sturdy as heartwood and I didn't even know it

Yesterday marked the first day of preschool, but a runny nose and general down-in-the-dumpness made today Ava's first day. Given her refusal to leave the house yesterday morning I was amazed when she got herself dressed and matter of factly notified me that she needed her backpack. She marched into her room and got it, we put on her shoes, and the girl was ready to go.

At that moment, this moment I had been dreaming of, I suddenly didn't want to give her up. What am I thinking? Of course I want to give her up! I've been plotting and planning for this wee smidgen of free time since I don't know when. How could I be hedging now? Oh, but a part of me definitely was.

I expected to have to gently pry her little fingers from my arm, wipe away a tear or two, and extol the many merits of preschool before zipping away (of course not when her innocent little back was turned, silly). She's pulled the rug out from under me with this wanting to go. At least she asked me to stay and watch her at the door for a minute. We blew kisses and signed I love you and then she was on her own. This mini thunderstorm of a girl who's own hip bones didn't measure wider than 3 inches when she was born went and did the hokey pokey with a group of strangers today.

So, Miss Diana Gabaldon, your sentiments perfectly sum up a day like today:

"Babies are soft. Anyone looking at them can see the tender, fragile skin and know it for the rose-leaf softness that invites a finger's touch. But when you live with them and love them, you feel the softness going inward, the round-cheeked flesh wobbly as custard, the boneless splay of the tiny hands. Their joints are melted rubber, and even when you kiss them hard, in the passion of loving their existence, your lips sink down and seem never to find bone. Holding them against you, they melt and mold, as though they might at any moment flow back into your body.

But from the very start, there is that small streak of steel within each child. That thing that says "I am," and forms the core of personality.

In the second year, the bone hardens and the child stands upright, skull wide and solid, a helmet protecting the softness within. And "I am " grows, too. Looking at them, you can almost see it, sturdy as heartwood, glowing through the translucent flesh.

The bones of the face emerge at six, and the soul within is fixed at seven. The process of encapsulation goes on, to reach its peak in the glossy shell of adolescence, when all softness then is hidden under the nacreous layers of the multiple new personalities that teenagers try on to guard themselves.

In the next years, the hardening spreads from the center, as one finds and fixes the facets of the soul, until "I am" is set,

delicate and detailed as an insect in amber."

free association, scripture-style

Being the off-spring of a child psychologist, our kids will never be short of intriguing childhood stories to tell. Were it not for the risk of ruining the mood, I would have taken pictures of our family home evening the other night. Instead, you can picture this: each kid sitting cross-legged, eyes closed. Instructed to clear their minds. Each in turn are given a prompt and told to spit out the first thing that comes to their minds. in other words: free association.

Our oldest, in a deft attempt at earning obedience points said, "Joseph Smith" when prompted with Book of Mormon. The other kids were more conscientious about showing their true free-associating colors. Try 2,000 stripling warriors --> I'm thinking General Grievous, how about you? or how about Heavenly Father ---> if you're a 3-year-old girl then it's pretty much Barbie and the Diamond Castle no matter what, or Aurora.

However fruitless it might feel at first, do try this little activity because the kids catch on and it's fun to see what's on their little minds regardless. Plus, they think it's loads of fun and had to be forced to stop. And as a measure of success it's always good to end on a high note.

will work for food

I will describe the fathers day celebration at our house by giving you a walkthrough of our menu. Divine is the best word. A great tribute to the daddy of the house who works so hard and does so much.

Breakfast in bed was served (I think the kids are more excited about doing this than anything else): European-style rice pudding (cooked without eggs or sugar) with freshly-made warm strawberry jam swirled on top and just a pinch of sugar and butter.

After church we had the Spanglish sandwich. You have not lived until this has crossed your lips. We changed it up by marinating the tomatoes in balsamic and including sliced avocados. So, it is as follows: toasted good french bread, jack or havarti cheese, mayo, lettuce, avocados, marinated tomatoes, soft-cooked fried egg, bacon, and there you have it. Most amazing to behold. Watch the movie just to see him make the thing. And we had Brazilian limeade with some strawberries thrown in for good measure.

Matt requested something with ice cream for dessert, so this is what we came up with:

Frozen hot chocolate with a big scoop of sweet cream ice cream from Cold Stone and chewy double chocolate cookies.

No hours of slaving in the kitchen. We could actually enjoy the day together and played soccer at the park to burn a little of it off until we couldn't see the ball anymore because it got dark.

And I also might mention that since I had things I couldn't get out of at church, Matt stayed home from to tend the son with the flu and meanwhile cleaned the house, ran two loads of dishes through the dishwasher, vacuumed, and washed a couple loads of laundry. Yeah, I have it good. Happy father's day Matt! We love you.

shedding hair and sanity

At long last, the story of Hazel: She actually belonged to the Wyoming mountains before we got her. My father-in-law found her when he was there fishing 4 months ago. She followed him around all day. She had a collar on but no tags and there were no other people around. So at the end of the day he took her home with him rather than just leave her. After Jake saw her and burst into tears at the thought of her not coming home with us, she came home with us. We had been promising the kids a dog for a couple years and blessedly not following through with it.

Most who know me, know that I'm am not a dog person. After a few months with Hazel I am still pretty much not a dog person, except when it comes to her because she's really great. The best word to describe our sweet Hazel is MELLOW. Hyper only happens when she's about to go on a walk, and then she just jumps around and makes it hard to get the leash on her. When we open the door she doesn't bolt, she doesn't chew our stuff, she goes potty outside, she comes when she's called. But Matt has diagnosed her with dependent personality disorder because her love tank is always in need of filling, it's actually relentless. She will follow us around the house making it hard not to trip over her, will paw us for petting if we sit down anywhere near her, can be found waiting patiently outside the bathroom door for us to come out.

The only drawback is that the girl sheds like there's no tomorrow. Holy smoke. If you pet her, it's like a puff of doggy hair smoke when your hand comes in contact. I fear for my carpets, any black clothing, and my sanity. As a last-ditch effort at not giving this perfect dog the boot, we got her shaved today. The groomer pleasantly informed me that labs are some of the worst shedding dogs. Awesome.

I waited to see her new look with anticipation, like the kind you might have when your kid gets their hair cut and you know you're going to feel a little guilty at having made them look 3 years older in the blink of an eye. Well I was pleased to see that Hazel came out of the event looking a little like a tough rowdy doggie. I'm not sure why I say rowdy because she isn't, but she looks great. Oh, please let the shave thing work because when I find dog hair on my headboard {and she's never been on my bed} and on my counters something's gotta give.

Here she is:

Isn't she cute?

hey, Cindy

Cinderella morning, noon, and night ----------------------------------------- Princesses must hold up the dress when walking

Little Cinderella (or Tinkerbelle or any type of Princess actually) has moved out of her crib. It's gone, as in purchased by someone else and living in their house as of tonight. We weren't really prepared for a quick sale and she is currently sleeping (which hasn't happened yet) on my old king-sized mattress that we plopped on her floor. This was a huge mistake as she's been using it more for partying and trampoline fun than rest time. Is she too young to banish to a timeout in the snow? I am dreading the nights to come. She's been watching her 5-yr-old brother's example. He gets to spend a nighttime minute in the snow now and then (just outside, not actually in the snow). Bedtime sucks. I want my sweet crib-prison back.

breakfast of champions

Zach: Mom, why can we eat Pop Tarts for breakfast, but we can't eat cheesecake?

VS

Twice this week I've turned down my son's request for a breakfast of leftover cheesecake. Then this morning he watched as I happily toasted two different kinds of Pop Tarts for the kids. My 10-year-old, he's a thinker. And the logical question followed. Now I'm stumped. I'm also worried we might be eating cheesecake for breakfast tomorrow. Tell me there are some vitamins hidden somewhere in those PTs.

tidbits

This is a post dedicated to a little bit of everything. My beloved September has come and gone. Those 30 delicious days were fleeting. Then I was launched into the holiday whirlwind, and though it was decidedly fun, I am now thankfully skidding to a bumpy stop.

My Christmas tree finally came down a few days ago, three cheers. The state of my mind is justly represented by the torrent of sticky notes and lists left like tracks of where I've been. Lists on my nightstand, on the fridge, the console of my car, and a running tab in my Google calendar. It is a beast. With horns. The upside to lists, you might agree, is checking off the things that have been done. Kinda like popping zits it's so fun.

And now for a little catch up. Our family has been having fun with various activities: a bunny hunt (that I wasn't a part of -- when hunting, I get to stay home), indoor swimming while snowing outside (which is fun until you have to run to the car in wet clothes), obsessive playing of speed Scrabble (I can't even tell you how much fun), continued work on the cookbook (which will hopefully be wrapped up in a couple months or so), kitchen remodeling (not so much fun), trying Bluberry Muffin Mini Wheats (yum), making a recipe from the kindergarten cookbook (good times), a little shopping at Ikea (always a good idea), playing with our new dog, Hazel, and seeing how she looks with a little makeup. We'll dedicate a different post to her.

We combined these two amazing recipes - Jake's is the chocolate chip one

A little glimpse at our cookbook work

Hazel with a faded makeup job

I thought I'd pass along a recipe to you since it's quite delicious. I sent these out as neighbor gifts for Christmas. They're from a recipe gotten from a friend of a friend which I tinkered with slightly until they were just right, also reminiscent of a treat from a bakery down the street from my house. A friend called me after receiving these and said she dreamed about them. They're pretty good.

Raspberry Cream Cheese Sandwiches

2/3 cup butter

2/3 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

4 oz. cream cheese

1/2 tsp. almond extract

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/4 tsp. salt, maybe a touch more - just taste the dough, but be sure to add enough or they don't taste right

3/4 cup raspberry preserves

1 cup confectioner's sugar

2 oz. cream cheese

1/4 tsp. almond extract

1 Tbsp. milk (or more to reach coating consistency)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Whisk together flour and salt; set aside. Cream together sugar, butter, and cream cheese until light and fluffy, about three minutes. Add eggs, one at a time and beat until incorporated. Add almond extract and mix well. Slowly add dry ingredients and mix just until smooth dough forms. Roll out on a floured surface to 1/4 inch thickness and cut into 2-3/4" diameter circles. This is profoundly easier with a biscuit cutter and makes these less of a drag to make. Spray your cookie sheet and lay the disks of dough out on the cookie sheet.

Spoon a rounded 1/2 teaspoon onto the center of each disk. Cover each with another disk of dough which you can offset like a lunar eclipse to let the jam peek out. Astronomy and baking, who knew? If you want, you can press lightly down on the top disk where it meets with the bottom layer to help seal, but don't press hard. Bake 12 - 15 minutes depending on your oven, or until the bottom of each begins to turn a little golden. Don't overcook! After cooling, the cookies should still be moist inside. Remove from cooking trays to a cooling rack and allow to cool completely.

Combine softened cream cheese and milk in a bowl and whisk together until combined. Add powdered sugar and almond extract and continue to whisk until a thick but pourable consistency. Add milk a little at a time if necessary to reach the right thickness. Spread a spoonful on the top of each with the underside of a spoon. Let airdry 1/2 hour to 1 hour. You can freeze these prior to the icing stage and then thaw and ice before serving.

Okay, I have my Monday list burning a hole in my kitchen table. My youngest is running around with a bottle of washable glue and my 5-year-old has just opened Junior Monopoly and is asking me which color marker I want. The week has begun. Gotta go.

Simply Said

Simply said, I love you September.

Maybe more than any other month. My own personal epiphany occured sometime last week, taking me quite by surprise. In ways September as a month reminds me of Tuesday as a day. Nothing much special about it. No fantastic holidays, the most notable thing is the change of seasons from summer to fall, but that's about it. However, I was feeling all warm and fuzzy about things, for lack of any other overused description, and finally placed why.

Anticipation.

Actually quite a lot happens in September. Though the formal change of seasons doesn't happen until late in the month, the arrival of September for me marks the official turn of the corner into fall. My kids have already started school, and my life is still hectic but in a very different way and with larger blocks of unhectic time carved out of each day that I call blessed.

September is like Christmas morning with the kid tip-toeing and giggling down the hall to the living room to see what treasures await. I tell you, it's really better than the actual opening, but you have to be 35 before you realize it.

September is the calm launching pad into two to three months of fun and celebration. Through the eyes of September you can enjoy what awaits and not do any of the work that will be required to make it all happen. There is no fighting with other shoppers in the aisles, no hissing or cursing, no pounds are gained, everything looks beautiful and is in perfect place, no last minute shopping panic, no spoiled kids with a mountain of unintended presents with well-intentioned parents (ahem, of course I don't mean me). That doesn't happen. No, because September won't allow those things to spoil the fun. I haven't quite decided, but it may be the perfect month.

September is when you plan Halloween parties and costumes, organize cupcake walks, decide who's house to have Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day at, and plant the seeds of the family feuds that will spice up the holidays to come. 30 days to reflect contendedly on past holidays, past Christmas Gorillas, past haunted houses, past Thanksgiving lasagnas, past Santa Claus pillows and Christmas elves, past Halloween eggings and 8th grade space cadet costumes. All of course with the amber glow of September. September is a delicious little oasis. September, you are mine.

We only have 8 days left. Tip-toe. Giggle, giggle. It's almost gone...

Your what?

That would be U-R-A-N-U-S.

This may be the most uncomfortable word to speak in the whole english language--even in the comfort of your own living room with only your two smallest children for company.

You see, my 5-year-old, brand new kindergarten student made his first trip to the school library on Tuesday. Yesterday he plopped himself on the couch and opened up his special book. After a few questions of how to say this and that, I went to sit by him and read the book out loud. You know, like a good mom. I was under the impression that this was a book about the solar system or something. No. It was a book dedicated entirely to our favorite 7th planet.

Lest you think I am playing the part of a twittering schoolgirl, just imagine yourself reading page after unrelenting page, out loud to your kid. Sentences like....




U-R-A-N-U-S.....ah, this word and I have a history. At one point in time we might have even been called friends, well at least not enemies. In my young and innocent years, before my eyes had been opened to the shameful results of this word being spoken out loud and in a public setting, I graciously considered our 7th planet on equal footing with our 7 other planet friends, except I've always thought Pluto (which is now deemed a dwarf planet) was the cutest, being so very small and out there all alone in that outermost icy orbit of his (or hers).

Anyway, I was young--at that age when a kid is desperate to perform any stunt that will make adults smile and think they're cute. I was with my family at The Good Earth. For whatever reason we were eating at their cafe and I ordered the Planet Burger. They brought the food to us. At that moment I was sabotaged in the worst way by this unfortunate need for positive reinforcement. I held my Planet Burger up thinking I was truly the most clever kid ever, and said loudly, "Does anyone want a bite of U-R-A-N-U-S?!?" Trust me, I wasn't trying to be crude, just terribly clever. I was mid sentence but past the point of no return when the walls came crumbling down. I had been so sure of the admiring smiles until I heard myself say that word. Why couldn't I have chosen Saturn, or Mercury, or even cute little Pluto who surely needs a little recognition? Nope. Yeah whatever, they thought it was hilarious. I was horrified.

So, who chose the pronunciation anyway, or the word for that matter? Come on. There must have been some other candidates, and what was the reason they didn't make the cut and our friend U-R-A-N-U-S did? I'm sure there was a great deal of giggling at the thought of all the future generations of discomfort and public embarrassment that were now destined to come barreling down the pike.

Here's to you, namers of the 7th planet. You got me. Now, can we at least prounce it differently? Like U-RAN-U-S? I'm trying to find a good hiding spot for my kid's book. It gets to live at our house for a whole week. Aren't we lucky?

this

My nose and lungs and carpets are tired of this....

I am also tired of this.....

and this.....

and this....

I've had my fill of this leaving my bank account....

Last week I slept in this...

so my bedroom could have this....

I just want more of this....

and this....

I'm ready to be done remodeling now.

you look pretty for a Wednesday

.....these were the words I heard from a friend at my book club this last week.

Translation: I'm surprised you look okay, because by Wednesday most moms have given in to the hurricane that is her life as a mother to her children, in which her appearance deteriorates steadily and noticeably throughout the week. So, by Wednesday things don't look so good.

So, here's the secret, gals, I hadn't even showered that day. The Deterioration Theory was in full force, I just threw it a little humdinger: It's called the straightener, which I used to curl my hair. It's that simple.

No need to do this: (because by Wednesday things are a little sketchy and you might not see the inside of a shower until Friday when it's time to go out on a date).

Just use a straightener on that unwashed Wednesday head of hair, put on some makeup if you can and a decent outfit, and you'll look like this. {Ahem.}

It's all you need to do to get told you look pretty on a Wednesday, and that's saying something.

we'll be together again

I may be the only one raising my hand to admit it. So, here goes: I still like listening to Erasure.

And so, I'll continue with further embarassing Erasure-related facts as they pertain to my life:

• There are more Erasure songs on my exercise playlist than from any other band.


• I like the fact that they are gay (well, Andy the singer is)- don't know why - maybe because it's really just about the music, and seriously, take a look at them. Whoa. Yep, it's just about the music.


• When I was putting together a new playlist a couple months back and thought of them, highschool flooded back and hit me full force in the head, for better or worse


• Memories of lots of leotards, lots of tutus, and lots of men at the Civic Auditorium in SF


• Tears came to my eyes when I first listened to them (since high school) on my playlist during a run {crap, I can't believe I just wrote that} - is this a bit like my dad's listening to Anne Murray when I was younger for the whole drive to and from Tahoe? (Neil Diamond was included - I still kinda like him - I think I have no choice since these drives essentially programmed our wee little childhood brains)


• I promise I have a taste for current music, but man, there's just something about Erasure - I must enjoy hearing music about debauchery and "shoving bitches up against the wall" - perhaps a reaction to my current state of residence and craving just the teeniest slice of Babylon


• It makes me run faster - I'm also known to bob my head and giggle out loud while running (sometimes to other music, too) - I haven't twisted my ankle yet or fallen off the sidewalk or in front of any moving vehicles


• I don't really listen to them other than when exercising - I'm too afraid to take away the magic for when I need it most

Who will take their place on the horrible day when I hear them on the radio and associate them with a nasty five-mile run? Any suggestions? I am in need.

Requirement: Band must evoke high state of euphoria so that I can block out all exercise pain.

from dust to dust

Is it possible to be made of dust, yet still be living? There is dust everywhere and this is only the demoltion stage. Regardless, I am happy to anounce that our basement is undergoing a facelift. I don't even dare show you pics of the untouched before since it was not pretty. Think gold flowered wall paper, wood particle board paneling, mirrored wall tiles, and light fixtures that could double for medieval headpieces (plus, they were hung too low - those medieval people were short weren't they? - so you'd crack your head if you chose to walk with good posture).

What is it about taking a sledge hammer to a wall that is so deeply satisfying? My father-in-law, who was helping us (thank you, Mont) commented that he'd never done this before. If you haven't had the opportunity, by all means, search out a friend with a scary medieval house and offer your helping hand. It may take care of a few months of therapy since you can literally feel the repressed anger and aggression (ahem, not that any of us have this brewing or anything) and let it shoot right out of the end of that heavy-as-hell hammer. I even karate-chopped a few sad pieces of drywall. We only made one trip to the ER - Spencer, following his mama's fine example went ahead and karate-chopped some drywall of his own and caught Ava square the face, namely the eyeball. She grabbed at her eye and I pried her hands away to find a HUGE hunk of white plaster tucked nastily underneath her eyelids right on the front of her eyeball. This is when I wished I could go-go-gadget some sort of drywall magnet that would whiz it magically off her little eyeball! Of course, a two-year-old just wants to rub it out. Bad idea. After unsuccessfully trying to flush it out, I drove a drenched Ava to Primary Children's where she got to have a full IV bag of fluid flushed through her eyesocket (a suction cup thing with a water hose connected to it is put INSIDE her eye, under both eyelids so she just had that hose sticking out and the fluid dribbling down the side of her face - freakish and horrible). Please, don't any of you ever have to go through this with one of your kids. It takes agonizingly long to get through a whole IV bag, while she, with the nurse practically sitting on her and me whispering hopefully-comforting words in her ear, kicked and screamed. Now she has to have twice-daily doses of vaseline-like ointment in her eye to heal the abrasion. She walks around looking like she's doing an impersonation of a pirate, with one eye clenched shut, the good eye open, and her head cocked a little to one side. Ahoy.

thankfully, the patch was only for the first night

Since one brush with disaster wasn't enough, I have enlisted the help of my child laborers and have done my part to protect their little baby lungs from dusty tile debris.

Hopefully in a few weeks I'll have some good after pictures - and newly cleaned upstairs carpet which I hope will have the decency to recover from the dust shower that we'll be living in for the next bit. Can you get lung cancer from remodeling?

shorn

Ava is now lopsided. Oh, Jake. You'd better run.

WHAT to be....or not to be

So, you know how proud parents like to see traits in their kids, sometimes obnoxiously as infants, and project on the sunny futures of their gifted little ones. Sometimes this may be spot on, sometimes it's wishful thinking, sometimes you get info that can blessedly help you steer your cherubs away from a certain profession.

Take this last week: Spencer has always had a real thing for constructing things, figuring out how pieces and parts fit together. Some would call this being visuospatially inclined. At a school art night he put together a toothpick/gumdrop structure that garnered compliments from other stranger-parents as he carried it home. Our friend (an architect) offered to take Spencer to the architecture building at the university where he works and show him around. While we waited for them to come get Spencer I explained what an architect does, how he/she can build buildings 100 stories high without them falling over. We talked about support beams (we're remodeling) and what they do. He was so full of excitement he started to draw his own high-rise, complete with all the bells and whistles. After he came home he told us about all the different building models he saw and went straight to the Legos to build himself a mini city. A future architect? Who knows?

(support beam on the right)

This morning I kept the kids in the car while I unloaded groceries. While I was busy, Jake handed my mascara over to Ava and she went to work. Though this was her first attempt, let's just say that we now know that a makeup artist she will not be. Ain't she a beaut?