Listen here, Bakerella...

Recently a friend introduced me to this blog. Bakerella creates amazing sweet treats, takes fabulous pictures of them, and inspires readers everywhere to attempt new culinary feats. Including me. After taking a look at this recipe, I decided to try it for my mother-in-law's birthday cake. Oh Bakerella. You make it look so easy.


Uniform layers? Nope. Crumble-free layer of icing on top? Nope. Richest yellow cake I've ever tasted? Yep. Hey, if I was only going to achieve one of the three, at least I picked the most satisfying.

In other events, our living room became a toy vomitorium last night after we celebrated Christmas with my in-laws. Holy. Crap.

First, raise your hand if your Nana is a librarian!


And that's not a complete accounting of the books received by the girls yesterday. Bless her heart, Nana can't resist a good book when she sees one. And since she's a librarian, she sees a lot of books. Between holiday gifts and Hey-it's-great-to-see-you-again! gifts from Nana and Bumpa, the girls probably receive 20-25 books per year from them, all with a personal note inside the front cover. (I love the idea of a personal note, but it also immediately eliminates those books from our donation pile; I simply cannot give away a book that has a personal inscription. I just can't do it.) Between their librarian grandmother and English teacher mother, my children are doomed to a life buried beneath stacks of books they may never get to or appreciate.

The highlight for our family was the 11-in-1 Game Set Bella received which includes chess, checkers, pick-up-sticks, Chinese checkers, mancala, go fish, tic-tac-toe, and some other cool games I cannot recall right now. We've had so much fun playing pick-up-sticks, and Bella fancies herself something of a expert in the game of "Chest."

Perhaps best of all was the nice visit we had with my in-laws. As is the case in most homes, the kitchen ended up being the hub of activity, and that activity included eating, visiting, laughing, snacking, Web surfing, and more visiting. I love the ability of my husband's family to sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment without feeling the need to rush somewhere or "do" something. In fact, it reminds me of one of my favorite Story People. Maybe I'll give myself that print to celebrate...nothing at all.

It will always be you, Kevin...

My all-time favorite movie from approximately 1986-1998 was Footloose. I owned the soundtrack (on vinyl--hard core), knew every lyric to every song, and learned as many moves to as many of the dances as possible. When I couldn't figure out the choreographed moves from the movie (e.g. the Kevin Bacon solo dance scene in the warehouse), I would make up my own moves that were painfully literal interpretations of the lyrics. If the lyrics included the line, "You can never hide your heart," you'd likely see me wagging my finger right before cleverly covering my heart with my hands. Take that, Janet Jackson.

No doubt part--much?--of the appeal of Footloose was Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormick in the film. (I like to call it a film because it suggests artistry, and that validates my love for it.) Kevin Bacon was hot. Foxy? A beefcake? No, no. He was never a beefcake. That conjures images of huge biceps, and there's a reason Ren McCormick never doffed his shirt. Anyway, I found him incredibly sexy. I've seen the movie well over a hundred times and even found a way to incorporate it into my Puritan teaching unit during my student teaching semester in 1999. (Imagine my disappointment when my students weren't as moved as I have always been.)

I'll admit, it's been several years since I've watched Footloose. In fact, I don't even own it on DVD. Sure, I worry a little that my love for the movie will have faded in the last decade once I do finally watch it again, but I'm certain that I will always love Footloose in an irrational, illogical way. It was a huge part of my adolescence, and it qualifies as one of my first loves.

I suspect this is the way many 11, 12, 13, 14...maybe even 15 year olds feel about High School Musical. Merchandising in 2008 is much different than it was in the mid-80s, so you have to virtually be living in a hole (or without children, television, and radio) to not have at least heard of High School Musical (and HSM2...and HSM3). That's all I had done: heard of it. That is until my daughter entered elementary school. Even though she'd never seen the movie, she began pointing out--and gesticulating over--High School Musical merchandise in stores. She knew all about Troy and Gabriella. It didn't matter if she'd seen the movie or not, this was part of her culture. So for Christmas we decided to give her the movie. I mean, if you're going to be obsessed, you should be fully armed with the necessary information.

So on Christmas night, we popped HSM into our DVD player for its maiden voyage, and what an adventure it was. We laughed! We cried! Well, we laughed. And we replayed scenes. And we sang along. Ah, yes. I now fully comprehend the draw of High School Musical. If I was 12, I'd be sporting a "T" necklace and snuggling up in my East High fleece pajamas. (Let's be honest, if they made East High pajamas in Misses sizes, I'd be snuggling up in them right now.) This movie appeals to every cell of Little Girl left in me. I'm not going to lie: I've considered learning the dance moves to "We're All In This Together," but I can't think of anyone willing to participate with me. My Footloose dance routine buddy is now pushing 40 and most certainly unwilling to go all "Wildcat" with me, and there's something tacitly sad about dancing to "We're All In This Together"...alone.

Like his Kevin Bacon counterpart in 1984, Zac Efron is likely the biggest draw of the film. (Did you see what I just did there?) He can never be my Kevin Bacon since a) he's playing a high school student in a movie and I'm a high school teacher, and b) see a. However, I think he would've given Kevin Bacon a run for his money in 1984. Wow.

Then again, maybe he can be his own Kevin Bacon.

Happy Holidays!

It was suggested that I should at least offer up a "Happy Holidays" on my blog, even though I'm grossly delinquent in the whole blogging area. So, yes: Happy Holidays! I am, indeed, alive.

Mostly.

The speed at which Christmas is approaching is a little overwhelming, but I'm generally prepared. I made several gifts this year, which feels really good. I also feel like our shopping for the girls has remained reasonable, although there is a certain three year old who's proving very difficult to shop for. She only had one thing on her list for Santa: the Sleeping Beauty Accessory Kit. That's it. We already have more than enough "stuff" for them to play with, and their loving grandparents have snatched up many of our other ideas for them (marker, glue, ribbon, glitter, crayons, etc.), so I am admittedly a little stuck.

I have strep throat right now, so my ultimate gift to the rest of my family will be not giving them my bacteria. Wish me luck!

Weeeeeee!

whats your favourite brand of coffee? New Mexico Pinon Coffee

favourite brand of soft drink Diet Coke or Coke Zero, although I only drink soda occasionally

favourite brand of chocolate Cadbury (from UK)

favourite brand of ice-cream Ben and Jerrys or Cold Stone Creamery

favourite brand of cheese Gibbsville Cheddar, of course!

favourite brand of shampoo Paul Mitchell Tea Tree

favourite brand of cookie My dad's homemade Monster Cookies

favourite brand of crisps/chips Krunchers Mesquite BBQ

favourite brand of sandwich. Jimmy John's

I'm on a roll!

I decided the "tagging format" might be a good way to catch up on the last 6 weeks.

Highlights from the last 6 weeks, in the order they occur to me:

1. President-elect Barack Obama
2. Bella lost her first tooth
3. Our contract appears to be settled! (Only 1.5 years late...)
4. I saw a Brewers playoff game
5. President-elect Barack Obama : )

I'll Try Harder, I Promise

No sense apologizing for the lack of updating; I'm the girl who cried, "I'll do better! I promise!" Or something.

So thanks, Heather, for tagging me and forcing me to update this thing before it became brittle. I technically don't know how this tagging thing works, but I think I get the gist of it.

Six things I value:
1. Family
2. Integrity
3. Friendship
4. Laughter
5. Curiosity
6. Out-of-the-box Thinking

...Six Things I do Not Support:
1. Bullying
2. Insincerity
3. Rudeness
4. Intolerance
5. Selfishness
6. Arrogance

...Six People I Tag...Hmmm I'm going to tag as many as I can, but I know there won't be six! Sorry if I've re-tagged someone.

1. Mel
2. Hope

Five highlights of the weekend:

1. Cleaning the garage. Don't get me wrong: the work itself was as awful as you'd expect. However, the sense of accomplishment now that it's complete? Even better than I expected. Now we just have to get used to using the garage for, you know, our vehicle.

2. First trip to the apple orchard. We're lucky enough to live less than a quarter mile from an apple orchard--the same apple orchard I frequented when I was a child. For about a decade it was caught in a downward spiral until a local family bought and revived it. Now, under new ownership, they once again make fresh cider, offer hayrides, sell cider licks (cider frozen in a cup with a popsicle stick in the middle), and let you pick your own apples. What fun! It was unseasonably warm this weekend, so the girls weren't decked out in their usual apple-orchard-fall-pictures wear (see pic to right), but it was a perfect day for playing chase through the trees.



3. Put up more salsa. We've had a disappointing crop of tomatoes this year: our romas are mealy, our beefeaters and heirlooms often have little black spots, and all of our hybrids up and quit on us. Damn you, June flooding! Apparently it's been a bad year all around the county, but that doesn't change the fact that we had big plans for our 25 tomato plants! Instead we've had to focus our efforts on our top tomato-related priorty: salsa. So yesterday it felt good to put up 7 quarts of our favorite recipe (after having put up 4 quarts last week). We'll never have enough to take us to next year, but at least we should be able to get through January if we exercise some restraint. I may be able to get one or two more batches out of the garden, but we're not going to get the 25-30 quarts we had hoped for. (I'm starting to feel like Ma Ingalls with all this frontier wife talk.)

4. An abundance of time for the four of us. Rob was off on both Saturday and Sunday, and that rarely happens for our family. We stayed around home all weekend, cleaned, read books, played games, engaged in many tickle fights, and generally reconnected as a foursome. I {heart} weekends together.

5. My friend H's baby is on her way to a speedy recovery from major surgery. She's been on our minds, and it's wonderful to hear she's doing so well. Snuggles, Baby K!



P.S. Happy Birthday, M. Much love. xo

It's been a wild week and a half as Bella adjusts to life as a kindergartener and I adjust to life as the mom of a kindergartener. I'm learning many things about both Bella and myself as time passes, so I thought I'd outline a couple of them here. Maybe we'll focus on Bella for today. (Cop out...)

1. My child has the memory of a hammer.

I send her to school with everything she needs: Lunch bag? Check. School picture envelope? Check. "S" object for letter of the week activity? Check. What happens as soon as she arrives at school? All functional knowledge disappears. "Bella, where's your 'S' object?" "I don't have one." This Mrs. Ramaker's recounting of the exchange she had with Bella on Monday. But you did have one!! We even rehearsed! There it was, right in her backpack where I had tucked it away that morning. Oh Bella. She lost her bus pass on the second day of school, her daily take-home folder on the third, and her jacket on Monday. Yet on our drive home last night, she said, "Mom, remember when we went to Minneapolis?" This a reference to our trip three and a half months ago. I say, "Yes." She then says, "I wonder if that lost dog from the poster at the train station has been found." Seriously?

So maybe it's not her memory as much as her idea of what qualifies as worth making room for "upstairs." Still, she's killing me.

2. My child takes the hot lunch/cold lunch decision far too seriously.

I can appreciate thoughtfulness when deciding what you'll eat on any given day, but getting my child to choose between hot lunch and cold lunch is like moving a bill through Congress. First of all, this is brand new to her, and there are questions I hadn't anticipated. "Mommy, what's a chicken patty?" Hmmm, well... "It's like a huge chicken nugget on a bun." She wrinkles her nose. "Yuck, I don't think I'd like that." Wait, was that a bad sell? Not that I believe she should necessarily eat a chicken patty, but my influence in this process is starting to freak me out. Tonight I mentioned that she had one more day of cold lunch and then would have hot lunch on Friday. A grey cloud crossed her face: "What is it? What's hot lunch on Friday?" I tell her mini corn dogs. "What if I don't like them? Can I bring a cold lunch just in case? Oh no, that will never work because we have to take lunch count in the morning. Oh Mooommmmm... can we have a test run tomorrow night?" I think that when I have to orchestrate "test runs" in anticipation of the next day's hot lunch, things have run amok.

3. My child makes my heart crack wide open with pride.

I'll be the first to admit that my sweet girl has things to work on, but there are moments when I watch her and am reminded that she makes life better. I had a moment like that yesterday, and I lay awake in bed last night running the scene through my mind again because, when I think about what people may remember about me one day, I realize it may be my children and I can only hope I'll be worthy of them.

One of the drills at soccer was to kick your ball from one goal to the other. Since there were so many kids, the coach would send a couple of kids out to get started, then send a few more a minute or so later, and so on so there wasn't a huge clog on the field. One little girl who was practicing must have barely made the 4 year old requirement, and she was struggling with every exercise. The coach sort of let her do her own thing, which I understood, but your heart still went out to her when she was always step behind or completely out of the loop.

She had started this drill ahead of Bella, but it didn't take long for child after child to catch up to and pass her on their way to the other end of the field. As Bella approached her, Bella slowed down and appeared to be "checking in" with her to see how she was doing. After an exchange of a few seconds, Bella carried on to the goal, made her shot, grabbed her ball, and sat down in the growing line on the edge of the field. After just a moment, Bella got back up and headed out to be with the little 4 year old in the middle of the field. Bella didn't take over or kick the ball for her, but instead she shadowed the girl all the way down the field, demonstrating how to kick and encouraging her with things like, "That's right! Over here! Good--good job!" It was a painstakingly long journey to the goal, but once the little girl made it, Bella resumed her original place in line and carried on with the rest of her practice.

Maybe it's the teacher in me, but I wanted to catch her in my arms right then and congratulate her on seeing the important stuff. Instead, I simply told her at dinner that I liked the way she took care of her own business on the field and then went back to help that little girl. She didn't seem to think much of it but did check to see if it was enough to earn her some extra dessert. (So enterprising.) Perhaps all she saw was a surrogate little sister to "mother," but it was sweet either way.

For all the moments of frustration I've had in the last week and a half, last night reminded me of my favorite Story People. Perhaps I should hang it in my bedroom as a reminder of what to be loud about.

And to temper the sweet moment from last night? She came home with a Yellow (Caution) slip today. According to Bella, she kept playing "when Mrs. R's voice was on." Yeah, gotta work on that.

You don't call, you don't write...

When you've been away as long as I have, it's almost like starting over. I certainly can't--and shouldn't--update you on the minutiae of the last month, so instead I'll jump into the uninteresting minutiae of today.

Our cool and cloudy August has not helped our tomato crop, but today I finally had enough ripe tomatoes to make our first batch of salsa. Today is also the day I was reminded that my memories of the process of making salsa are much more pleasant than the actual act of making salsa. Important distinction. I was also reminded why I typically make a double, triple, or even quadruple batch: whether I'm chopping one green pepper or four, the food processor still has to be taken apart and cleaned. The difference is whether or not I'm going to do that 10 times in the next month or 4. (Note: there will be no more single batches, even if I have to take my tomatoes to a tanning bed as "prep work.")

The salsa turned out fine, although I cannot seem to get the jalapeno oil off my fingers. I feel like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation, when he's plagued with sap on his hands, except instead of ripping pages out of magazines and towing a lamp into bed, I'm giving myself minor skin burns every time I rub my eyes or scratch my nose.

Outside of that, this is our first weekend since the start of the school year. I now understand why not a lot of time is spent teaching children the days of the week before they enter school: what's the point? What day is it? I think it's, I-get-up-and-watch-Sesame-Street-while-mommy/daddy/grandma-makes-breakfast. That's what day it was yesterday, too. But now, since starting Kindergarten, Bella has a new appreciation for the differences in the days of the week. For example, next week she's only eating hot lunch on Friday. And she has Music on Wednesday. She starts soccer on Tuesday. She rides the Blue Squirrel bus on Friday but the Black Cat bus every other day. And on Saturday she gets to decide for herself what she wants to do. Ahhhhhh. The concept of the weekend is starting to take shape in her head. However, this morning she did declare she wanted to go to school but settled for wearing her new soccer shoes and shin guards with her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas in the back yard instead. She's all about compromise, that one.

My first week at school was relatively uneventful. I met all of my new freshmen, welcomed back a great group of 12 seniors, and continued to work on getting my classroom in order. (Note: not there yet.) I had the opportunity to move from teaching English 9 to teaching English 11 after my first year at this school, but I passed it up because I enjoy the freshman curriculum (Romeo and Juliet, The Odyssey). I also enjoy freshmen, which seems an impossibility for some of my colleagues. They often shake their heads when I say I passed up teaching the juniors, and I try to explain that freshmen have a certain energy about them that disappears by the time they enter their sophomore year. They're still a little silly, uninhibited, innocent. In fact, even in my first week I encountered a perfect example of this innocence.

My students were engaged in independent reading at their seats, and a freshman girl raised her hand for assistance. I walked over to her table, and she held up her book (Kite Runner), her finger on a word in the middle of the page. "What does this word mean?" she asked. I looked at the word. I looked at her. I looked at the word again. Was she messing with me? I said, cautiously, "It means what you think it means." She peered at me blankly. "But...I don't know what it means." Did I mention that some freshmen are awkwardly innocent? I chose my words carefully and said, "It's a derogatory term for the female genitalia." She raised her eyebrows and said, "Oohhhhhh..." I thought to myself, "Yeah. 'Ohhhh.' And I look forward to the call from your parents." C U Next Tuesday!

For those of you who don't already know, my husband works in emergency medicine as a paramedic. You've heard it said that sometimes a person is born for a particular job? My husband was born for this job. Not necessarily paramedic work but emergency response in general. His response to an emergency is something like, "Out of the way! I know exactly what to do!" while my response typically involves closing my eyes and crying. You know, different talents and all.

So in this regard, I respect and appreciate my husband's job a great deal. However, in many other ways I despise it. Actually, I only despise one small part of it: the god. damned. pager. For his actual paramedic profession, he only has to respond to pages sent out while he's at work. Nevertheless, the pager gets to sing its pesky tune every day at 6 a.m. since it doubles as an alarm clock. I realize this is probably part of the design, but does it have to be so reliable? And you'd think that with the money I've dropped on post-high degrees I could demystify the inner workings of a 3x2 piece of plastic, but it ain't happenin. I rue the day I suggested we simply use the pager as our alarm clock rather than replacing our old alarm.

Unlike his duties at work, as a first responder hubby potentially has to respond to a page at any hour of the day. Or night. Of course, he only has to cover a specific geographical area, but since there's no such thing as a Smart Pager (yet), we hear every page. At every hour. Are you starting to see the big picture here? And let's not forget that pager tones are designed to shock the body out of slumber faster than you can say, "Who drooled on my pillow?" Therefore, Mr. Emergency is not the only one roused when Old Man Wilson's ticker is giving him trouble at 3 a.m.

I realize I sound insensitive. I know I should be proud that my husband is there to help the community. And I am. No, really. I am! However, 97% of the pages that come through are outside of his "Response Zone" yet still wake me up. When hubby is home and the pager goes off, I can quickly roll over and groan my disapproval while he fumbles for the silencer. But when he's working and has left the pager on--MAX VOLUME--I start to take issue with his role as "servant of the community." I have bruises on my thighs that rival Grobachev's birthmark from running into our footboard while frantically trying to get to the pager. Yes, logic says the pager would be off when hubby is working, but that requires a kind of attentiveness that is simply not part of my character. Although irate at the time, I forget about the whole incident within 24 hours...only to relive it 24 hours after that.

But we all have our crosses to bear, and I guess this is mine. *insert heavy sigh of a martyr* I try to limit my complaints about the pager--especially after having the "what if it was our child choking and a first responder had his pager off because it was an in-con-veeeenience?" card played. Instead, I find my own ways of coping with the situation which I've recently learned are not always appreciated. A couple mornings ago, while getting ready for work, my hubby said with concern in his voice, "I just don't know what I did with my pager. I have to find it!" This was his work pager--Old Faithful, if you will. And then something fluttered through my memory.

I cautiously peeked around the bedroom door and said, "I think I know where it is." I had his attention. "Um, I'm pretty sure it's wrapped up in a couple pieces of paper toweling and tucked inside the Ziplock sandwich bag box in the kitchen drawer."

A bit of a head shake. "Nice, babe."

It seemed like a good idea at the time: hubby is already asleep, he has the next day off (e.g. doesn't have to get up early), and I spot the pager on the kitchen counter on my way to bed. Memories of me dashing down the hall to the kitchen to push any and every button so as to turn the screeching off before the girls are awoken flood my mind, and I know I have to do something. The key is to muffle the sound so none of us will ever hear it, and that takes more work than one would think. So I wrapped that bad boy up like it was a week-old fish and tucked it into the further recess of our kitchen drawer.

Sure, it wasn't an ideal situation for hubby to find himself in ("Uh, sorry boss. I just can't find the thing. Yes, I know it's an important part of the job"), but how about some props to me for an outstanding hiding place! Three days passed before I had to think about that thing. Three peaceful, serene, quiet days.

"There's a random painted highway and a muzzle of bees...."

Yesterday's weather was unequivocally gorgeous. Cloudless skies, warm--but not hot--temperatures, and clear air. We got a new swingset for the girls on Tuesday, so while they were fully entertained by new swings, bars, and rings, I set to work on random yard work that was long overdue. (It's a sign of maturity [old age?] when you receive a hedge trimmer for you anniversary and love it.) We have six overgrown evergreen shrubs along the front of our house, and they desperately needing trimming.


After the trimming, I had to rake the clippings out of the landscaping stones which is never easy and always curse-inducing. To make matters worse, we never take the time in late fall to rake the dried leaves out, so now I was wrestling to rake multiple layers out of a space much too narrow for my lawn rake. When all else fails, use your hands! After scooching a rather large mass of leaves out of the shrubs (and thinking, "Wow, they're still quite heavy; they must retain moisture really well"), I noticed a couple of bees buzzing around. Make that 10 bees. No, no... make it 15. You know, there have to be at least 20. And they appear to be pretty pisssed off. Shit.

The heavy bunch of leaves? The top of their nest. (Reminder: I moved it with my hands.) On the underside of that bunch of leaves? Bees and larvae. Lots of larvae. Left behind between the shrubs? A hole about 5" across and 4" deep, and the bees were in and out of it, frantically searching for their queen, their babies--their home.

I called a local beekeeper who confirmed they were bumble bees (which can, in fact, sting repeatedly), and our best bet was probably to "smoke them out" which I quickly learned is doublespeak for "kill them." She recommended we do it in the evening, when they're not busy bees. I've been using the pronoun "we" because it sounds nice, but in reality my husband was working so it was more of a you/me situation. But that will never do, so I called my dad over who helped me spray the mass of leaves (which is when we discovered all the larvae). Tonight, when hubby is home, we'll spray the hole in the ground. However, it appears the bees have left once they discovered life as they knew it was over.

I feel guilty for uprooting an entire colony of bumble bees who were simply making hay out of my laziness (old leaves = great hive material). Sorry, bees. It wasn't personal, it's just that I have these sweet girls...

I hardly dare check the calendar to verify this fact, but I'm almost certain I've passed the halfway point of my summer break. [moment of reverent silence] That sucks.

So far our summer has consisted of swimming lessons, gardening, and general "house work" such as de-cluttering and painting (living room, kitchen, bathroom). On a whim I decided to paint two of my kichen walls the other night which was very unlike me but very much like my dear-but-far-away friend. Maybe it's one way of staying in touch? This week we tackled the living room, and next week I'd like to paint the bathroom and the youngest's room. It's now or never.

My parents have a wonderful, secluded home with a pond, and the girls and I love to spend our summer days there. The pond keeps my dad incredibly busy with weed/algae control, fish feeding, beach grooming, and the like, which is okay because he can't sit still anyway. Monday afternoon he was on the pier, fiddling around with a stick (fiddlestick?) and the barrels under the pier when he lost his balance and fell in. The idea of him falling in cracks me up based on all sorts of character details of my father, so there's no need for a lot of "awww" or sympathy here. However, the unfunny part was that he was wearing his glasses and resurfaced without them. Damn. As anyone who wears glasses understands, replacing a pair of graduated bifocals costs about as much as a purebred labradoodle--and without the snuggles.

So yesterday he asked to borrow our scuba mask so he could search for them on the bottom of the pond. I don't know about you, but the idea of watching my 67 year old father (as of today, actually) struggle to the bottom of the pond in a scuba mask to search for his missing glasses is absolutely pitiful. The bigger question: is it pitiful enough for me to offer to do it for him, amidst the muck, mud, and weeds? *sigh* Yes. But as soon as I offered, the tingles of panic skittered beneath my skin. Let's be real: 10am or not, it was going to be dark down there, and fish don't loiter on the surface, folks.

My first dive was pathetic, and I'm embarrassed to remember it in the privacy of my head muchless recount it here. But I doubt I went down farther than two feet before I felt something closing around my throat. I came to the surface and mumbled something about it being too dark or cloudy or something, but the let-down evident in my dad's posture and face forced me to pull myself together. This sounds like melodramatic license, but in the spirit of the Odyssey and Odysseus, I was giving myself "battletalk" to dive to the bottom. [Allow me to add that I realize I am pathetic. The fact that I need self-delivered battletalk to dive sex feet into a small pond should make one wonder how I'm trusted with the lives of two children on a daily basis.]

Mostly what drove me on was the fact that this was a rare opportunity to do something for my dad. He's forever helping/bailing us out, and there's rarely an opportunity for repayment. Until now. For God's sake, find those glasses!

I dove again and this time made it close enough to the bottom to get a good look around. Huge mistake. It was carpeted with weeds--a year's worth of Ramen tangled together per square foot. What flavor Ramen? Perch. At least that's what my dad told me those little striped fish were.

I came up for air and felt a little bolder, having made it to the bottom without panicking. I made another dive and looked around. And another. Now that I was becoming an expert, I had my dad reenact the event (minus the actual fall, obviously) so I could venture a better guess of where the glasses may have settled. [Note rising confidence: now I'm a forensic expert as well.] Two more dives. Five more. I was staying under longer and getting better looks around, but it was still a tangled mess down there. I came up, and my dad said, "Well, what do you think?" This was not an actual question; it was my "Operation: You Have Permission To Call It Quits" cue. I was thinking of giving up and waiting for my husband to get home from work to give it a try, but I figured I should dive a few more times if for no other reason than I was already in the water. I went down to a little deeper area to look around, and just as I was floating back to the surface for air, something caught my eye. I resurfaced, sucked in air, and said, "I think I see them." I dove again, right back to where I had been, and DING! DING! I had them. Victory was mine.

I've never been an athlete or a huge competitor, but the feeling I had when I recovered those glasses was exhilirating. "Raaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwr!!" I rode that high for a good 30 minutes which isn't bad for something that was free and legal. And I think I've earned some pretty decent mileage with my dad, too.

My daughter and I took a bike ride today, and it occured to me how fortunate we were to be able to take our bikes to local vendors for excellent food. Our first stop was at a local farm that just opened to buy an antibiotic/hormone-free, grain-fed chicken and a dozen brown eggs. On our way home from the farm, we stopped at the orchard and picked a bucket full of montmorency cherries before stopping at the local cheese factory for some fresh cheddar.

Earlier this week I heard a segment on NPR that featured author Barbara Kingsolver speaking about her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. In it she chronicles the year she and her family spent engaged in subsistence farming. I've been intrigued by this idea for awhile and Kingsolver shared some interesting pieces of information that really stirred something in me.

First, she shared that it cost only fifty cents per person, per meal to grow and raise their own food. I don't know the details behind this figure, but by any measure it's a steal since they raised chickens and turkey and grew virtually every vegetable possible. Second, she also explained that one of their primary goals during that year was to become more aware of what they were consuming, what fossil fuels were required to provide them, etc. As an example, she shared that she gave up bananas because the cost--the environmental cost--of consuming bananas was too great. What do I eat, without thinking, that has to be shipped to me from across the country--or an ocean? Finally, she shared that their approach to meal planning became, "What do we have in abundance?" rather than, "What do we want or feel like?"

I love this idea of providing for oneself, even though it's not something my family is in a position to do. (But here's a guy I respect a great deal who is attempting to do just that with his family of four--and not at the suggestion of Ms. Kingsolver, either.) True, we have a garden, but that hardly qualifies as sustaining ourselves. However, we can buy our food from local farmers' markets in an attempt to "keep it local" and conserve resources. So it was especially rewarding today to travel just over a mile round trip and come home with the majority of our evening meal.
It also motivated me to give our garden a little TLC. The girls helped me pull weeds and were quite excited to see some small green tomatoes hanging on the vines. I also have some elaborate plans for next year's garden. Perhaps I'll have to come back to this entry to remind myself of my current passion in this area.

Don't Hate Me

I'm not trying to brag here, but I must say I LOVE LOVE LOVE summer! Last night I started to think, "Gosh, I can't believe the weekend is almost over" when suddenly I realized, it doesn't matter! Sunday, Tuesday, Friday, Thursday--they're all the same for me during the summer. We've had incredibly temperate weather here lately (knock on wood), requiring no A/C and no furnace. I could do without mosquitos the size of hummingbirds, but we just carry a bottle of repellent wherever we go. We gone for bike rides, walks, swims...it's been fantastic. And it isn't even July yet!

Speaking of going, boy did we "go" today. I added a mile to my running route today (so now I'm back to running 4 miles per outing as I was doing last fall), and then the family took the bikes to Bella's swimming lessons. We have a new trail in the area, and we were anxious to give it a try. We packed a picnic lunch so we could relax after lessons and before hitting the trail again, but the wind switched while we were lounging so we found ourselves bucking the wind on the way home as well. Wow. These 35 year old legs were struggling by the end of the journey.

Tomorrow the girls were invited for a play date, so I will be home ALONE for 2.5 hours. I'm already wondering what I should do. Wait--no, I know the things I should do. I'm wondering what things I WILL/WOULD LIKE to do (which are not at all the same as the things I should do, of course). Hmmm, this is going to require some careful thought.

Here Comes The Rain Again...

...falling on my head like a memory. Falling on my head like a new emotion...

And that emotion is sadness. I'm camping out in the basement tonight with the girls because we're under severe thunderstorm warnings (and some tornado watches and warnings thrown in) until 2am. This is after obscene amounts of rain on Sunday and Monday--rivers, homes, business (ahem--gardens) flooded. It's worse south of us, in the suburbs of Milwaukee, but it's bad enough here for the farmers and folks swimming in their basements. Who would've thought I'd be cheering in a cold front? But I am because that's what will push this huge swath of storms out of the area. A cold font. In June. During my summer break. Time to break out the craft projects, I guess.

Yesterday was my first official day of break, and some girlfriends and I celebrated by going to see Sex and the City in the theatres. It was nice to see the SATC girls again, but I wasn't particularly impressed with the movie itself. Acting, plot, writing--all mostly "eh." And I was never a huge Mr. Big fan, so there were no unfilled fantasties satisfied by the movie. I would have preferred seeing Aidan again. But the dinner and drinks afterwards were a lot of fun. Having to get up 6 hours later in a fog? No so much fun.

This weekend I have five graduation parties plus Fathers Day, of course. I really should start thinking about a good gift for sweet hubby.

I should be sleeping...

Really. I should. I should be fast asleep, but I'm giddy about having made it through Senior BBQ today. (Actually, around here we call a BBQ or cookout a "fry"--no idea where that came from, but it's so local that I never even attempt to use the term and have people understand. So technically I made it through Senior Fry, but that sounds sadistic.)



My dear hubby helped chaperone the event which was at the local state park, and it was a beautiful, sunny day. When I got home we had a nice dinner together as a family and went for a bike ride to my parents' house where they served us fresh strawberry pie. Not bad for a Wednesday.



I've been seeing a chiropractor for neck pain I've been having, and on Tuesday I had a half hour massage (part of my birthday and mother's day gifts from Rob and the girls). The massage was amazing, and I look forward to returning soon for Part Deux. As for the neck pain, I have a sneaking suspicion that summer vacation is what is going to make things better. But let's just humor the chiropractor for awhile, shall we?

Look Out! Here I Come Again!

This will be the first time I've posted in two consecutive days. Exciting! We had our first really warm, sunny day today--and for a holiday, too. We got a lot of sun, the girls ran through the sprinkler, we had our first S'mores of the season, and enjoyed a BBQ with my brother and his family.

Living just 3 miles west of Lake Michigan, we often have odd "weather events" chalked up to lake effect. Tonight was a perfect example. We were sitting around the campfire at my brother's house when suddenly the wind switched to an east wind, and the frigid breeze that came in (from the lake) had us bolting for the house. I don't have any stats, but I doubt it's an exaggeration to say the air temperature dropped 20 degrees in a matter of 20 minutes.

So now it's back to critiquing research papers. Why the hell did I choose English education?

*slinks into blogosphere*

Good news: turns out that on April 14 I wasn't actually the worst blogger ever!

Bad news: now that it's May 25, I really am the worst blogger ever.

Shall we catch up on all that has happened in the last 6 weeks? An abbreviated version, perhaps? Let's see... birthdays (three in our little family alone not to mention three more in the extended family), birthday parties, preschool graduation, more Wilco shows (well, just one for me), scads of unpleasant work-related events, and some much-desired sunshine!

My girls are now 3 and 5, I'm those two numbers sidled up next to one another, and try as I may I cannot get my eating habits under control or my running regimine in line. So, you know--the standard.

I'm in the midst of what I consider the worst two weeks of the school year since they include a to-do list that makes my stomach churn. I can literally only focus on things that are physically in front of me so that I'm not paralyzed by the thought of the dozens of other things waiting "on deck" for my time and attention. I haven't seen the movie Click, but from what I understand, Adam Sandler's character has the ability to freeze time with a simple click of a remote. I'll take two, please.

But let's think about happier times. Hubby and I took a road trip to St. Louis, and the weather there was amazing. Sunny and in the 70s. Talk about summer fever! It even prompted me to buy new sunglasses, a new summer bag, and new sundresses for the girls. We're also planning a summer road trip to the Smokey Mountains, a part of the country I've never visited. We plan to camp but should probably research the bear population 'round those parts first. Hopefully gas won't top $5.00/gallon by that time or we may have to look at pictures of the Smokey Mountains.

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

That's me. I have intentions of updating. I even have ideas for updating. But the act of logging in and updating? I just can't quite get that far, it seems.

Anyway, I will attempt to catch up. First of all, the weekend in Chicago was amazing. I spent Friday night listening to and playing music with my husband and some friends. Saturday we had a nice lunch as a family, and Saturday night I attended the Living Room Show. It's difficult for me to describe the night because there's no way to attach words to the way it felt to be there. But I can say that there was a lot of beautiful music, and I feel fortunate to have been a part of the night. A lot of people were very generous to me in regards to that weekend, so thanks to my husband, my mother-in-law, and my Chicago friends who planned the whole night.

This past weekend we went to a waterpark with my family. We all stayed in one condominium and spent the weekend eating and playing together. It was a lot of fun, and I swear our girls would have stayed in the park for all 13 hours it was open had we not dragged them out for meals and "resting." Needless to say, everyone is recovering today from a lack of sleep (and sore muscles for those of us who are so out of shape that manuevering across the lilypads is all it takes to do us in).

Tomorrow is my "baby's" third birthday. I have no gift, no cake, and no solid ideas for either. Send last-minute-clever-mom vibes, will you?

Still Feel Gone

Wait, what the--?! Wasn't I just announcing the arrival of my spring break? Yes, I was. And now it's already gone. *sigh* But it was wonderfully uneventful. I got my first run of the season in (only a three-miler to start, but it's something!), we ate two or three meals together, as a family, for much of the week. What a treat! And my girls took to sleeping until 8am during the break which gives me high hopes for our summer together!

But now I'm back to the classroom which really is okay except that I miss my girls. My two POTTY TRAINED girls. Yes. We are potty trained! (I would include a cute-yet-completely-appropriate photo of my sweetie in her birthday suit during our hardcore week of training, but every photo upload utility despises me.) So I have two little girls running around in My Little Pony, Dora, and Princess panties. A triumph!

I got some exciting news today: I've been invited to participate in a Living Room Show put on by one of my favorite performers of all time, Jeff Tweedy. It will be me and 29 other people in a living room in Illinois, making our personal requests of Mr. Tweedy and listening to him perform from just feet away. *Pinch me, please.* How does this come to be, you ask? Jeff Tweedy auctions off these living room shows at a local [Chicago] charity event to raise money for the cause in question. (As an additional endorsement of J. Tweedy and his band Wilco, last year they performed in Chicago's Millenium Park--think the bean!--and donated $75,000 from the proceeds to the Chicago Coalition For the Homeless. In fact, they regularly donate money from merchandise sales to local charities. They are good people in many ways.)

So anyway, three lucky groups of 30 people are granted living room shows. Imagine! Well, as my luck would have it, someone had to back out of their spot in the group, and I was asked to take her place. Woo! I will have to contribute my share to the charity, of course. But what an opportunity. So I'm now preoccupied with thoughts of this weekend, what song I'll request, etc. Send vibes, will you?

Hmmm, okay. I must go to bed for now. I promise--I'll try to do better keeping up.

That was fun...

Despite the snow and cold, the Easter Bunny still arrived with loot for everyone. There was ample shivering and shaking, but the girls will endure most anything for their weight in candy. And after the egg hunt, it was time for donning new Easter dresses--and a new bonnet for Bella. Easter is one of my favorite times of year because it's a reminder that spring is on its way, and there are dresses in countless shades of the season to remind us. Of course posing in those lovely dresses isn't nearly as much fun as twirling and engaging in general "princess-ness" so these are some of the best shots I could get.

My apologies for the odd layout of this post--I'm still learning. Which is also the reason I can only get select photos to upload while for others I simply get error messages. *#@*%!

Give Me A Break!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh... my Spring Break has finally arrived--accompanied by a snow advisory and the chance for up to ELEVEN inches of snow! The distance between this forecast and my desired forecast for spring break is nothing less than a black hole.

Easter Basket Goodies? Check.
Easter Dresses, Sweaters (*$#!*$#! weather!), and Bonnets? Check.
Appointments for Hair Cuts? Check.
Adequate Caffeine (form of: coffee)? Check.
Laundry Done? Errrrr....

There's nothing good about this Friday--it's laundry catch-up day, my least favorite day of the week. But in the spirit of positive thinking, counting your blessings, etc, here are some Good things about this Friday:

1. I'm at home with my girls.
2. I'm getting a fresh hair cut today, of which I am in desperate need.
3. I'm sitting here with a fresh cup of coffee, listening to the sounds of my girls playing house together downstairs--without crying, fighting, or shouting "MOM!!!!"
4. We had an all-out dance party this morning to the song, "There's No Monsters In My House!" by some old friends, The Gooby Band (album: Silly Songs for Serious People.)
5. My husband has been especially patient with me and my endeavor to learn guitar, so now I have more than a dozen songs in my "repertoire." I plan to play this afternoon.

Speaking of music, anyone who knows me and hubby knows we love music in all of its forms: cds, live shows, group performance, solo performance, improv, etc. So when trying to come up with a name for my blog, I starting hearing some of my favorite songs in my head. The one that stuck out was "Achin' To Be," a song by a now-defunct band from Minneapolis, The Replacements, from their album Don't Tell A Soul. I'm posting the lyrics because I think it's a beautiful song, and doesn't it express a universal truth? Everyone in this world simply Achin' To Be.

Well shes kind of like an artist
Sittin on the floor
Never finishes, she abandons
Never shows a soul
And shes kind of like a movie
Everyone rushes to see
And no one understands it
Sittin in their seats

She opens her mouth to speak and
What comes outs a mystery
Thought about, not understood
Shes achin to be

Well she dances alone in nightclubs
Every other day of the week
People look right through her
Baby doll, check your cheek
And shes kind of like a poet
Who finds it hard to speak
Poems come so slowly
Like the colors down a sheet

She opens her mouth to speak and
What comes outs a mystery
Thought about, not understood
Shes achin to be

Ive been achin for a while now, friend
Ive been achin hard for years

Well shes kind of like an artist
Who uses paints no more
You never show me what youre doing
Never show a soul

Well, I saw one of your pictures
There was nothin that I could see
If no ones on your canvas
Well, Im achin to be

She closes her mouth to speak and
Closes her eyes to see
Thought about and only loved

Shes achin to be
Just like me

On the brink...

Twenty-four hours from now I will officially be on SPRING BREAK! This is excellent news, of course, although I have stacks of papers that need critiquing before I'm truly free. (It's never a good sign when you're brewing a pot of full-strength coffee at 8pm.) But I can do this, right? There really is no alternative. Here's to tomorrow afternoon!

And so it begins...

Well, yes--the weekend. So it begins. But mostly I'm thinking of SPRING. The last two days have been in the 40s, and this rare treat has been lost on no one--especially my sweet girls. We've hauled out every ride-on toy packed away in our garage and have even gone so far as to dust off the lawn chairs. I know we have plenty of sub-zero temperatures and possibly even--gasp--snow still to come, but a bunch of girls can dream, can't we?

Something else is beginning as well... the days of my oldest being asked outside to play by neighbor kids. It was quite sweet tonight when our neighbor's 9 year old granddaughter came over to ask my daughter if she'd like to "scoot" on the parking lot. She was quite excited about the invitation, of course, although her little sister wasn't sure about the arrangement. How quickly my little girl is growing!

I'm off to a state tournament championship game tomorrow, which is always an exciting experience for a school. That means a weekend's worth of cleaning must be packed into just part of a day. Hmmmm.... we shall see how the house fares under that schedule. Prediction: not well.

A Queen and Her Castle

Due to a variety of circumstances surrounding my schedule and the schedule of Dear Hubby, after 8pm this evening I will find myself at home, alone. Just me. Well, me and my sweet Shih Tzu, but she's virtually no work at all and excellent at snuggling.



So the big question becomes What do I do? Go to bed early? Stay up late (and inevitably regret it in the morning)? I have to admit, I feel the pressure. What will I do with my one chance?? Because, let's be honest, who knows when this opportunity will present itself again. Clearly some big decisions have to be made, and I foresee myself snuggled in the recliner with my laptop at the ready and the radio turned up louder than usual. (I know. I'm fantastically wild.)



But the true reward will be tomorrow morning, when the only person I have to get ready is... (wait for it...) ME. No scrambling to get two little ones dressed, to brush hair (to mad protesting, always), to pack bags for school and the sitter's house, to pack my own bags up, to scrounge for my lunch. Instead I may be able to shower without a four year old at my feet, without trying to mediate fights from behind the shower curtain, and without rushing through the entire process because there's no other choice. Yes, tomorrow morning may be my greatest reward of all.

Into The Weekend...

I try hard not to tick off days until I reach the weekend because I figure I'm "wishing away" 70 percent of every week if I get caught up in that game. However, I do so look forward to my Friday evenings, Saturdays, and Sundays.

So what's on tap for this weekend?

1. Laundry: evil but ubiquitous
2. Correcting: I'd feel better about working through my last set of tests if I wasn't collecting a set of essays next week.
3. One-on-one with my youngest: my oldest is going on an adventure with Daddy to Chicago, so the "little one" (not really little, but I'm clinging to that label) and I will have some rare time alone together. I'm thinking shopping, snacking, and tickling.
4. Wilco: A friend and I are making a foolhardy trip to see my favorite band, Wilco. I may regret the trip on Monday morning (or afternoon....or even still on Tuesday...), but I plan to thoroughly enjoy it on Sunday.

May the minutes pass slowly!

Farewell, February

It's been a long winter. Exceptionally long. And of all the long winter months, February often feels like the longest despite the fact that, technically, it's the shortest. I'm a public school teacher in a district that apparently hates democracy and presidents, so we have no holidays off during the entire month. None. And spring break is still in the distant future. So the month of February typically slogs by, and I don't survive it as much as allow it to happen to me. February and I coexist, and when it's past I flip my calendar in relief.



But this year was a bit different. In fact, February and I got on quite well. And this can only be credited to one thing: the Wilco Residency. My husband and I were both fortunate enough to snag 5-day passes for it, and the anticipation of, participation in, and memory of the event made an otherwise intolerable month pass with relative ease.



Certainly the hours spent at the feet of the band were extraordinary, but the hours spent waiting in line and cavorting afterwards with fellow fans were just as exciting and entertaining. Reverberations from the stand in Chicago sustained me for the remainder of the month, and now I'm just a couple of weeks away from Spring Break.


So thanks, Wilco. See you in Iowa.