Just a Rainy Day

(An homage to Mercer Meyer)

Today was just a rainy day.

We really wanted to join our neighbors, Bunny and Robin, in the backyard, but we had to find things to do inside instead.

We tried to put on a puppet show just for mom, but we couldn't decide which puppet belonged to which girl... We let mom put on a show for us instead.

We wanted to help mom reach her coffee, but it was too tippy! (And thankfully, tepid... the floor needed some attention, but no one got burned! The photo was taken later, when she went back for more.)

We wanted to color a picture just for mom, but the crayons were too tasty.



We tried to cozy up with mom and read some good books, but the pages tore too easily.

So we took a nap instead.

Like Little Critter, they have the best intentions, but after a few days in the backyard, they're a little squirrelly in the house. I think the afternoon will have to feature a rainy walk!

Workin' for the Weekend

On this sunny and still spring day, I'm incredibly anxious to get into my garden.


Unfortunately for me, getting in the garden means cleaning up the mess I neglected last fall. Sunflower stalks, decomposing tomato vines, and other remnants of last year's garden still need to be cleared, along with several varieties of vivacious new weeds.

Believe it or not, I'm enthusiastic even for this thankless garden project. It's a great opportunity to get messy with the girls, and once cleared, I'm ready for more rewarding work this weekend. Hauling in compost, tilling up the soil, marking off and preparing the beds, and finally, planting some of the first crops.

Not the first, though. This morning, I harvested our first crop: asparagas. Elliot and I shared the first slender, sweet stalk right in the back yard. Of course, she spit her bite out, but at least she tried it!

Our first harvest of 2009 came right after a trip to the clinic for Elliot's 18 month check up (90% heitght, 50% weight.... bring on the whole milk yogurt!). I had my doctor cornered, so I couldn't help but ask a couple of quick questions about swine flu (How much Airborne should I pack in the survival kit? Answer: *snorty laughter*).

So I'm off to wrestle Maya out of her fancy dress and into some play clothes. Let the garden begin!

Photo Friday... On a Monday

After last Friday's verbose post, I'm giving myself a light day. Here are the girls, cozily reading on a rainy day while I assemble my Swine Flu survival kit (yep, I'm nuts!).

Channeled Energy

As Swine Flu continued to spread today, my inner survivalist tracked down a good survival handbook, a water purification system, and a solar powered/hand crank radio to add to our emergency supplies.

Hee, hee.

Then my more dominant inner pragmatist took over and together we dashed off a revised and recreated outline for Prairie Apocalypse, the Nanowrimo novel that suffered major losses in my recent laptop meltdown (forgive the terrible, working title... it will change, I swear). I poured all of my jitters over this pandemic that may not develop into developing a pandemic that will catalyze revelations about relationships, community, and the meaning of life among an endearing and endangered cast.

Until today, I have been avoiding any effort to recreate what I lost when Gateway ate two months of work I failed to back up. I found the task depressing. I was also certain that any recreated version would be a meek, pale shadow of the original.

Luckily, the outline I ferociously assembled today is, if anything, an improvement on the previous one. The rewrite (part two) can begin today... assuming no actual pandemic competes for my attention.

The Deep End

I'm off it. The deep end that is!

One fry short of a happy meal.

One card short of a deck.

One course shy of an English major.

One rooster short of a flock.

One cough short of a case of Swine flu.

I spent November drafting a novel in which a hastily mutating bird flu virus dismantled the economic, social, and political infrastructures throughout the world. Oddly, my pandemic began in the spring... Like the Swine Flu. My pandemic was given time to mutate, spread, and wreak havoc because national and international health agencies laboriously discussed the issue in committee, not wanting to alarm people.... The WHO is meeting to decide if the alert level should be raised. The CDC is putting out reassuring instructions to cover your mouth when coughing.

It's all happened before. In my book.... Only unlike my uber prepared main character, my pandemic survival kit has yet to be assembled.

Guess what I did this afternoon? I ditched my mother-in-law with the girls for a couple of hours and dashed around preparing the beginnings of a survival kit.

I have a lot left to do, but I'm hoping that my stockpile of groceries will be enough to prevent the need for them. If you plan for it, some totally unexpected crazy thing will happen instead, right?

I'm a reasonable person. Really, I am. I know this is most likely a Y2K-type situation.... but I'm also rather imaginative, an over-protective parent, and addicted to apocalypse stories.... so, anyone know where I can get some black market anti-virals real cheap? And maybe a goat?

Bright Lights, Big Stage

Today, Maya attended her first theater production.

Circoluna (Circus Moon) at the renowned Minnesota Children's Theatre Company featured the world's only shadow circus, an audience that averaged three feet tall, and piles of sock puppets to entertain the restless monkeys before the show.

Of course, no matter how well you know your child, no matter how realistic you aim to be, there is always discord between the image in your head when you purchase the tickets and the reality when you arrive to the show.

As Joe punched in our credit card number to reserve the tickets, we excitedly pondered the Disneyfied version of how it might go: Maya aglow in her prettiest dress, eager and curious about the events on stage, thoroughly entertained by everything she saw.... and asleep on the ride home after all the excitement.

Reality was much more quirky and entertaining. Maya went back and forth to the bucket of sock puppets no fewer than four times before finally getting brave enough to wear them. Then she scoped out the snack counter and declared herself starving, despite a snack in the car.

When I refused that, she took the time to look around at all the other kids, and was suddenly overwhelmed and timid, traits I rarely see in her. While we waited to be guided into the theater (restless children are wisely kept far away from the stage before the show), Maya grew more and more nervous. Her expression says it all:



Once we were ushered into the theater, Maya was more than a little alarmed when I asked her to sit on the small benches up front with a passel of other eager preschoolers. So I sat nearby, in the aisle. Five minutes into the show, it was clear that my hovering perch was more for me than for her.

The excitement of the show, the lights, the puppets, the sound effects, completely enthralled her, making her brave and creating an instant bond with the children around her.

I was enthralled too. I watched her every expression. She laughed and clapped through most of the show, turning to me from time to time to mouth "This is so funny." She covered her mouth with her hands when Luna's light went missing, and blew fairy dust onto the stage with the other kids to help find it.

I guess most of the morning was pretty true to our vision. Her mix-matched, self-selected outfit was much more her style than a princess dress. Her outburst mid-show, when she stood up and said loudly, "Mama, mama, I'm still really hungry. Can we get a cookie on the way out?" was a classic, "who's kid is that?" moment. In that crowd, it was fairly easy to feign anonymity.... until she started to ask again. With a hasty nod and some covert gestures, I had her seated, quiet, and enthralled once more.

Later, while we lunched, Maya told Elliot all about her date with mama, and assured her little sister that, when she was a big three-year-old, she could come see the bright lights and big stage too.

Fully Functioning

Finally, I have BOTH a working laptop and the Microsoft Office software to facilitate more writing on actual stories and less planning, brainstorming, freewriting, and journaling in various notebooks.

I've filled a lot of notebook pages lately. I may have enough material for the rest of the year.

The process has been helpful. I've percolated. Stewed. Marinated? Maybe not...

Tonight, with the help of several overheard conversations and a few really productive jogs (Mentally, anyway... I think I slow my pace when I get really into the groove.... whatever works!), I pounded out a summary outline for Upturned Stones. An outline that I really like.

Unfortunately, the cynic in me is rolling her eyes. It has all been done before. The story is far from new. In fact, it is comfortable, like well worn jeans. Perhaps more like my favorite old quilt, ragged and gawdy and made by a great aunt who would roll her eyes at the amount of the SciFi channel I've watched while snuggled under it.

Too bad, cynic! I'm still writing this beast. And soon. I am so in love with the two main characters, I can hardly stand it. I am absolutely delighted by the arch of the story. Comfortable as it is, there is a lot I don't know about the details. In those details, I can pour everything that feels so fresh and exciting and wonderfully entertaining about these people and their... well, their angst.

The Lucky Flock

Our ladies are some seriously lucky birds.

Or we are some seriously lucky backyard birders.

Since our plan to start a flock was hatched last spring, I have frequently snooped around the net on other blogs, message boards, and online communities, attempting to learn as much as possible about these birds.

It's amazing this research didn't turn me off from the whole project. Nearly every account started with, "chickens make great pets due to easy maintenance, egg production, and loads of personality; but...." At that point, the author would detail the latest horror story in her flock, from predators to parasites, from strange ailments to problems with laying hens that might require an OB/GYN specialty to repair... Eek!

The effect was frightening, but so goes internet research, right?

Our ladies have made it through the grand experiment of winter with no ill effects. They are all fluffy, healthy, and delighting neighborhood children with their comical laps around the chicken run, persistent begging, and constant, clucky chatter.

Yep, we have one lucky flock!

Refusing to Wait

Reading over some past posts, I realize I bring up turning 30 a lot.

I am not one of those people the fears getting older. Not really, and certainly not 30. Sure, I acted like a dork when I found my first gray hair, but that was more theatrics than actual concern. Generally speaking, I am a 4 year old for much of my day, and that is fabulous.

No, I bring up my most recent milestone, not because I fear aging, but because it has been my catalyst for months. The satisfying roundness of 30, or 40 or 50 or 90, speaks to something in me, maybe in all of us. These milestones underscore the finite amount of time we have to dabble in the millions of things that interest us. For those of us striving for enlightenment and inner peace, they demand self-reflection.

I've been reflecting a lot lately. What am I doing with myself? What do I want to be doing? Combine this little milestone with the freeing age of my youngest child, and suddenly, I'm on a binge of self-exploration.

I'm writing again, instead of waiting for the right time, the right story, the right state of mind. Regardless of the outcome, publish one day or not, it is incredibly satisfying to spend evenings and nap times exploring stories, watching characters come a live. Only 8 months ago, I didn't really believe characters could come into their own voices the way two of mine have recently.

At the same time, I'm striving for better health, mindfulness, a luscious garden, and a simple, satisfying lifestyle. Though I'm still in the process of reflecting, and probably always will be, I'm no longer waiting for the right time to begin projects that sing to me. I'm jumping right now.

The new risk, instead of waiting for someday, is taking on too much. So the reflection continues.

Enjoy Your Earth Day!

We're unplugged... or trying to be. No TV, no car, no public radio, no ridiculously giant bathtub brimming with well-heated water. We will try for another picnic, spend the day in the backyard, plant a few flowers in an indoor pot, and do some sort of project with the recycling.

I'll let you know how it goes!

*** 12 hours later***

Oh dear...

• Hours of television watched: 2.5
• Hours spent outside: 1 (maybe, if you stretch it)
• Trips in the car: 1 (2 if you count to the clinic and back again as separate trips)
• Cases of tonsillitis: 1
• Referrals to an ear, nose, and throat specialist: 1
• Kitchy Earth Day activities accomplished: 1 (yeah! I know! Impressively, Maya led an effort to decorate an old EnviroKidz box as a bed for Anakin the cat.... and he agreed to use it.)

First, Maya measured him for his house. Then measured a few different boxes to find one big enough for this bad boy.

The completed box sheltered Anakin from the girls while he sat in the sun. What a thoughtful project!

The day was not a total loss. My girl has a lingering virus and has been recommended for possible tonsil removal, which leaves me feeling queasy, but the cat has a new bed.

This Earth day was entirely tinged with a different shade of green.... the sickly green of guilt.

We may have chickens, incandescent light bulbs, and relatively responsible shopping habits. But, I have really slipped on my recycling routine. The level of creativity I use to green up various aspects of our lifestyle has declined sharply. Even more embarrassing is a recent home improvement project actually led to a low-flow faucet's replacement with a very sexy but environmentally disastrous model..... and a massive bathtub that I indulge in far too frequently.

Urgh.

Essentially, I blame Elliot. Sorry kid. With a toddler and a new baby, I gave myself all kinds of gentle leeway last year. And I developed some bad habits, from way too relaxed house maintenance to equating a "green lawn" with a completely neglected lawn.

Well, Elliot is 18 months old now, and her usefulness as an excuse is on the decline. As a result, here are a few new, completely doable resolutions for the remaining 8 months in 2009.

• Install low-flow water fixtures every where possible (sorry, high design)
• Reinvigorate recycling efforts (too lazy to take it to the garage? add an extra bag or two under the sink... and kick the composting back into gear!)
• Program the thermostat (we have been blaming our (not so) tender baby on our excessively toasty house all winter)
• Pick an under used patch of lawn and turn it into habitat
• Paint the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom with low VOC, renewable paint products (I have my eye on Mythic)
• Collect rainwater for the garden when possible
• Take the girls on weekly adventure day outings to wild spaces

I'll add the list to my sidebar, keep you appraised of my efforts, and probably add to it.

What Did You Do?!

I hear myself saying this a lot.

Lately, I catch myself thinking it.... I hear Elliot erupt into tears in the other room. I instinctively think something awful happened, and the very next thought is "What did you do." Meaning Maya, of course. When I run to the rescue, I usually discover that Elliot has stumbled on a toy or has made a grab for a hot lamp, screaming when Maya, protectively, got in the way.

Thankfully, I'm learning to bite my tongue on those accusatory words. "What did you do?" They are just not fair. Plus, they set the girls up on a spiral of blame, victimization, and bullying. (perhaps I'm over thinking it!).

Maya weathered the transition to "big sister" with remarkable grace. We didn't suffer the usual "send her back" protests that other parents report. Physical violence is pretty minimal (even after Maya's Popeye-watching phase!).

Maya actually does her best to protect Elliot's interests, even when stealing a toy from her little sister. Maya always makes it a trade, pulling away the interactive toy cell phone and replacing it with an eggplant from the kitchen set. (It must have seemed fair at the time, right?)

According to other parents, parenting books, and my own distant memories of childhood, kids are remarkably good at capitalizing on a parental mistake, like saying "What did you do" automatically.

Reacting this way sets the stage for future Elliot to play the victim time and again, blaming Maya for infractions that were minor at best and fictitious at worst. It also leaves Maya feeling like a bully, even when she doesn't act like one. How many times can a kid take the blame before thinking, "What the heck, my twerpy sister could use a good shove, and since I'll be blamed for it anyway..."

So I'm learning to calmly ask, "What happened," from my composed almost-four-year-old while wiping tears from my baby's face. Generally, Maya steps in to help comfort Elliot after a little tumble.

Occasionally, I'm on to the next challenge when Maya's matter-of-fact answer is, "I pushed her so she wouldn't step on my Candy Land game, and she hit her head on the toybox."

It doesn't sound like a major issue, but the mother lioness in me gets very confused over how to react. It's probably best just to keep quiet and ask questions. Maya is a kind, sweet big sister. She is still learning how to play with a little sister who can now wrestle for what she wants and, with a single wail, bring mom and dad running. Elliot, on the other hand, has simultaneously learned to throw theatrical tantrums (It's so hard not to laugh when she moans at the top of her lungs, jogs in a circle, then hurls herself to the floor.... over "No, no playing in the fireplace").

So I just keep practicing... "What happened?" Deep breath. Assess.

Clearly, all this hasn't been a problem today.
Here is Maya practicing gymnastics
(a game she started playing during the Olympics last summer).

Guacamole in Fort Meyers

The world is a very entertaining place when you let an (almost) four year old lead you through it.


Ours was a misty, moisty morning with no agenda and loads of time. Somehow I managed to resist the urge to catch up on the laundry or organize the cupboards or bundle them off to Old Navy in search of spring clothing sales. Instead, I just played quietly with my girls, following Maya's lead and going along with every inspiration.

First we colored together, all three of us working on one picture. Maya meticulously colors in the lines now, and it was hard work to persuade her that one errant crayon-stroke didn't necessitate a whole new picture. By the time she agreed that perhaps our bunny could be spared, Elliot stopped coloring her palms blue and started scrawling the bunny's ear. Of course this required a new page, and a separate page... actually a whole separate section of the kitchen, for Elliot.

Then Maya dragged out the play dough, serving Elliot and I delightfully colorful ice cream treats from her fancy play dough ice cream maker. This activity continues to be a little confusing for Elliot, but one bite of the salty, nasty stuff seems to be enough to teach her the meaning of "pretend." At least for a bit.

Then suddenly we were at the sink, mixing colored water again, discovering what color combinations lead to black water and which ones are drinkable.

This water escapade inspired us to don swimming suits and pretend the bathtub was a lake. The girls practiced floating, blowing bubbles, holding their noses, flutter kicks... who needs swim lessons when you a bath tub and a lazy morning?

The show stopper of the morning was when Maya and Elliot played in the play room for nearly an hour. The house was almost completely quiet except for the clatter of dishes while they served each other and their dolls snacks and the sound of Maya's tiny voice reading stories to the dolls and her little sister.

Though she usually parrots the stories that she already knows or describes the pictures in her books, lately she has made up her own poetry. She has the rhythm and rhyme of Shel Silverstein down perfectly, and as she lilts through each line, I can sometimes make out the words. My favorite snippet so far is this blog title: Guacamole in Fort Meyers. The next line was just "something, something on some tires." I was so proud!

This was the sort of simple, lovely morning that can only happen if we insist on slowing the pace of our days. Even among us at-homers, it seems all too easy to fill the days up with play dates, adventures to exciting destinations (like Target), and other organized activities. As it turns out, an unplanned day is perfect fodder for creative, kid-led activities that let the girls discover how to entertain themselves, each other, and... well... me.

The Whispering Silence

I have been getting in shape lately, a product of my recent "I'm turning 30" self-improvement frenzy.

Well, that and the fact that I'm now beyond the simultaneously fleeting and endless "body snatching" phase of parenting (encompassing pregnancy and well over a year of nursing." Suddenly my baby is 18 months old, and I feel like a new woman.... my own woman!

Anyway, I've always wanted to do yoga on a more regular basis, so now I try to work it in a few days a week. I've also always enjoyed a good run... or more accurately, a good meandering jog. So this afternoon, I popped Elliot into the jogging stroller and took off...

*Gasp!* I completely forgot my walkman. (yes, walkman... my propensity to drop things prevents me from finicky new-fangled gadgets like iPods.... plus I just want to listen to the radio)

Too lazy (and winded!) to turn back, I went with it. You can guess what happened.

That's right, Evelyn, the newly discovered star of "Upturned Stones" whispered in my ear about all sorts of odds and ends. The recent decline in her mother's health; her desperate attempt to reap something fruitful from that relationship before it was too late; bits of info about her teenage daughters; and her overwhelming sense of something passing her by. Something important.

I would have missed all of it if I'd had my earphones on, blaring the latest pirate attack in my ear along with upsetting updates about the ongoing senate race (I'm a Minnesota Public Radio addict).

I also would have missed 18 month old Elliot Rose's random observations. She frequently burst into joyful claps and shouted "ruff, ruff, ruff" at neighborhood dogs out for their own walk. "Mommy, mommy" she would chant until I stopped to huff a breathless "What honey?" in her ear. From the toddler chatter that followed, I could make out "puppy" and "boots" and "swing," though I have no idea what her thought process might have been.

In the silence left by the missing walkman, she and I were able to enjoy each other, and at the same time, I was able to tune into a character that seems to be demanding the spotlight.

As you might expect, my sad, tired, dented old walkman is tucked safely in a drawer. Until Minnesota's harsh winter overtakes us again sometime next November, I'll be steeling off for a jog with my baby and my characters every chance I get.

Angsty

I felt... well... angsty all week.

I realize that's not a word, but nervous just isn't right.... Uneasiness makes it sound benign and passive.

This wasn't passive. I felt gnawed upon... no, that's gross. I felt haunted. Yes, haunted. I kept trying to track down the source. I felt for a while that it was my preoccupation with fruitless political arguments on Facebook, but when I put a stop to the ineffective ranting, the angst remained.

I thought maybe it was this churning, evolving "Rewrite Part 2," the prep for which has consumed most of my evenings this week. But I'm actually fairly excited for this rewrite... even recreating the lost bits. I identify with my characters now in a way that I didn't know was possible 6 months ago. This will be an adventure, just as soon as my new version of Microsoft arrives (I just can't get into google docs).

So what is it?

As it turns out, "IT" - my angst... the gnawing... the haunting... It was a new character. A whole new story. I sat down to journal about my discontent, as any good aspiring writer or overemotional teenager might do, and instead of a smattering of observations and contemplations, I poured out a scene.

The next scene is already taking shape. The whole project (whatever it might be) is vying for the title "Upturned Stones," though I had planned on saving that for different project. For now, as the main character whirs around the clutter of my mind, gathering her identity, I think I'll continue to call it "Upturned Stones." At least for the moment.

Two projects at once, with essentially no free time? Yeah, that is nuts. But it is better than the angst. The angst is gone... let the new project begin!

Photo Friday

I'm no photographer... but the girls at play trumped the chickens for today's post. Remember, I intended to turn this into Fowl Friday. At the moment, the chickens are easier to maintain than house plants and far more enjoyable.

Meanwhile, Maya played "Archeologist" in her sandbox, digging up dinosaur fossils all morning and Elliot, shockingly wound free, mastered the ladder to the slide.

Funny Thing about Picnics

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Really!

Maya was healthy (enough) and enthusiastic about getting to preschool this morning. So enthusiastic that she had herself dressed and in the car by 8... and we usually leave at 9... so after coaxing her back into the house for a few rounds of Candy Land off she went.

On the way home a couple of hours later, Maya's energy level still seemed really high. I suspect she may have spent the last few days of her recovery hoarding energy reserves for the rest of the spring.

When she spied another mom with two little girls picnicking by the playground, she took up the persistent chant "mom, can we have a picnic.... mom, can we...."

"Yes, yes of course."

I agreed in spite of that other picnicking mom and the sullen look on her face as she struggled to keep her girls and their picnic items in one spot. I agreed because I love picnics. Sitting in the warm sun, knowing the kitchen won't need to be cleaned, and watching my girls enjoy a little lazy time in the backyard after a healthy, if a little grassy, nourishment.

As it turns out, in a few minutes I would share that other mom's expression.

We headed into the backyard with high hopes, just as soon as we finished assembling the organic peanut butter and homemade rhubarb-strawberry jam sandwiches on organic, high-fructose-corn-syrup-free bread, filled a plate with cut up banana, grapes, and apples, and snagged some milk cups.

It took a while to get to the back of the yard, where the new (to us) kid's picnic table sat... chicken run adjacent, I might add.

It took a while because my hands were full of lunch, and Elliot kept running back into the garage to climb into the jogging stroller and shout "walk, walk!" We had been for a run to the park this morning. The first one of the season... apparently it made an impression.

It was slow progress: convince Elliot to follow Maya, pick up the tray of lunch items, walk a few steps until Elliot doubled back.... start over. Finally, Maya grabbed her little sister by the hand and gently led her to the table.

Phew.

Then I realized my mistake. Sticky jelly. A relatively sandy table. And five hungry chickens begging for handouts.

Elliot took one look at the paper plate full of little, sticky sandwich squares and immediately formed a plan: suck off the jelly and hand the bread to the birds.

It all happened so fast. A tumbling crowd of brown and white and black feathers jockeyed for position at the fence. A chubby little fist nearly doubled in size, when you account for the layers of jelly, sand, and grass that accumulated on it. She gave up licking the jelly pretty quick, and just doled out PB&J to the chickens.

Um, fairly expensive PB&J, I might add. Those birds are living large!

I'm not actually sure if anyone ate anything. Well, not true. I sat and ate my sandwich, watching the chaos with a sense of resignation and amusement. Hmm, I probably should have stepped in.

But both the girls and the chickens really enjoyed the picnic. The jelly and dirt washed off of Elliot, mostly.

And now, after our very first picnic since November 4th, I have a more realistic view of what to expect. Next time, the picnic will not be chicken adjacent, and lunch will not be so sticky!

Gripped

Two things aligned in the past 24 hours to help center my thoughts on this elusive story.

The first was last night's rambling summary of the novel as it was in my head. A fresh four page summary that dumped the major details, conflicting and problematic as they are, and refreshed my stale connection to the story.

The second, unfortunately, is my daughter's ongoing strep-throat-induced sloth. This is her 3rd bought of strep in the past 6 months, and the doctor brought up the dreaded "we might have to remove them" discussion. The poor sweet thing has been glued to my couch, staring blandly at the parade of movies that have trotted across our screen.

She perks up for an hour or two here and there, only to crash hard later.

While this is certainly difficult for a mother to watch, the fact that we are home bound has given my mind ample time to wander over the piles of story rubble in my head. Even as I played indoor wiffle ball catch with 18 month old Elliot, I sorted out some of the tougher issues and tossed the root cause of other, lesser problems.

By the time Elliot had moved on to chucking other, harder, heavier toys, my mind was free to creatively assess this new problem. Time outs don't work very well on a very young toddler!

So, with a free mind and new clarity, I'm off to iron out the next scene...

Hope & Taxes

Paying your taxes is an act of hope.

No seriously. I realize it is a legally prosecutable obligation, and therefore an act of avoiding steep penalties and public embarrassment at any future confirmation hearings.

But in spite of the uproar over the GOP's "Tax Day Tea Parties," we do have constitutionally elected representation for the first time in almost a decade. Well, the representation is at half strength in Minnesota (thanks Norm), but it is representation nonetheless.

Each year, Joe and I pay our taxes with a little nod to the Pell Grants that got us through college and a great deal of hope for the future of our country; hope for better public transit, a protected environment, and responsive emergency services at the very least.

Now, with two little girls, we are depending on the current administration to improve the nature of health care, public education, higher education, and, of course, win the pirate war.

I spent the morning wistfully listening to the bird songs outside while busily entertaining my sick girls. We spent a good deal of time at the kitchen sink, inspired by the egg-dying last week to mix colors in different cups. It was like magic...

Blue plus yellow? Green!

Red plus yellow? Orange!

Blue plus yellow plus green plus red plus orange? Drinkable! ... Oh wait...

I'm running a preschool for them constantly, and I don't want these gains to be lost when they start public school in a year or two (yikes!). So I pay my taxes... I stay informed... and I hope.



I do have some compassion for the disenfranchised GOP. I was much less hopeful paying taxes under the Bush administration. I still had hope... and, yes Bidden, a sense of patriotic duty. But it was anemic. The expectations were low (and consistently unmet).


Today though, the expectations are high, and the potential for a spike in my cynicism and a sharp turn to the libertarian party a few years down the road is real.

But for now we hope... We work, in our varied ways... We earn... We pay our taxes...

It sounds like my sentiments are in line with most Americans, according to Joan Walsh's post on Salon.com today:

Just in time for this day of massive protest, Gallup released a poll showing that 61 percent of Americans believe the income taxes they paid this year are "fair," and more Americans now say the amount they pay is "just right" than "too high" -- one of the most pro-tax outcomes since Gallup began polling on this question in 1956. Great timing, Tea Partiers! Way to have your fingers on the nation's pulse.

Grabbing the Water Snake

No no, it's not what you think. Remember that rubbery, tube shaped novelty toy. No, really, not that toy. It's called a Water Snake or a Water Wiggley, and it's in a bin outside every science museum and Discovery store I've seen.

The point is, every time you try to hold on to that Water Snake, it slips out of your grasp.

And every time I try to get a new grip on my novel, it seems to wriggle away. Not by much, but enough to keep me from getting anything done.

To recap, I was about 30 pages into a rewrite of the Nano novel from last November. I had revised the outline, rediscovered the characters, and given the plot some structure. I was ready to plow ahead... and then my computer's hard drive suffered serious performance anxiety and the whole thing was lost. Revision, notes....

I now have a rebuilt computer, the poor, anemic first draft, and paper notes of the punched up outline. But in the interim, the story seems to have veered.

Wiggled like a Water Snake, actually.

In an effort to rediscover its focus, I've plunged into a giant, meandering freewrite, summarizing each characters storyline as I currently understand it, motivations, relationships with other characters. I'm hoping this will help me get a grip on that silly Water Snake.

If nothing else, it's getting me back into the story. Maybe soon I can recrate the lost section.

Mysterious Eggs

With a backyard full of laying hens and portly rabbits, we embraced this weekend's egg and bunny traditions.... admittedly with less organization than our Valentine's Love Bugs. Luckily, we learned a few things along the way.

1. Brown eggs can be successfully dyed. Though our well-fed birds are now producing giant eggs... apparently. None of them fit in the egg dipper and only 2 slipped into the shrinking plastic decorating thingys that came in the kit.


2. Kids 4 and under can search for 8 eggs and find 50, no questions asked. My own ongoing birthday celebrations distracted me from effective Bunny Prep (oooh the mommy guilt). Somehow, we could only find about 8 of the plastic eggs my mom had left for the girls... So I overfilled all 8 with Starburst jelly beans and hid them around the toys in the backyard.


I assuaged my guilt with the knowledge that jelly beans are always exciting and no one remembers details from toddlerhood... right?

Elle looked for the eggs in the most logical place... the nesting boxes!

Well, the mini-egg hunt lasted ten times longer than expected. Maya asked us to hold her basket (and therefore her eggs), so each time she trotted back with a new find, we stashed it to be found again later. Also, the grass in her basket was hiding a pile of plastic eggs, so I covertly filled and hid a few more mid-hunt.

She was still overjoyed by her pile of candy, so much so that she graciously shared some with us.

3. Fresh eggs sink. Perhaps everyone knew this already. Everyone but me. I know that fresh eggs are fine room temperature for up to a month, and in the fridge for three months, "or longer." Finally, though, I looked up how to safely judge whether an egg is okay (our eggs seem to be gaining on us).

As you all probably already know, if an egg lies flat on the bottom of a bowl full of water, it is very fresh. The more buoyant, the less fresh it is because the little air pocket expands as the proteins in the egg break down. If it floats... toss it.

Photo Friday

The girls let the ladies out. Hilarity ensued.

By now, it should be clear that photography isn't my strong suit. Perhaps from now on, Fridays will be Fowl Friday instead!


Also, after an entire winter of refusing to eat apples and nearly all veggies, Maya now begs to take apples outside for a snack... apparently fresh food tastes better in the sun. She's influenced Elliot, too. Little sister ate an entire apple... the poor disappointed chickens looked everywhere for the core!

Still Here!

Awaiting my poor sad computer and blank slate.

I toyed with the idea of starting a new project, ditching the rewrite until I felt up to it... but Laney is still knocking on that door, her voice is in my head nearly all the time.

I fear she may be hijacking the story. Before her long wait at the door to her now deceased ex-boyfriend's mother's house, with two young kids in tow, she was only a side character, moving the plot along with her overprotective aggression...

Now she wants a real piece of the action, and the next few scenes are all ready to go in my head (and scratched and scattered in a few notebooks).

So this weekend, I continue... this time with frequent back ups!

Oh, and I'm 30 now... but it's okay, because NANOWRIMO conned me in to finishing a first draft of a novel... so 30 is nothing!

Sun, Spring, and a New Face

Clearly, I've overcome my identity issues. The cure? The perfect spring day.

This day was the vision of at-home life that drove me to quit my stinkin' job in the first place (thank goodness... can't imagine nonprofit development is a great field at the moment).

We were outside all day. Maya lured the neighbor kids into our backyard with the promise of open space and chickens. Silly kid laughter and squeals mingled with astonished chicken chirps. And there was time enough for mud pies and tag.

This day was part industriousness, as I raked pine cones and poked around in flower beds for the first shy green shoots. And it was part indulgence, as we dashed off for ice cream and a romp in the park.

We're all a bit pink (oops, forgot to dig out the sunscreen), and completely worn out... A simply unbeatable day!

Identity Crisis

Not me, the blog.... I'm sick of the old look and can't stand anything I've dug up so far. So for now... it's naked....

Speaking of identities in motion, Maya has given me a glimpse of what her teen years may be like with her frequent fluctuations this week. One minute, she is so sweet and loving, drawing complements from other mothers at preschool about what a good "sharer" she is.

The next, she is warring with a good friend and frequent playmate over a doll that, I swear, I've never seen her play with before. She brought out an alarming combination of Popeye and the Hulk (better stop letting her watch the Boomerang network!), as she stormed around... Ultimately, and sheepishly, I had to ask our friends to head home.

And then, blink, there she is in the grocery store, politely asking if she can put some carrots and cucumbers in the cart because they are her favorite.

At the playground with friends, she was playing snack thief among other people's children, without the subtly such deviousness deserves. But then just a bit later, she was the image of civility, the only one of her peers that didn't fight when it was time to leave.

It is all typical kid stuff, but it is amazing to witness and challenging to parent.

No wonder I can't settle on a blog "look."

Ramblings

After joining Facebook a couple of months ago, I've wasted far too much time there. Last night, I thought I should tinker with my personal information... Specifically, I wanted to add a quote from the Velveteen Rabbit, after reading it to Maya at bedtime.

Once that was added, I simply had to tack on a bit from this old cross-stitched wall hanging my mother handed down to me when I was first pregnant.


Simple and deadline as it is, I tear up every time I read it. Every time I quote it.

So I went digging for the author.

As it turns out, the wall-hanging is a treasure beyond my own sentimentality, fairly valuable and sought after in collector's circles (good thing I finally found a place for it in the "new" house).

More importantly, it is part of a larger poem. The excerpt has been a part of cross-stitch and embroidery circles since at least the 60s. The full poem by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton, called Babies Don't Keep, was published in 1958.

Babies Don’t Keep
By Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,
Lullabye, rockaby, lullabye loo.
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo,
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo,
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs;
Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

So with that, I'm off, teary-eyed again, to convince my oh-so-big girls to rock a bit longer, and maybe read the Velveteen Rabbit.

What Happens in Vegas...

... Actually doesn't stay in Vegas, thankfully.

For months now, I have held this tiny trip before me as a shining beacon of light, a reward for the past four years of nearly constant parenting. I thought I would take this time to rediscover something essential about myself, or maybe my spouse... between frothy beverages, naps, and cashing in my winnings, of course.

Instead, I simply had time to recognize myself. As it turns out, even away from my girls, I'm the same silly, slightly neurotic, frequently gawking, openly enthusiastic person I've always been.

And thankfully, my spouse is the same easy-going, easily distracted, thoroughly entertaining guy he's always been.


And neither of us felt very at home in the casino! We spent the weekend avoiding the loud pinging and blinking lights in favor of good food, fancy drinks, and sights that reminded us of a much longer, much more authentic adventure a few years back.

The Picasso at Bellagio was an amazing dining experience... I'm sure my over-exuberance tagged me as a luxury-dining virgin, but they didn't seem to mind when I photographed each course!

Even the plane ride was relaxing (for me, anyway, but I'm not 6'5"), and as expected, our homecoming was greatly celebrated by our two biggest fans.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Parenting very young children is tough, but several times a day, I get the red carpet treatment. Only they have the power to make me feel like a real celebrity!

Photo Friday

Send Grandma "calm kid" and "high energy" vibes for her days of play with our little crazies... I mean darlings.

Celebrate Good Times!

Dance party continues to be the highlight of our days, and it's a great way to celebrate a birthday!