Home Sweet Home

I have a confession to make.

We've been traveling for the past week. 

My most recent posts – Pre-scheduled.

I need to work on my pacing, but other than that, I think I like this pre-scheduled blogging!

I can happily say – The boys are fed, bathed and in bed. Our bags are unpacked and put away. I've got a date with the bath, and my own bed to crawl into. Over the next few days, I have pictures to share, and tales to tell, but for now, I'll let you guess where we've been. Here are a few hints:

1) We've traveled through 3 states, including our own.

2) We drove to the top of a volcano.

3) We've tromped through the snow.

4) We've slept in a barn, a school house, and a caboose!

5) We've visited with family, and had a much needed vacation.

A belated Happy Thanksgiving, to those of you in the U.S.A., and Season's Greetings to ALL of you!

Does This Mean The Glass Is Half Empty, Or Half Full?

Looking for a midnight snack, I managed to dump the kids cat cookies all over the freshly mopped floor. On the one hand I was kicking myself, as I wanted to keep the floor clean for at least a few more hours. On the other hand, I was patting myself on the back. Knowing that the floor was clean, I could comfortably employ the 10 second rule, (or, make that a minute) and put them back in the box with no one the better for knowing. I put them in the box, swept up, and went to bed.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Being from California, I’ve always been a bit sentimental about our lack of seasons. I know some of you are saying “Oh, boo-hoo,” but really, as a child it was very clear to me that Christmas was supposed to come with snow. I don’t even know how those of you down under deal with it, but being as you’re all so busy opening your Christmas gifts in your bathing suits, I'm sure you really don't give a damn.

Being a native, I’m very aware of the subtle changes we experience, but a smattering of leaves floating through the air in late November, is nothing compared to the shock of red, yellow, and orange, gracing the horizon in early October, that so many of you experience. We might look out and get a chill from the thin layer of ice we have to thaw off our car windows in January, but it’s nothing compared to the giant snow drifts that keep your kids out of school and sledding all day.

But, I’ll take the good with the bad.

We’re now heading into our fourth year in this house, and every summer I’ve promised myself a garden. The first year I was pregnant for Zip and too woogie. The second year I had a baby and toddler and it just didn’t happen. Last year, nothing. This past summer, I was determined to get something started, had bought all the seeds, and then severe water rationing was declared on our county, so, nothing.

Come September, I’d given up the idea that there would ever be a garden in our side yard. And then, the neighbors were doing some renovations, and several 2x4’s were suddenly up-for-grab on their lawn. Always up for a recycling challenge, I hauled the wood across the street and through our yard. Planter boxes were in order, and after building them and filling them with soil, I could no longer blame the yards clay dirt for being unsuitable for planting. It was time to start a winter garden. Since we’re definitely not going to get any snow, I said, “Why not?”

Here's our side yard with the reclaimed wood. Lovely isn't it?

Built, with the beginnings of seedlings.

This week, coming along marvelously. (Now don't tell me you can't tell the subtle changes of light between the last few photos, but that's all we get folks, subtle changes of light.)

So, while the rest of you are out skating on your frozen ponds, I’ll be picking mixed greens from my back yard. And by the time you go pushing up forced paper whites, I’ll be picking broccoli and cauliflower. Not that you can’t just go out and buy those things at the store, I can go to a frozen rink, for that matter. I’m just saying that since I definitely won’t be seeing reindeer tracks this year, I’m gardening, because I can.

An Apple A Day

Earlier this fall, within two weeks time, both my dad and my mom arrived at my door with bags of apples (and a few pears) from each of their respective gardens. It was like a merging of the family trees.

When I was small, my paternal grandmother seemed ridiculously frightening. I quite literally thought that she was a witch. As I grew older, however, we both became more comfortable with one another, and toward the end of her life, we became very close. My grandfather always kept a very large garden, so on the afternoons I spent with my grandmother, I would help her cut and prepare vegetables, and listen to the stories of her youth.

Stories that frequently contained cautionary tales of how to take a spoiled fruit and make it right again.

When I was nine, she decided I was old enough to learn how to pare apples. She showed me how to cut the peels from the fruit in a circular motion, challenging me to cut them in one long strand. 

She taught me how to wish on a star.

She told me that in twisting the stem while reciting the alphabet, or dropping the peels and looking for the letters that they formed, the initials of the man I would marry would appear. Prophesy is wasted on the young, however, and I’m sure that even if the peels had been so blunt...

...I still would have been clueless to their meaning.

She would have me cut the apples into pieces, and place them in a large pot. 

Then we would simmer them in a small amount of water, with a splash of vanilla, until they were soft enough to mash.

With a masher, it was my job to turn them into sauce, which she’d serve to me swirled with cream. 

She died while I was still too young, but every time I peel an apple, she is there, watching over me.

What To Do With A Turkey

For my thirteenth Thanksgiving, when we lived thirty-five miles from the nearest store, my grandmother offered us up a turkey that she had stored in her freezer. After trekking into town to do the laundry, we picked up the bird, and headed over the river and through the woods to our house. 

I don’t think it had been in the freezer for an inordinate amount of time, but when it thawed out, it was clearly quite ripe. Not wanting to waste a twenty-five pound turkey, but knowing it was in-consumable, my mom figured she’d put it out in the woods for the turkey vultures.

My step-father, who loved looking out at the woods, thought it would be hilarious to perch the bird on the brach of a fallen log that crossed the creek, and watch the animals attempt to haul it away.

The first night, he was amused by the sounds of a raccoon family, mumbling and growling, as they tried to figure out how to move the giant carcass. The next morning he watched as the cats walked out across the stretch of trunk and turned up their noses at the rotting foul. Later that afternoon, he witnessed the best sight of all. The owner of the compound was giving a friend a tour of the property, and was walking him across the log. 

My step-father, who was known for his teasing, was thrilled by this sight. He lay himself low in the loft, with only his eyes peering out of the windows, and tried to keep from laughing aloud as he watched them stop at the branch and puzzle over the turkey perched at their feet. 

For several days, whenever my step-father would pass the landlord, it was all he could do not to refer to the bird. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer, and he begged my mom to ask the landlords wife if she’d heard mention of it. 

The next time my mother saw Jo-Ellen, his wife, she took her aside and said, “So, hey – Did Roger happen to say anything to you about the turkey in the woods?”

“Oh yes!” Jo-Ellen exclaimed cheerfully. 

“He came home from his walk the other day, and said, ‘Jo, do you happen know anything about the turkey on the fallen log?’ I said, ‘Oh Roger, there are so many wild animals out in these woods, I’m sure it was just taking a walk.’ He said, ‘No Jo. This was a plucked turkey, on a tree branch, just sitting out there in the open.’ To which I said, ‘Oh Roger, you know Patricia, she’s such an imaginative cook. I’m sure she was just marinating it!”

However you plan to cook your turkey next week, baked, sauteed, deep fried in a giant oil barrel – I have just one word of advice – Make sure it’s fresh!

How Do I See Things?

In fairness to all of you who commented on my last post, I thought I'd share how I'd have done it.

I would have alternated them bright, dark, bright, dark, bright, dark, bright... and then spent far too much time trying to figure out what to do with the really dark one that Tizzy had placed in the middle. I might try to remove it entirely, still needing to find some place to put it, or I might have tried to fit it in, but felt torn about the contrast.

I guess that makes me a conflicted artist.

As it was, he took five minutes, lined them up, was happy with the results and ran off to play.

Thanks for playing. I had fun reading your answers.

How Do You See Things?

My background is in textile design. I've always found it fascinating to observe how people see and arrange patterns... I think it shows a lot about how their minds work. 

Think Zebras – Are they white with black stripes? Black with white stripes? You get the picture. 

From the above arrangement, my assessment stands that Tizzy has a precise and analytical mind. It holds true in all of his actions.

Happiness and Gratitude

For today's post I'm sending onward here. If you have it in you to follow along with me, you will find I've written about happiness and gratitude. Thank you to Dana, of Dana's Brain for passing on this award. Hope you're all having a fabulous Friday!

Food Glorious Food!

I think there’s merit to the advice that no child will starve themselves when truly hungry, and, while I’m sure that’s true in extenuating circumstances, a child who doesn’t equate food with hunger will go an awfully long time (and be awfully unpleasant to be around) if given the option to just not eat. I know this, because Tizzy could care less about food. I have really had to teach this kid to eat. I go to great lengths to hide nutritious morsels into his seemingly sparse diet, and, while I admit, it’s a pain in the ass, I also know he would happily live on rice cakes and bubble water. I trust that hiding kale in his burgers and golden beets in his scrambled eggs is effective on a cellular level and that, someday, he will wake up and say, “Hey guava, where have you been all my life?” But, if that doesn’t happen, at least I can honestly say I tried, and that he was properly fed in the growing years, knowingly or not.

That being said, it is grating and annoying to have ones child turn up their nose to carrot-infused mac 'n' cheese. I mean, come on, it’s mac 'n' cheese, already! So, I had to meet his grousing with humor last night, or I might have just thrown his bowl right out the window, which, for the record, my mother did to me when I was his age, and I never forgot it.

Tizzy: Um, no thank you, I think this is blech.

Me: You think this is blech? How can you say that? You haven’t even tried it?

Tizzy: I just know. I don’t like it.

Zip: Tizzy not like mac 'n' cheese. He not.

Me: You have to at least try one bite.

Tizzy: Mmm, no. I don’t think so.

Me: Well, this is what I’ve made for dinner. You’re welcome to walk down the block and see if anyone else is serving something a little more interesting.

The attention that got made me think I better act fast. He was already half way out the door. I had no time to lose.

Me: You might want to think about it however. Kids are made to eat far stranger things than mac 'n' cheese. Did you know that some kids have to eat cow's tongues for dinner?

Zip: Cow's tongues? Ha-ha-ha-ha!!

Me: It’s true. And some kids have to eat sweet meats. You don’t even want to know what those are.

Tizzy’s shaking his head, no, no, no.

Me: How about blood sausage? Does that sound like a tasty treat?

Zip: Ho-Ho-Ho-Ho... *chortle, snort*

Me: Chicken's feet, and pork rinds, shark fin soup and rattlesnake. There are all different kinds of foods that people eat, and they like them too.

Zip: *Guffaw!* Chickens Feet?! Hee-hee-hee!

Me: Do you know that people pay good money to eat fish eggs on a cracker?

Zip: Fish eggs – on a cracker?!

Me: Pureed goose liver, snails cooked in butter and garlic, raw fish wrapped in rice and seaweed! (I was starting to make myself hungry.) 

Tizzy, shaking his head no this whole time, but eating nonetheless.

Me: When daddy and I were in Mexico, before you were born, there was a man on the beach with a cart. Inside that cart was a boiled cow's head. The man would lift up the flap of its head, scoop out the brains, and people would buy this from him as a SNACK!

Zip falling off his chair: Ahh-ha-ha-ha!!!

Tizzy: No mama. People don’t eat that stuff.

Me: Oh, but they do honey. They do. 

Thinking about all the clever ways people have come up with feeding themselves, I realize that we all do what we have to do, and, in being resourceful, we’ve been quite inventive. At the same time, in thinking of all the creative ways people have managed to feed themselves, Mac 'n' Cheese does seem pretty Blech!

The Seasons – They Go Round And Round

As subtly as the seasons change in California, fall has always been my favorite.

This past summer, however, I found myself hanging onto the long, hot days... trying to stretch the sun-filled hours out just a little longer. The boys are at a perfect age, young and playful, no longer babies.... They can run, they can play, and every day they are expressing their individuality in new and profound ways.

Last night, as Zip knocked on our door, longing to be babied, but tired and needing sleep, Tizzy crept out and took him by the hand, led him to his big boy bed, and they rejoiced in their brotherhood, cracking each other up with the indecipherable jokes that only siblings understand.

I found myself wanting to check on them one last time, but, needing sleep, I trusted they were fine and woke this morning to a child-free bed for the first time in what seemed like ages, and we all were better for the uninterrupted slumber.

We are nursing colds. The kind that seep deep into your chest and linger. But, it’s cold outside, threatening rain, so it’s just one more excuse to stay in our pajama’s, snuggle in bed with popcorn and hot chocolate, and watch movies 'til we just can’t stand movies any longer.

Now that daylight savings has ended and the day is dark before it seems to have even started, there is no denying that winter is creeping near. So, we’re painting egg carton wreaths and printing our annual hand prints – hand prints growing larger before our eyes. We're getting ready for the winter's festive celebrations. 

Celebrating one another most of all.

Received heartbreaking news this morning. 

Withdrew a post which made me too sad.

Hold your children close and dearly. 

They are such precious gifts.

Will be back in a few days.

****

Thank you for the kind comments.

While we are not directly affected, I'm deeply saddened by a loss in our community. 

He's No Van Gogh

At four years old, I was the proud owner of a toy toaster oven. One that plugged into the wall, was lit by a light bulb, and unlike many of its counterparts, had full frontal access that could be filled to capacity. My mom was terrified by its house burning potential. I however was four, and regardless of how many times I was told that I was not allowed to plug it in, continued to do so because, well – I could. 

She finally cut the cord.

Until recently, my boys have been fairly uninterested in pursuing the arts, preferring to spend their days performing circus acts and hair raising stunts. In fact, I was quite surprised to discover at a Halloween library event, that Tizzy could actually hold a pair of safety scissors, and knew how to use them. (Thank you pre-school.)

About two weeks ago, Zip started showing great interest in the artists easel that’s been standing, unused, in our living room for the past two and a half years. Great works have been springing up on a daily basis, so when I discovered a masterpiece of enormous proportions, drawn in black ink, covering the entire surface of our side table, I assumed I knew the artist.

“Zip?” I summoned. “What have we got going here?”

Zip walked up to the side table, and quizzically looked at the swirling creation.

From across the room, Tizzy stopped, mid air from his triple somersaulted decent off the couch – big smile splashed across his face – and shouted: 

“It was ME Mama! I’m the one that did that!”

“You did this?” I asked.

“Yes!”

“But Tizzy,” I exclaimed, sitting down next to him on the couch, “We’ve talked about this SO many times. You only draw on paper – Not furniture.”

His happy face, now scowling, looked up at me, forefinger raised, and replied, “And don’t YOU ever do this again! GOT IT?!”

“Got it.”

A few minutes passed and he joined me in the kitchen. 

“I got an idea!”

“What’s your idea?” I asked.

“Less just erase it!”

“Good idea, I said, but not so easy.”

He picked up the sponge, went out to the side table and wiped it down.

He returned smiling, held up the sponge – “There. Done.”

Now – Where can I hide the pens?

Right Now What's Silly, Will Soon Be... *?*

We had to go to the mall today, which is a fairly unusual occurrence, in order to make a return.

Christmas trees and promises of Santa were luring them in – drawing the boys to the window displays.

We walked past Victoria’s Secret. Scantily clad mannequins were leaning on door frames, laying on tables, and slumming it on lounge chairs...

Zip stopped dead in his tracks.

“WHAT’S SHE DOIN’?!”

Standing frozen in front of the window he looked the mannequin up and down.

“She’s in her UNNERPANTS! Why she doin’ that?”

Again, very seriously, looking up and down...

“he - he - hee - ha - Ha - HAH - HAH - HO - HO - HO!!!” – he started dancing in utter delight –

“She’s SILLY! She’s SO silly in her UNNERPANTS!”

Not Exactly What I'd Had In Mind.

When I was 6, I announced I wanted to be a garden fairy for Halloween. My mother spent weeks on a whimsical wood nymph like headdress, collecting Spanish moss and molding it to a hairnet – decorating it with little mushrooms, flowers, and butterflies.

I hated it.

I'd had something, a little more – * sparkly * – shall we say,  in mind, and felt like I was walking around with a mound of earth on my head. I believe I wore it for a whole 5 minutes to take this picture.

Because I majored in textile design, and spent much of my 20's sewing, it was assumed by most, that I would definitely be the kind of mom who slaves over ornate costumes for her own children.

Not so.

Tizzy has never been a costume boy, not even when he was young, so I've gotten very adept at costumes that resemble normal clothes. Train conductor? – Overalls. Kitty cat? – Black sweater and pants. 

This year was no different. For the past month, the boys have been talking about being firemen. Good, I thought. Raincoats and boots. Perfect for fall. I looked for fireman raincoats, but with two costing a grand total of $50, we opted for yellow slickers from the thrift store. 15 Bucks.

We scored when we ran into a fireman at the grocery store and he went out to his truck to get the boys hats and stickers.

For the past two weeks, Zip has been going everywhere in his fireman hat. School, the library, bed. 

Friday afternoon I went to get them dressed. 

"Are you ready to put your stickers on your jackets?" I asked.

"But mom, that will make me look STUPID." Tizzy whined.

He's four.

I went to put Zips hat on his head.

"I not wear dis fireman hat – I NOT!"

As luck would have it, it was raining. So we bundled them up in their un-decorated coats and boots, and walked them down the street – Our off duty firemen.

I wasn't bothered a bit.