Photo by Jackson
Every day this great hubbie of mine heads out to his office in the garage, armed with his computer, his wits, and a sprig of hope that this will all be over in just a few months.
He’s out there doing great things, slaying that dissertation dragon, so to speak. It’s a pretty large task, especially when you’re sitting cheek-to-jowl with fifty cans of wheat and a few jars of pickles. (He shares the space with our pantry overflow.)
I decided amidst the daily grind he needed a little boost, a ray of hope and sunshine in this otherwise windowless room. As a starter:
For nine years I’ve been trying to figure out how to properly feed this husband of mine. An IV, unfortunately, was not an option. So a well-stocked treat bucket was definitely in order.
As was an inspiration board, something to keep him upbeat and hopeful.
It has a thin ribbon at the top with the word journey, to remind him to enjoy this journey–it’s the only dissertation he’ll ever write! (Well, here’s to hoping.) Also, some handmade drawings from the boys. And of course, an image of the new iPad, because anything beginning with i brings great joy into Seth’s life. And finally, my new favorite quote by Julius Lester, which has also found its way to my project wall as well: “Each writing is an act of faith that requires the strength of ten thousand men.”
Now, onto that great dissertation, eating the elephant, as the saying goes, one bite at a time. (And hopefully those Powerbars too.)
I’m not sure if it’s the four-for-one special or the all-male dynamic in our household, but there is an abundance of silliness happening around these parts. Giggling and goofiness and jumping off every stick of furniture…Every few months it comes to a head, and we call all forces together for a Silly Celebration.
The idea behind the celebration is to take all that silliness and concentrate it into a single evening. Also, to show the kids that Mom and Dad like to have fun, when it is appropriate. We plan for it all week, and it’s a major motivation for good behavior in and out of school. Past celebrations have included dinner under the table and blowing-real-bubbles bubble gum tutorials.
There has been a definite buildup. It was high time for another release of the sillies. Friday found us stuffed to the max with pillows for sumo wrestling, arm wrestling, and an ice cream dessert. And oh my, these boys are getting strong. No matter how many times I try to remind them that Mom is made of glass, they still shake me up pretty good. (Asher, by the way, was right in the thick of it, laughing so hard he nearly fell over backwards. Obviously another spirited one to join the fray in a few years.)
Whether these celebrations lead to any real changes day-to-day is up for debate, but we sure do have a good time. You’re never too old to be silly.
And while we’re on the subject of food…
Most people have a fruit bowl in their kitchen. We have what I lovingly call The Fruit Ark:
It takes up half our kitchen. If there is ever a flood, we can launch this baby into the headwaters, taking our apples with us, two by two.
What is really amazing about this kitchen feature is that it will be nearly empty in just a few days. We are a family of six, plus one live-in little sister. We chew our way through a ton of food. And no matter how hard I try, I can not seem to keep stocked enough: bread, milk, cheese, yogurt, spinach, and fruit. We finish off a loaf of bread daily. (And when it’s homemade we go through two.) Milk is gone in two days. Keep in mind that my boys are 7, 6, 4, and 10 months, and one of those boys eats about 50 calories per day. (And it’s not the 10-month-old, who, at last count, ate more than me at dinner.)
I try and keep down the cost of the grocery bill slightly by using lots of cheaper-type filler: oatmeal, eggs, and potatoes. And the go-to snack is nearly always air-popped popcorn.
Still, what are we going to do when these boys hit puberty? I keep sliding pennies under the mattress in hopes of someday buying a family farm, but I have a feeling all that money is going right into the belly of my growing boys. Either that, or we need to invest in a cow, an orchard, and a cheese press.
And obviously, a larger fruit basket.
What does one do with a pound of kale languishing in the fridge? Answer: one makes Zuppa Toscana. I’ve been a long-time fan of this soup, Olive-Garden-style, but was a bit nervous making it myself.
I shouldn’t have been so hesitant. The soup calls for Italian sausage and bacon, two no-fail ingredients–I could have dipped the vat in horseradish and it still would have tasted good.
I found a good recipe here, which I used as a launch pad, adding way more potatoes and bacon than it called for. And oh my, I must admit it was heavenly, perhaps the best thing I’ve ever made, perhaps better than the restaurant…no, definitely better than the restaurant.
This one earns a permanent spot in the recipe box.
In other food news, I’ve been hunting around for quite some time, looking for the perfect whole wheat waffle recipe. And I found it here.
The secret to their goodness is using King Arthur’s White Whole Wheat flour. Also, the recipe calls for five eggs, which makes them so delightfully chewy and cake-like.
Cake for breakfast? I’ll take it. Bon Appétit!
When Jackson was younger he had this thick, sun-streaked hair and tan skin that turned heads wherever we went. We lived in Miami, six blocks from the beach. Every day I loaded up the kids in the double jogger and we walked miles around town, from library to park to grocery store to beach. Our favorite beach spot was near the giant pier that jutted out into the water. A crowd of fisherman gathered at the end and pelicans hovered overhead looking for a catch. This spot was also a favorite for magazine photo shoots. When we strolled by, the photographers would whisper in French and hand me their card. “Bring your son to our next casting call,” they always told me.
So for a brief moment in time, I considered throwing Jackson into the modeling arena–he would’ve looked great on the cover of a LIFE cereal box, don’t you think? I went so far as to fill out the paperwork involved. Then I heard more about these casting calls. They involved two basic things: standing in line and following directions. Jackson had many wonderful toddler qualities, but these were not two of them. Ahem.
So Jackson’s career as a model was ended before it began. But the other day I was thinking about that casting application, after snapping this picture of Asher:
I remember nothing about the application, except that under the paragraph about including a photo of your child, it said in bold letters: “Please do not send a picture of your child with food on his/her face.”
This was such an delightful warning on so many levels. First, to merit such a warning must have meant that this was a common problem. And second, it confirmed my theory that food on your own child’s face is positively adorable, but on the face of any other child, is really gross.
It says something about the love of parents, doesn’t it, that we take such delight in this, and want to broadcast it to the world?
1. These books by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. (Thanks Christa!)
2. This babe trying out our staircase for the first time, and finding such delight with each step.
3. The “Blue Moo” songbook and tape by Sandra Boynton and Michael Ford. It is now a family classic.
4. Training: it has been a decade since I did running of any real significance, and oh, it feels so good. I had forgotten. Here’s to hoping my knees cooperate.
5. This incredible January weather Austin has gifted us. It has led us to the park almost daily, where I send the boys on obstacle courses, which they think are a blast. (And don’t you love they way they just lined themselves up on the swing like that, unsolicited, in birth order?)
What are you loving?
We recently joined our local CSA, which means each week we get to pick up a box of locally grown, organic veggies. It’s been quite the experience. Here are my thoughts thus far:
!. When you buy into a CSA, you’re really buying into the philosophy behind the thing, because it’s not that practical. At least, not for a family of seven. This would be great for a couple or a much smaller family. We just go through so much food around here, so beyond this box, I am still buying loads of fresh fruits and veggies at the store. (And oh, how I miss my own lovely garden!)
2. With the exception of carrots and kale, they don’t give you much of one thing to work with. I cooked up the bunch of beets last night, and ended up with literally a handful of roasted beets and a small bowl of beet greens. And what does one do with one parsnip?
3. That said, it is fun to experiment with some of those sidelined vegetables, the ones that don’t get much playing time in the cookbook of life. I made a bok choy stir fry that was a surprise hit, and found that kale can be added to a great many things (spaghetti!) without interrupting the overall theme.
4. The biggest bonus is the enthusiasm of the kids in picking up the weekly box. It is an event. And, as you can see, the added luxury is that Preston’s plastic horse finally has a good place to rest its head, under the awning of this very expensive, unidentified vegetable. Ahh, the benefits of going local.
When you know you’re moving on, you begin to compile a mental list of the things you have to part with. It is the bitter with the sweet: the excitement of new adventure coupled with a searing reminder that some things will never be the same again.
Topping that list of things we’ll miss here in Austin is family, so much family around to play and gather with.
These boys of mine love their cousins Casey and Gabrielle. They have that special cousin connection that happens every time we’re together.
Casey is sweet and fun and full of love. She has a special bond with Preston and loves to make him laugh. They both adore animals and making people happy.
Then there is Gabrielle, who brings over her bag full of activities and a brain stocked with creative play ideas.
When Gabrielle comes over, the boys are occupied for hours, playing wizards, making pet rocks, or, as they were the other day, building a fort from all the rubbish in the shed (including paint cans and our Christmas tree stand.)
Gabrielle tells them stories and jokes and teaches them how to draw and they believe every word she says. It’s amazing how many times we’ve had occasion to discuss that dragons are not above us on the food chain just because Gabrielle said so.
Oh, I love these girls. We will miss them so much. I just hold out hope that future summer visits and family reunions will be enough time to recapture the magic that happens when they are around.
I was on my computer at the kitchen table the other day, working through some tasks, when I happened to glance into the sunroom at Jackson, practicing his daily piano (unsolicited!) and wearing this:
He was playing with such feeling, like those great, crazy-haired composers of old. I just sat and watched this kid, who has always marched (and played) to his own beat, and who has always had a penchant for things on his head. (Anyone remember the underwear and goggles at age two?)
I love this boy, who has such a unique way of looking at the world. He’s in the thick of reading Harry Potter for the first time (!), but every time I spy on him he’s jumping around from chapter to chapter in some crazy pattern. For a completely linear reader like myself, I can’t fathom absorbing a book in such a manner, but I learned long ago that this boy’s brain works in a unique and special way. And I love him so much.
I love him despite the fact that last week he somehow managed to lock our kitchen pantry. For one panicked evening Seth did not have access to his chips-n-salsa and cereal, but after trying every key in the house, he finally managed to get that door open.
Jackson, no matter the age (or the headgear), you are always a show stopper.
I live in a house that never is messy,
Where laundry is folded and mother is dressy.
I wear bright red lipstick and tri-pleated skirts,
Pearly-pearl earrings and button-up shirts.
My husband is suited, and tied up, and cuffed,
He trots in galoshes and goes out in a muff.
The children, dear children, are starched in the morning,
Play all day tidy, sit in their corners.
Their noses stay put, they don’t ever run,
And their tender young faces never burn in the sun.
They beg for chopped lettuce and shun the ice cream,
They never wet the bed or have a bad dream.
Even the house pets do as they’re told,
Don’t pee in the corners, never grow old.
My house runs precisely, hour by hour,
The bread’s always fresh, the milk never sour.
Like a thousand small packages tied in a bow,
I like my house neat and my family just so.
But I must admit sometimes I want to upturn precision
Pour dust in the corners, break up the rhythm.
Tousle the hair on the head of the kids,
Loosen the ties, pull off the lids.
For life in a package, shiny and spun,
Is small, neat, and boxy, and frankly, no fun.
