give them money and the rest was static.

During the shoot, I heard from the instructor that my kids were "naturals" at this. Naturals at sitting and being photographed all while being told how beautiful they are. Yup. Not everyone can handle that level of labor.

These are a few of the pictures from that day.

Time with Mason

2011-07-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

Dinner with little Mason proves to be quite fun.

I'm wondering when Mason will realize he could totally be in control if he'd use Emerson's hair like reigns and trot him around the backyard.

Flannery plays little mom.

And finally Mason learns what happens when you drink your play water like the dog.

Midsummer

2011-07-07T08:09:00.000-07:00

A triumphant return from the first ever solo parenting road trip out of the state deserves a celebration. Of course, so does a birthday and visiting Swedes and the feast of Midsummer. It may be July now and just beginning summer in Portland but Midsummer waits for no one.

We were lucky enough to snag an invite to a night of music, merriment and mosquitoes at the home of our good friends. In celebration of their relatives visiting from Sweden, we all got together to eat gravlax, pickled herring and boiled potatoes washed down with Akvavit--the Water of Life for our Scandavian friends. The basic rhythm of the night was sing, toast, eat, repeat which is definitely a good way to ring in the summer even if the summer is not cooperating. A deliciously decadent cake doesn't hurt either.

Skål!

Glee

2011-06-30T12:24:00.000-07:00

It was extremely evident that Emerson was having a good time at Lake Tahoe. In fact, something has really put a spring in his step. Ever since he turned 9 years old, he has been a lot more dance-y. There's no other way to describe it.

Tahoe, We Love You

2011-06-30T12:06:00.000-07:00

The rest of the trip to Tahoe did not include any shattered glass on my lap or hours of waiting in little towns. The rest of the trip involved:

water
mountains
trees
beach towels
bubbles
games
balloons
dogs
beads
coloring
sand
and happy kids

with the exception of one night when Flannery was sick and vaguely resembled the little girl from the Excorcist.

The Road to Ashland

2011-06-27T13:34:00.000-07:00

The subtitle of this post is Things I Haven't Told My Mother.

Last Monday I set off on my very first road trip adventure with my children and my dog and no husband in this country. I am not too proud to admit that I was a little freaked out beyond belief. But just a little.

I cannot put my finger on exactly what gives me pause on these kind of excursions except to say that I often do things without thinking them through and make really bad decisions. I just didn't want to be the only one calling the shots. On the other hand, I'm infinitely capable in an emergency and can shrug off a lot of things. So me and my split personalities and my crazy kids and my neurotic dog were off on the road to Southern Oregon on our way to Lake Tahoe.

The other thing about me is I have no sense of direction. I'm directionally challenged to the nth degree. It's quite painful and embarrassing. I've taken wrong turns and almost left the country. I'm not exaggerating a bit. It's sad. So I had my carefully printed maps that tell me EXACTLY where to go at all times. I had a million little things for the kids to do and read and listen to and play. I had snacks. I had water. I was so on top of things, I kind of scared myself.

You know it can't all be good, right?

Halfway between Eugene and Roseburg (which is to say out in the middle of nothing around Oregon) a rock roughly the size of a small planetoid hit my windshield. I am sure we have been shot and it looks like we've been shot because the rock was propelled by one of the many large trucks on the road and there is now glass in the front seat, in my lap, on the dog. It's everywhere except on the children. I have to pull over to find a gas station where I can call the insurance company (also, I was really feeling like I might throw up). The kids were good until we got into a convenience store and the very recent memory of shattered glass was nothing compared to the variety of M&Ms and the aisles filled with things like Gum by the Foot and Slim Jim's.

The insurance company hooked me up with the glass installation people who informed me that they could find a place in Ashland that may be able to get me in this week. And that's when the tears welled up and I wished Reg was around. I became that woman and it made me so mad. But when I calmly and with very little crying told him that we were just passing through Ashland, he was able to get me a next morning appointment for a replacement. The downside was that I still had hours to go with a broken windshield. I was pretty sure that one healthy bug in the windshield would push it passed its limits and I'd have no windshield at all. Of course, the guy assured me--in a vaguely condescending way that tearful females often experience--that nothing would happen because windshields are made to withstand so much blah blah blah and there is vinyl or something in the middle and blah blah blah they don't break all the way through. I definitely had to win this one. I informed him that I was covered in glass shards and so was my dog. Not only did he feel bad, I suddenly felt worse. Like I said, sometimes I do things without thinking.

Don't fret, mom. I made it. I arrived in Ashland several hours later ready to put the day behind me. Unfortunately, it was miserable hot in our itty bitty motel room with no internet and--brace yourself--I had no beer. Yeah. The story actually gets worse. Luckily only temporarily because I realized three very important things:

The air conditioner was so very powerful and efficient in our little room

I could get internet wi-fi from the motel next door if I sat on the front step outside our door

One of the bottles of wine I bought to share with my girlfriends had a screw top.

I am very thankful for the people at Ashland Glass who got me in the very next day (and even early because I am my mother's daughter). I am also incredibly grateful that my kids held it together for 3 hours while we waited for the repair. We had no car and we were by nothing of interest. They even walked for 25 minutes or so to the nearest Starbucks which was shocking--not the walking part but that there was not a Starbucks at every corner. We carried the laptop and camera along with jackets we no longer needed as the temperature was nearing 90 something and snacks we were tired of eating. They barely complained at all. They even stopped annoying each other for the sheer pleasure of it. They were inspirational. It was the beginning of me seeing that my kids are growing and changing in positive ways. And it made me so grateful all over again.

I'm also extremely appreciative of the geniuses behind screw top wine.

I'll talk to you soon, mom.

I Never Get Shotgun!

2011-06-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

With the newsboy hat his Granny got him on backwards and his long hair, Emerson is starting to vaguely resemble the Ron Slater character from Dazed and Confused. Discuss.

Junebug

2011-06-18T20:39:00.000-07:00

This little sleeping beauty finally made her much anticipated debut. Meet Juniper Kathleen Weagant. I think she's perfect and I haven't even met her yet. I'm pretty sure my brother agrees.

Countdown

2011-06-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I did it. I sent Reggie off to China and took the helm. And in the first 48 hours after he left we had:

1 house that was clean from top to bottom and bottom to top (just like in the magazines)
5 loads of freshly washed laundry
1 replanted hydrangea
2 innings of TBall to end the season
1 broken doorknob
3 meltdowns (but only one was mine)
1 dead mouse in a state of advanced rigor mortis
4 chickens in the great out of doors (temporarily)
0 trips to the gym
2 sunny days
10 beautiful roses from the garden
1 perfect peony
1 lost (and then recovered) boy child
13 days to go

Cirque du Cycling

2011-06-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

Portland loves their bikes and any reason to dress in costume. Put those two together for a guaranteed party in the streets. I present Cirque du Cycling. It's pretty much just a reason to get outside and ride a bike. As if a reason was necessary. We also seem to like drummers and face painting because they are at every street festival possible. I love this town.

The pictures are from my camera phone so forgive the quality. We had a great time, saw some crazy bikes and suffered only one injury. I was very impressed that Emerson rode his bike all the way from our house to the street fair which turned out to be almost 10 miles. We didn't stay to see the races but we did manage to catch this parade.....twice.

Happy Place

2011-06-07T09:33:00.000-07:00

The countdown began yesterday when I realized that Reggie will be leaving for Tibet in ten days. Now it's 9 days. I'm set to try out single parenthood for two solid weeks. Zone defense. Just me against the beasties. My current plan is to keep them busy and distracted from the fact that they LOVE to drive each other over the edge because apparently they also love the sound of my shrill angry mother voice telling them to knock it off. Other plans include changing the clocks to make them think it's time to go to bed and extended games of Who Can Be the Quietest with big cash rewards. I know that other mothers do this all of the time and to that I say, Can I drop my kids off with you?

I am exaggerating a little. I'm actually looking forward to spending time with the kids, not having to compromise about what movie to watch and having the entire bed to myself to splay my limbs akimbo. The kids and I have planned a wee bit of a road trip to Tahoe to meet up with some friends and their kids (because there is safety in numbers) which will be our first big road trip. I see a grand adventure in our future. And I'm bracing myself. I may have signed up for taking two children who excel in pushing each other's buttons and placing them in a smaller, confined space with our neurotic dog. I'm hoping to get all the way out of Oregon before having to utter the phrase don't make me pull this car over. Of course, some days I'm not too optimistic about that actually happening.

Luckily, I've also just come off of a fabulous vacation so I have a happy place to go to in my mind. There are white sand beaches, blue waves and time to think. There is also no whining and always plenty of fish tacos. Whenever the noise becomes too much, I can just close my eyes to take me back to where the warm sand was on my toes, the cold beer was in my hand and I didn't speak the language.

The C Monster

2011-06-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

I got a chance to spend some time with this little munchkin the other day. Admittedly, I am not stellar when it comes to watching other people's kids (OPKs) but I wanted to help some friends out and also it's good to face your fears head on. Three year olds are scary. They don't even have to belong to other people. Mine were scary. Yours are scary. Others will become scary around that age. Luckily they remain cute or else it would be a bloodbath.

Because I was a little out of my element, I simply relied on some activity that would take up the bulk of our time. Play-Doh. Play-Doh so used that it is almost all that overly mixed shade of grayish-brown. But what a wonder. The playing of doh lasted for over an hour. I'm completely astonished as I don't think my older children sustain an hour of complete immersion in anything besides sleep. But it has been several years since I've sat down to entertain a three year old. I forgot how bossy and imaginative they can be. Carley is both in spades. First I was instructed to "make a dog" and then "make it talk" and then "stop making it bark and make it talk normally." Apparently I upset her by having the dog make dog noises when it was supposed to carry on a conversation with the volcano. Yeah, the next part got a little strange. She made a volcano that morphed into a dinosaur and smashed the poor talking dog. Then I had to make a cat that didn't talk (and, as Carley pointed out, didn't look much like a cat) to be chased by the extremely tall and menacing volcano dinosaur. In the end she decided that the last bits of clay that still retained their original color were badly in need of mixing so that we had uniformly grayish-brown clay for the next dog-smashing, dinosaur volcano.

That's when I decided it was time to paint her nails. One hand bees and one hand ladybugs. And neither, as far as I can tell, smashed the other one.

Nine

2011-06-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

Emerson Satchel
9 Year Old Ninja

Woke up the mother of an extremely energetic nine year old boy. There was dancing and karate chops and a combination of the two--he gets his rhythm from his father. I see much in this boy's future. Mostly I see a short distance from here to teenagedom. It's going to be an incredible journey. He's too smart for his own good and has that sarcasm thing down pat--he also gets that from his father. . . . .He's got gray eyes as big as saucers with eyelashes that reach out and grab you--he got them from his father. He has deep dimples in his cheeks that I call his lie detectors. He's got a pest of a sister who loves him more because it embarrasses him. He is an information junkie, a movie line quoter and a future hall monitor. He's fast on the soccer field and slow to clean up his messes. At 6 months old he learned to crawl and at 10 months to walk and ever since then he hasn't stopped moving which would explain his fat-free muscular form. But I think I love very little more than to have him wrap his long, skinny arms--he gets those from me--around my neck and smile that great big, dimpled smile.

This adventure that began 9 years ago has kept me on the brink of insanity, thrown me for a massive loop and opened me up to more joy and pain than I ever knew existed in this whole wide world. I don't know where I'd be without my boy. He gave me direction.

And to him I say.....

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Vacating

2011-06-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

Not bad for a first "real" vacation in years. Right?

I probably have about 300 more pictures just like this one because I really did an enormous amount of sitting for vast amounts of time. I remember years ago I watched this crazy PBS reality show called Manor House where half the participants are the servants and the other are the family being served. At one point, the main dad being served says in a confessional that he really is enjoying this little social experiment and that he thinks he's "to the manor born." Duh? Really, you liked being the lord of the land better than the scullery maid (who kept quitting). But I have to say, I think I'm to the lazy beach life born. I could definitely get used to sitting on a beach with sand so white it blinded my eyes and water so blue you could see to the bottom. I don't mean to brag but I think I'm quite good at it. I might even excel at it. I guess I really shouldn't say that until I give it another try and see how I do. And then maybe I'll see about a beach bum career move.

Who's with me?

Tulum

2011-05-28T14:21:00.000-07:00

My day.....

a beautifully painted table,
palm tree in the breeze,
two palms trees and the same breeze,
my view from my spot on the beach,
palabras.

I am so very content. Tulum, so far, has been very very kind to us. We woke up to the sound of breaking waves. The same breaking waves that lulled us to sleep. We ate breakfast and then hit the beach for warm water and sun. We drank rum and coke while eating fish tacos and ceviche. And we're happily enjoying this all with new friends.

Mother, Dear

2011-05-23T17:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,
You know how I forgot you were arriving on Tuesday and not Wednesday, well I know now AND I'm totally going to pick you up. I even canceled my much needed appointment at the spa for a facial, foot soak and glass of wine so you don't have to sit at the airport and wait for me. You may have to watch me soak my feet at home while I drink from a box of wine. . . .Nah, I won't do that either.

I will, however, leave you with the stinkiest baby chicks ever in the history of chicken-dom. And for that, I apologize. I've been trying to teach them not to defecate in their own water but apparently they DON'T CARE. It's gross. But they are exceptionally cute--well, in an ugly and I poop where I eat kind of way. I'm also leaving you with my insane children (see picture below). You see Emerson is pre-pre-adolescent or possibly menopausal or just plain bi-polar with a hint of schizophrenia for flavor. Either way the random mood swings can take an eye out. And Flannery is fine until you cross her. You DON'T want to cross her. Let her wear whatever she wants because it's not worth it. I put up a little fight only so that she feels she's really rebelling and later she will think her mismatched clothes are a political statement when they're actually a deterrent to her getting a date. Win-win, right?

Honestly we're excited to have you here with the kids. And they're excited to have you all to themselves. I believe the dog is also excited to cuddle up and spoon with you at night. Did I mention that he dog sleeps with us? Or that the surviving chicken is getting some intense therapeutic psychotropics that need to be administered 5 times a day? And it might rain the entire weekend?

Nah, I wouldn't do that to you. I promise you don't have to give the chicken any meds.

Sunshine-y Day

2011-05-22T10:59:00.000-07:00

At the end of school, the kids explode from the building with all their pent up energy. Luckily the days are getting to be warmer and the sun is returning to our sky. And with the sun comes the extra energy of already energetic kids. Summer is going to be an adventure.

A is for Artichoke

2011-05-18T09:53:00.000-07:00

Found these perfect globe artichokes the other day and ate them with the kids for dinner while we sat on the front porch in the sun. I can feel spring sneaking in and right after that will be summer. It's like the heart of the artichoke hidden under all those layers but still there, intricate and delicious.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

2011-05-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

Although some people think baseball is too slow moving a game to really enjoy, I've always loved it. I think it has a great deal to do with my childhood spent with my grandparents. My grandfather loved baseball and would listen to it on the radio. I grew up listening to it at our family's ranch. Nowadays, my husband will turn the sound off and just watch the game but it drives me up a wall since listening to it is part of the joy of it to me. The constant commentary built to fill all that dead time is an art form all its own.

As you know, it's baseball season here in Portland. Or at least it's baseball season for the little sluggers in our midst. Portland doesn't have a baseball team and I kind of think that makes us not a baseball town. But the kids get into baseball season on their own. Flannery is still in T-Ball much to her chagrin. She was probably ready for Farm Ball (when the coaches pitch to the players) but the rules are that kindergarteners go into T-Ball. She very annoyingly corrects me every time I say it's time for baseball by reminding me that it's T-BALL, MOM. Luckily she still loves the game and she's got a sweet powerful swing on her.

Because baseball season starts in spring here and we don't always have a spring, it's never the same. It's also baseball and it's kids so, really, I'd have to agree with the haters out there that it's a slow game. The outfield is usually riddled with spinning kids, thrown hats, grass angels and the occasional tossed glove. And the game at this age is very unevenly drawn along the gender lines. These pictures give a pretty accurate representation of Your Young Boy Child on Baseball.

The kids on the left of the coach are predominantly girls. The players to the right are all boys.

Losing focus. . . .

And we're gone.

Now imagine those boys are doing all that in the outfield or as they run the wrong way through the bases or just anywhere near the baseball diamond. Eventually they also cry, run into each other and fight their own teammates for the ball. I don't think it's boring. In fact, I love this game.

We Have A Winner

2011-05-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

How's this for the face of a winner? Emerson won AGAIN at the annual Kentucky Derby party we attend. Blind bet equals blind luck with this kid. I imagine it can only be blamed on a combination of surliness and dimples. It's the only explanation.

Play Ball!

2011-05-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

Baseball season officially started yesterday. And in true Flannery style, she kicked some butt with her major league swing, her laser sharp focus, her lightning quick speed and her fabulous leopard and heart print hoodie.

Presidential Material

2011-04-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

Last night during dinner, Flannery interrupted our discussion of politics to ask a few questions about what a president does and who can be president and what we were talking about. The end result was her first campaign poster. If you can't read the entire message, it says:

I feel like good but I think I can help? Flannery for President

I love so much about this little poster. First of all that she made it at all. But I also love that "president" is spelled in correctly on her sign. I love that she made her statement a question. I love that she drew me and Reg voting Yes for her. And she added the name and date (and you can't see it but also her age) at the bottom for posterity. I mean, really? This is a politician. Her message is slightly skewed. Her spelling is adorably off. And, although I'm inexplicably in some kind of muumuu and clog monstrosity, she is in a tie and fashion forward female power suit.

So hold on to your hats because flogic will be sweeping the nation one of these days and this girl has our votes.

A Glimpse is Better Than None

2011-04-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

We heard it was going to happen but didn't believe it until Saturday when the sun came out to warm our weary bones. The sky was crystal clear and blue. The air was warm. No rain fell. It happened. It really happened. Spring is a fickle thing in the Pacific Northwest. We get fits and starts of sun. We celebrate "sun breaks" because they are the straws we have to grasp.

Everyone headed outdoors as it was both long awaited and slated to be brief. We squinted and, with great effort, straightened our hunched backs. We soaked vitamin D directly into our white and puckered skin instead of ingesting it in pill form. We played. We gardened. We peeled several layers of clothing off to celebrate the warmth.

And then, like the groundhog that sees its shadow, it quickly disappeared. Easter was wet and gray leading into a Monday morning storm of Biblical proportions. But it happened which means it could happen again.

Happy Easter, Meester

2011-04-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

Got up early in the morning, put on my bunny ears and made some cupcakes to share with our friends at Easter brunch.

Reginald

2011-04-21T12:24:00.000-07:00

April means it's my main man's birthday. And I have to say a big thanks to him for giving up what was obviously going to be a very lucrative golf career to marry me and raise kids in the Pacific Northwest. We love you, Reggie.

This one is for you, babe.

Field Trip Blues

2011-04-17T12:11:00.000-07:00

I went on a field trip with Emerson's class recently. It was a walking tour of downtown Portland. I'm supremely happy to have time to volunteer with the kids at school but it does sometimes push the boundaries of that whole I'm Not That Mom thing.

First of all, I don't really just love hanging out with other people's kids. Don't get offended. It's a very general thing. I'm sure your child is lovely. It's simply not my nature. One time this dad at the school asked me if I'd like to help out with the talent show program he was doing with first graders. Basically he wanted me to spend time after school everyday choreographing an interpretive dance to a Jack Johnson song for a bunch of children who are not mine. I cannot think of a more fitting way to spend my eternity in Hell.

It's really less about the kids and more about me. I can be a bit blunt and sometimes I might have a sarcastic tone. This served me well when I was teaching drop outs and other angst ridden teens because I could say, with tender bluntness, What were you thinking? and they would actually wonder what they were thinking when they did whatever stupid thing it is they did. When I say What were you thinking? to these elementary school kids, they answer me. And it's frightening. Their thought processes should not be verbalized. There is no rhetorical question at this age. I've stupidly asked my kids How many times have I told you. . . .? And they have helpfully answered ten.

So an entire day with the Emerson's third grade class was not so simple. And I would also be sacrificing my day alone. I value the silence and the freedom. It helps me cope with the chaos and the claustrophobia. I usually volunteer to do the other things. The Behind the Scenes things are just up my alley. Need some copies made? I can do it. Want someone to organize something? Right here. You want someone to read with the kindergarteners? I'm sure I can find just the right person. The truth is I have no patience. My kids would agree. And I lack that thing that parents do where they explain every little thing to their children. You know, rationally. I tend to say things like Don't do that. Simple. Straight forward. To the point. Other parents say Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do that since we blah blah blah.

Luckily, I got to be in charge of 6 very easy children because we walked about 10 miles and it rained like it was trying to flood and it was colder than anyone thought it would be. The biggest shock? It was also actually fun. I know. I was surprised too. But we saw the Chinese Garden, the Portland Tunnels, the Japanese Internment Museum, the Multnomah Hotel, the various lines around Old Town that show where the river had flooded, Skidmore Fountain and the Japanese Memorial. We also ate lunch at the Mercy Corps Building because they took pity on us. And then we walked down to the waterfront and back through the beautiful cherry blossoms. In other words, we walked for 6 hours.

On the bus ride back, I could barely keep my eyes open. I couldn't remember the last time I felt that tired. Every part of me ached and wanted to sleep. When I got home, Flannery kept quizzing me from a book of animal facts but all I heard was her asking True or False? and then I'd doze slightly until I'd hear her demanding again TRUE OR FALSE? and so I'd guess True because saying the word False seemed like way more work and all I wanted to do was fall right back to sleep. It was the proper ending to my day. I had spent an entire day with third graders and lived to tell about it but only after a righteous nap.

Don't You Remember

2011-04-12T09:34:00.000-07:00

I realize I've written many a line about my grief over losing my friend, Tara, and I assumed this day would not be any different. Isn't life just full of curve balls? Just under two weeks ago another friend of mine lost her very brave battle with ALS. Tasha met her fate head on with grace and courage and her undeniable sense of humor. I was only able to watch her progress from afar but I was no less saddened by her loss.

The memories I have of Tara and Tasha are very specific to an incredibly important time in my life. Although I knew Tara from birth, Tasha met Tara when they worked together. And we all switched around being roommates at one time or another. Seventeen. Eighteen. Possibly nineteen years old. High on our newly acquired independence. Playing at being grown up. Growing up. I'm not sure I've ever laughed harder in my life than with those two. Today it was a little more difficult to think back on that time when the major characters are no longer around so I did that thing my mom always says. I had a good cry.

I calculated the other day that come this June, I will officially be older than Tara ever was. I always admired her but I never wanted to pass her up.

I'm sharing this video today for a couple of reasons. Although she never heard her, I know that Tara would have loved Adele. Just her thing. And I know this song is about lovers breaking up but, really, in the end does it really matter whether we're lovers or friends or simply people who briefly come and go? We're all affected by the love and the loss and the space that is left.

Life is not to be underestimated. We gain loved ones. We lose loved ones. If we are lucky, we gain more. We are sometimes tossed on an unrelenting sea. Although I'm grieving my two friends, I consider myself infinitely lucky to have so many different and amazing people in my life to help keep me afloat.

The Beauty of Sleeping

2011-04-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

Last night Flannery fell out of bed. I used to be that mom who rushed to her children's cries to comfort them. Now I rush to get them back to sleep as soon as humanly possible. I even try to do whatever is needed in some state of half sleep. So last night she fell out of bed and started crying but crying that super fake, not anywhere near a real cry that's more about the fact that she fell out of bed and not about any actual injury. And I sort of rushed to her side after Reggie pointed out that I needed to get up and rush to her side (he gets a pass since his back hurts so I didn't try to smother him with a pillow or anything).

I helped her get back in bed and covered up when she asked me if I would cuddle with her. And here's where that awful monster mother part of me took over. I couldn't get in bed with her because her bed holds not only her but 25 stuffed animals, 4 pillows, a BOX, a purse, a bag of silly bands, somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 books and at the least 10 pairs of pajamas. Even in my altered 1am state of sleepiness, I know that making room for me in the bed will :

a) involve a lot of math and possibly physics which even on my best days is a stretch
b) wake me up for the night
c) not provide even a modicum of comfort as I contort myself around her and the obstacle course she has created in bed.

I've slept with her in her bed before. It's not good. First of all, she sleeps with her eyes partially open. Secondly, she breathes my air directly from my nose and mouth. And most importantly, she sleeps like a hoarder. It's as if anything that is not on the bed or touching her will disappear in the middle of the night. And did I mention the BOX? She bought a box at IKEA because it was on sale and she had money and she could rationalize the hell out of the idea using a mixture of cunning, cuteness and flogic. Did she need a box? I'm pretty sure not so much. But the box was purchased and then promptly placed in her bed. I don't even know if there was actually anything in the box that might necessitate its presence in the bed. Maybe a night light? A sleeping mask? Doubtful. Knowing my girl child, it was probably filled with sequins and fairy dust she made herself.

I don't quite know why the kids do this yet they both do. They sleep with books and light sabers and whistles and recorders and all manner of Official Not for Bed Stuff. Why? Why do they subject their sleep to discomfort? I'm baffled. I try to explain that I love my crazy ass boots and my laptop and the coffee maker but I rarely sleep with them. I like to sleep. I'm not one to treat it lightly. I know the pain of too many nights with no sleep so I'm kind of offended when my own children treat sleep so callously.

Of course, at 1 something AM when she is crying and I'm refusing to crawl into the bed of chaos, I simply can't reason out that I love her but just not enough to sleep with a My Pretty Pony crammed into my side and my knees wrapped around a very important black box. Because when I say I'll do anything for my kids, I mean within reason.

I should mention that I spent the morning cleaning her bed and thought about taking a picture so that no one would think how cute it was that I can so wittily exaggerate the amount of debris in her bed because I AM NOT. I counted the books (she had the entire Ramona library stashed between several stuffed animals). But then I decided that the picture might be just too jarring for other eyes. Instead I simply cleared out what I thought was not needed and left what I felt might be good for sleeping like a pillow and some quilts. I'm hoping the shock settles in by the end of the week.

A Break in the Ice

2011-04-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

In the vein of always look on the bright side of life. . .
Two harbingers of spring--
Daffodils are everywhere and the pink blossoms promise the possibility of peaches.

This Is War, Mickey

2011-04-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

I love my old house. It was built in 1903 and has a lot of charm which means things are always breaking and it's not exactly what it seems. For example, when a frozen water pipe burst one winter we learned that our "insulation" was in fact bark chips and old newspaper. It is also not always even as in the floor is not on a level plane is certain spots and not every wall comes in at a proper angle. Oh, and AWESOME we have mice. If you were thinking of coming to visit but are put off by the fact that I've said we have fleas and now I'm saying we have mice, we don't have fleas anymore. . . . for now.

Let me also say that we've had this battle before and emerged victorious. I'm actually not proud to say how much I know about the business of exterminating mice. I know way too much for the layperson. And I file it under The Joys of Owning This Old House. Our first battle was the worst because we were still in the novice stage. We weren't able to fortify the house properly and it certainly didn't help that the house next door to us was vacant and had been for the past 20 years. It was like a Mouse SuperHighway from that basement to our house. At one point, I simply wanted to advertise for snake owners to bring their snakes over and leave them in our kitchen or dining room. I didn't want them to just go away. No. I wanted each mouse to be swallowed whole so I could watch. It seriously affected my psyche. Plus, I'm just not a cat person.

Luckily now we are good at this. Reg saw the mouse. I bought the trap. I went to place the trap near the vent where he saw it scurry away and there it was. Not the mouse. The hole. I was kneeling in my dining room, looking through the vent on the floor to the ground outside. We had the house equivalent of the Flintstone's car. Just a big hole. Right there. And not a cute one like the cartoons. No welcome mat or tiny mailbox. Back to the store. Reg buys steel wool. House is again hole free. Now we just need to make sure that the ones we've disposed of were the only ones in here. It's a waiting game but I am not blinking first.

And if it turns out that our efforts were in vain, feel free to grab your snakes and come on over.

Sick in the Head

2011-03-25T10:17:00.001-07:00

Flannery drew this picture of me yesterday while I slept on the couch incubating some sort of vicious virus in my feverish body. I think she did a good job. Although I know what I look like and it's not that peaceful. Illnesses for me are like a gigantic free fall from normal psyche to the damp dark tunnels of a Poe like depression. I simply can't stand to be sick for more than a day or so. Years ago when Emerson was first born, I was hospitalized for 3 weeks with a very intense illness. The nurses were utterly fabulous considering I stayed longer than any other person on the damn floor. Seriously, the woman with cancer who threw off her wig to crawl into the bathroom and heave up her guts left in record time compared to me. One nurse, however, kept insisting that I was probably suffering from Postpartum Depression. And it took all of my energy to explain that I wasn't. In fact, I just get that gnarly when I'm sick. There's basic common cold which I can usually handle. Everything beyond that is DefCon 4. I do not differentiate between fluish and death's door. It's all plague to me.

So I'm spending the last days of Spring Break holed up in bed or languishing on the couch, planning my funeral and encouraging Reggie to eventually find a new wife as long as she's slightly plump and maybe has like a walleye or harelip. I'm not choosy. I don't wail or moan but I do require a heightened level of sympathy when gazed upon and every few hours I explain how unbelievably horrific I feel. And then sometimes I self diagnose. Do you think I have the flu? Do you think it's pneumonia? I think I have mono. This time it seems way more like Black Death but I should be good in a few days.

Spring Scene

2011-03-18T10:52:00.000-07:00

Spring Break begins with a rare glimpse of the mythological creature Boy Child (actually looking more and more like a Yeti with that hair)caught in focus and a not so rare glimpse of Flannery hamming it up in style.

We also started this morning off with Banana Huckleberry Scones and a list of things to do this vacation:
Movies
Roller Skating (or blading if you are a youngster)
Gardening
Painting
Quick trip to the Oregon Coast Aquarium
Irish Feast Weekend
Art Projects
More Baking
Jam Making
NCAA Watching
And finding time to relax

Scenes from a Restaurant

2011-03-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

Today is the type of gray and rainy day that you think only exists in the minds of madmen. But it is simply Portland and winter. It's a day like this that makes me glad that I can look back to yesterday when the sun was shining and I had a lovely breakfast cocktail while sitting in the window at an old Portland restaurant and people watching.

You have store these days up for the rest of the soggy days.

Flancy Flannie

2011-03-14T16:00:00.000-07:00

If you cannot read this message, then just know that it is an advertisement for Fancy Classes. High on Fancy Nancy books, Flannery decided our lack of fancy was harshing her buzz. So she graciously offered to teach us a lesson.

Her room was set up with examples for the Fancy Challenged among us. I think it's everyone in the house. I have to admit that I apparently need some lessons as I did not realize many things about fancydom like giraffes are lower on the totem pole than unicorns or that there is glitter that qualifies as NOT fancy.

We're all studying diligently so that we may pass our finals and become the Fancy Family that Flannery deserves.

Boys Vs. Girls

2011-03-10T13:45:00.000-08:00

The following photos are of my lovely children playing with something they think is hilarious: my old cell phone. And let's be honest, it is pretty funny although I'm also just as sure that I thought it was bitchin' once upon a time. I'd like to acknowledge this milestone time where the kids just realized (not exactly on this day but recently) how fun it is to make fun of mom. See, mom, it's just fun!

It is also a time when the intense phases of the kids are more powerful than the moon. I think they even change the tide. I call them phases because I fully expect them to end at some point. I'm adamant about this unspecified deadline. This too shall pass. Because I said so.

So how are these phases manifesting themselves? Glad you asked.

Emerson is moodier than a woman and I say this as a proud woman. Lordy, this boy. He has mastered the phrases I'm not really interested and Eh. For example. . .a mother (such as myself) might ask if he'd like to take swimming lessons. Eh, I'm not really interested. Now, you can insert any activity besides reading graphic novels, playing Legos and mastering the Wii in for "swimming lessons" and you'll get the exact same response. Tennis? Eh. Volleyball? Eh. Kung Fu? Eh. I blame the hoodie. I think it's the source of all of his powers of apathetic deflection like Wonder Woman's bracelets.

The upside is he still gets excited about things. I think the key is the activity cannot be in any way, shape or form connected to anything I have suggested or facilitated or even thought of in passing. It has to emanate from him and not be sullied by the mother figure. I've learned to adjust my strategy. Some reverse psychology can kind of work although the sarcasm force is strong within him. Mostly it involves me threatening to be even more embarrassing than he already perceives me to be. So unless he wants to wear matching Mommy and Me clothes or have me call him the kind of pet names that can mortify the common boy child or have me activate that dinosaur of a cell phone and use it in public, he has to at least be willing to try something whether or not he's Eh, interested.

Flannery, on the other hand, is quite a handful for that other hand. And whereas Emerson is sans interests for the time being, Flannery would like to do one of everything, thank you very much. Every activity that I offer to Emerson bounces off of him and she announces I want to do that. He's rubber and she's glue. And she wants to rule the world one activity at a time. She's doing indoor soccer but when I sat down to talk with Emerson about what activities he'd like to try after Chess Club is over, she gladly took every scrap he left behind. She's also writing books the likes of which rival publishing dynamo Daisy Meadows while juggling the demands of opening a a restaurant in our house because Chocolate Paradise WILL happen or heads are going to roll.

Although it seems as if Flannery is maturing and it's all things positively positive, she is still bossy mostly because, well, she's the boss. She made a list of jobs at Chocolate Paradise. Hers is The Boss. And she still flouts all basic reasoning with her flogic such as her excitement over the upcoming arrival of two baby girls which elicited the statement "It's so great that Becky and Megan are both having girls because girls learn how to throw stones faster than boys." Duck and cover, boys. Since her flogic forms the basis for all her excuses she will cling to each one like it's her last life line filled with sweet oxygen. When we viciously took her to the Waffle Window for breakfast against her will, she tried her voodoo with us. Her excuse for fighting us tooth and nail? It wasn't that she didn't get her way. Noooooooo. Or that it was the place Emerson liked. Noooooo. Or that she just didn't want to lose the battle. Nooooo. It was completely flogical. She couldn't remember the last time she had waffles and wasn't sure she actually did like them.

Share and Share Alike

2011-03-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

I posted some pictures of my creations for my future niece. I'm pretty sure she's going to be super rad so I wanted to make sure she had some wonderful things to wear. And while I didn't actually make the shirt in the photo, I feel that it is still going to be an important part of her wardrobe. I'd also like to point out that I didn't specify which aunt is hot so she is welcome to wear it in the presence of her other two aunts. It's so very versatile.

You can find the rest of the cuteness right here . . .at Balaboosta or Bust, my newest blog.

Don't worry. The Five Cent Farm is large enough and chaotic enough to be the headquarters for both Concho Dandy craziness and Balaboosta or Bust creativity. They might even join forces at times.

Like now.

Happy Birthday, Theodor Geisel

2011-03-02T13:30:00.000-08:00

Today is the birthday of none other than Dr. Seuss. What better reason to pull out all of the stops and wear your hair like a character from his wonderful books? At school today is Wear Your Seussian Hair Day! As if the girl child needed a reason to put pipe cleaners in her hair. Or the boy child needed a reason to celebrate his long flowing locks.

Go out today and do something that would make Dr. Seuss proud. . . .like read a book.

I Second That Emoticon

2011-03-01T09:47:00.000-08:00

That's right, folks. Mom is on facebook. Let me just say that it's not nearly as scary as it seems but then again I'm sure glad we didn't have this social networking when I was in college. The other day she instant messaged me. I say that's pretty damn 21st century of her. It takes me back to the days when she would call me for help with the remote or the VCR. But my mom isn't exactly technowizard yet. I don't know if she can actually check the voice mail on her cell phone. And I'm still waiting to see if she'll try texting. It could be a sign of the End Times. I am, however, impressed with her willingness to learn. It's not easy. I know my kids will mock my inability to do whatever it is they are doing on computers when they get older. Actually, they already snicker at my pretty pathetic Wii skills and Emerson has me beat hands down on Angry Birds so I have something to look forward to.

But my mom is pretty interesting when it comes to the computer. When her facebook password was hijacked and she needed to change it, she wondered aloud why anyone was picking on her. And she has often called me with a question about this page or that app. Last week's IM was a doozy. It might just take the cake. Sorry, mom but I have to tell the story.

Early mornings are blissful for me. No one else is up. And in the quiet that only complete winter darkness can afford me, I love to tool around on the computer. My mom caught me on facebook this particular morning and we chatted a bit. First of all, I have to say that I'm amazed that my mom types by hunting and pecking. I took typing in school. Didn't she? I mean she went to school at a time when she couldn't wear pants to high school; therefore, I assume her classes were something like Future Mothering I and II, Secretarial Skills and Poise. Right? By the way, she really couldn't wear pants to school. Only dresses. That was a rule. One day she wore pants. I love that rebellious side of her. But she kept them rolled up under her dress. I love that part too.

At the end of our little chat about weather and kids and whatever else, I typed something like Have a nice day and then a little emoticon ;) which turned into an actual smiley face and my mom asked how I did that. Simple, no? I typed to her type a semi colon and then a right parenthesis. And then she typed something like three semi colons and the number zero. So I told her again to type a semi colon and then a right parenthesis. This time she types what must equal a paragraph but comes up with two semi colons and two right parenthesis. So I told her type a semi colon and then a right parenthesis. She types for about an hour. I'm not kidding. I can see the little signal that tells me she's typing and she need only type TWO CHARACTERS and yet she was still typing while I had time to make some coffee, walk the dog, knit a scarf. Maybe I'm exaggerating but she still didn't come up with a smiley face and then she QUIT. She said she couldn't figure it out. So I typed type a semi colon and then a right parenthesis and she typed for another couple of days and lo and behold a smiley face appeared! It was the miracle of the ages. Glorious smiley face after glorious smiley face appeared on screen at what for my mom could be considered lightning fast speed. I felt like Henry Higgins to her Eliza Dolittle. By George, I think she's got it!

Now she has quickly progressed from neophyte to addict. She learned a few faces and a heart in the rest of my IM online tutorial. But she was hooked and needed more. She had a burning desire to emote so she googled (you know, she used The Googles--I think that's really what she calls it) emoticons to find a cheat sheet and wrote about a billion little emoticons on my wall. She's turned into an Emoticon Graffiti Artist.

And I have to say that I don't know all the crap she typed on my wall so now the student has become the master.

Snow is a Relative Term

2011-02-27T13:57:00.001-08:00

File this under Be Careful What You Wish For.

I wanted it to snow this last week for a few reasons. I do love the snow because everything is so pretty and cold and quiet and we get to play (and also bake and let's not forget put delicious libations in our coffee). I love when the city kind of shuts down even though it doesn't really have to because then everyone is around and it's like a surprise day off. I love for the kids to have the snow experience without having to drive. And also I love that it doesn't snow like it does in some places and drive me Jack Nicholson in The Shining insane with my handy dandy axe.

But this week I wanted it snow mainly because the weather "experts" kept saying it would. They kept saying it was coming. They kept saying it was a doozy. They kept upping the number of inches that would drop. I just wanted the weather to put up or shut up.

As you can see by these pictures, it did FINALLY snow. But why the random picture of the sunny day in the middle? Did I just want to show off the scarf I made AGAIN? No, that was actually the middle of our big bad snow day. From roughly 10am to some time around 3pm, it was not anywhere in the vicinity of a snow day except the kids weren't in school. The snow from the morning melted. The first three pictures are morning. The picture of me is the afternoon and the last ones are the final death throes of a storm that has lost its mojo. It turned out to be the snow day that wasn't. I guess I should have been more specific in wanting the storm to get on with it. I also wanted it to be worthwhile. Next time I will be more specific.

The Hair Affair

2011-02-21T09:15:00.000-08:00

Sunday turned into Makeover Day! Everyone loves a good before and after so here are the three little cutie pies I took to the hair guru.

Carmen, Flannery and Selaam as they head off on their day of beauty.

And, drum roll please. . .

Flannery with her chic new 'do

Selaam with her stylish curls

And Carmen with a beautiful curled bob

In Da Hoodie

2011-02-21T09:01:00.000-08:00

I noticed something recently. If it looks like I only take pictures of Emerson on one single day, it is simply because the boy will not take off this hoodie. In every picture I've taken of him since December he's wearing the same hoodie. Although it wouldn't be beyond the stretch of anyone's imagination to believe that in his pre-pre-adolescent surliness, he only allows the mamacita paparazzi one day of photographing per decade. It's simply not true. The truth is I have to peel the hoodie off of him in his deepest sleep cycle so I can actually wash it. Yesterday he spilled the last of his bowl of chicken noodle soup and I noticed while he was cleaning the mess up, the hoodie had gone from on his body to tied around his waist. Fashion statement? Not. He had spilled on the treasured item of clothing and didn't want me to insist on cleaning it. So I did. Out of spite. Because, honestly, I don't love laundry so much that the thought of it has me doing cartwheels and I just can't wait to wash it to show off my mad housewifing skills. I do let the hoodie stay on longer than I should since, I'm not exaggerating, he often sleeps in it. Instead I choose to look at the bright side. I picked it out and he likes it. That may never happen again in this decade.

Don't You See?

2011-02-17T12:59:00.000-08:00

As you can see by this picture, Flannery has some hair. And I'm okay with that but I do like her hair cut much shorter than she would choose. Of course, she would choose Rapunzel length hair which is why I'm not taking her to see that Tangled movie or a Crystal Gayle concert (actually, is Crystal Gayle still alive?). So you can imagine how happy I was the other day when Flannery announced she wanted to get her hair cut like her little friend, Grace. Great! Grace and her identical twin sister, Ava, have those adorable little girl hairstyles that are shorter in the back and sort of rounded around their faces in the front. I told Flannery I would make the appointment the very next day. Also the very next day at school Grace was sick so only Ava was in class. I talked to their dad about how Flannery wanted her haircut like them and how much I liked the idea and how I wanted to take a picture of the hairstyle to show our hair guru. So I took out my camera phone and snapped a couple of Ava. Can you see where I messed up yet?

Flannery took me aside right after everyone went into class to explain that she didn't want it cut like Ava's hair that I just snapped the pictures of but like Grace's hair, Ava's identical sister with the identical haircut. I can't even tell them apart.

Now, is this an example of:
a) how moms just can't do anything right
b) how Flannery and I just don't see things in the same way
or
c) how Flannery is quite insane

Love Love Love

2011-02-13T16:17:00.000-08:00

Love is all you need. . .

And some chocolate.

Maybe some brownies. White and Dark Chocolate.

And Valentines.

Colorful ones.

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.