Thanksgiving at the Beach

So we took the kids to the beach for the long weekend and naturally we now have about a million pictures of kids, kids in sand, kids in sand with shells, kids in sand with shells and buckets, kids in sand with shells and buckets and waves etc. I am seriously starting to wonder what the hell I ever did at the beach before I had kids to take pictures of.

Oh that's right, I strolled peacefully along the beach and then relaxed near a roaring fire with a good book and a bottle of wine. Those were the days.

It was your average trip to the Oregon coast in November: cold, rainy, windy, with the occasional episode of blue skies. But that's how we like it. Doug and Mary joined us on Thursday and we all kept cozy and warm by the wood fire with a few rounds of Go Fish (FYI, Jack is a TOTAL cheater- who knew?).

Nick and Mishaun came for Thanksgiving dinner. We have a Mitchell family tradition of spoiling every single shared holiday meal by consuming a gigantic pot of cheese fondue right before dinner. Tradition also seems to dictate that one person (Nick!) must closely monitor who is eating the most fondue so that he can ridicule the piggiest pig when he/she (okay, it is always a she!) complains about being too full after dinner while simultaneously gorging him/her (her!) self on dessert. Holidays are all about family traditions, right?

I think Sawyer won piggiest pig this year. That kid can really put away the fondue. He stationed himself front and center and didn't stop until the pot was near empty. A quick aside: the French call the browned and crispy bottom part of the fondue pot la religieuse. I love the French.

Dinner was.... well, it really wasn't Thanksgiving dinner at all. We decided to skip turkey this year and went for a plate of lemony steelhead, garlicky mashed potatoes, ciabatta bread (yes, more bread, even after all of that fondue. We are hardcore), an epic salad, and the obligatory pumpkin pie served with Mary's homemade ice cream.

I'm hoping that we started a new tradition here. I really hate turkey. In fact, I've never even really liked Thanksgiving dinner, which I know is totally unpatriotic and probably sacrilegious and in some parts of the country I might get tarred and feathered for admitting this publicly. Thanksgiving's just not my thing. Come to think of it, I'm just not much of a November person. Let's try a breakfast analogy here: if October is pumpkin pancakes and December is cinnamon rolls, November is soggy Corn Flakes. So, yeah, I'm usually not a fan. But if we're switching to fondue and fish at the beach for Thanksgiving, I just might come around.

Steady rain showers and stir crazy kids led us to the aquarium in Newport. We walked off some of that fondue while the kids ran amok in a totally contained environment where kids are allowed to run amok.

Those poor sea anemones. At least the starfish don't seem to notice that they are being poked at and harassed by little people all day long. I hope they rotate them around or something.

Back to the beach house where Brent was in caffeine heaven thanks to Doug's espresso machine. (Yes, Doug brought his espresso machine to the beach. I brought my Kitchen Aid mixer...). Brent has many loves in his life, and right up there at the top alongside fishi-- I mean ME, his WIFE, is coffee. He's actually a connoisseur (OMG I SPELLED THAT RIGHT ON THE FIRST TRY?! Totally freaking out! See, that degree in French has helped me TWICE tonight!) and an addict. He totally cracks out on Americanos and gets really (really!) grouchy around 2pm if there's no coffee in sight. Someday when we are rich I will buy Brent an espresso machine. Don't tell.

Let's recap what we've had so far: kids playing on the beach, fondue, a non-turkey dinner, a trip to the aquarium, on demand coffee... I know what you're thinking- could this weekend get any better? Yes, yes it can!

We were descended upon by a pack of relatives who invaded the beach house bringing song, drink, and the kind of enthusiasm that keeps you up until 4am despite the fact that you know your kids will be up by 7. My dad's brother, Winston, arrived with his daughters, Stacy and Nicole, from California. Our cousin (? it's complicated- grandma's brother's grandson, dad's cousin's son, something like that) Andrew showed up as well, stopping though on a roadtrip from Canada to Tahoe. I've known Andrew since Christmas of 2002, when Nick and I arrived on his family's doorstep in Northern Ireland, but we hadn't seen him since. But there he was, ready to represent the Scottish side of our family. And you know my thoughts on being Scottish and how much it totally rocks...

You know, there's just something about being with family. You get a big old bunch of relatives together and some funny things start to happen. Of course it all began with a few jokes that quickly became future inside jokes and next thing you know someone is handing you another beer and you're expected to show your "parlor trick". What was my talent? What impressive trick could I teach the group? Shakespeare had already been recited, Doug plays guitar and harmonica simultaneously, and Nicole and Stacy had stolen the show with their touching-nose-with-tongue trick. And then I remembered: I can HUSTLE! So yes, the fam learned to Hustle and this time it's on video and I have actually seen it with my own eyes. I am so happy to report that we TOTALLY ROCKED IT (especially Brent- I think he might have disco fever)! Who knew that the Mitchells could dance?

Doug and Winston were providing us with some musical entertainment while we played ping pong, gawked over Andrew's travel pictures, and I marveled over the fact that the kids were still sound asleep. At some point we all gathered around the table and the evening turned into a family sing along, which is maybe just as corny as it sounds. But, it was one of those nights that you know you'll always remember, and as I sat there surrounded by my family as we joined together, eyes shining and glasses full, to sing song after song after song until the wee hours of the morning, I was feeling the love. Damn, these are some really amazing people that I get to be related to.

Wait a sec! Where are the pictures of the family? The Hustle? Pingpong? Nicole and Stacy's parlor tricks?

Can you believe that our camera battery died that night? (Yes, I know, fifty million pictures of the kids on the beach later...) But then again, maybe that's okay. The things I will remember the most about that night couldn't have been captured in a picture anyway.

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Snow Day (!!)

In case you were wondering, I went ahead and poured that second beer. I figured we'd get a two hour delay, at least...

There's just something about a potential snow day that really brings out the kid in me. I like my job, really I do, but when there is even a remote speculation of snowfall I get super excited about the probable day off. I went to bed on Monday night and was up again by midnight to look out the window. No dice. Back to bed. At three I got up and saw the ground had been covered by a light blanket of snow (I might say that it resembled a dusted softie, but there are only a few people who would appreciate that reference) and I just knew that it was enough accumulation to set me free for the day! I had to wake Brent up to share in my joy (he groggily feigned excitement) and then I endured the horribly ironic experience of being unable to sleep because I am so excited about sleeping in.

But I did manage to sleep until about 6:30 when Jack came barging into our room to announce that it, in fact, had snowed! Yippee! Snow day! So exciting!

Now I know that closing down an entire town for less than half an inch of snow really seems to irritate non-native Oregonians. Yes, it is ridiculous to close schools for such a small amount of snow, yes we know that in Iowa the kids have to dig tunnels between their houses and school in order to get to class or something like that. And yes, we know that we are terrible drivers (regardless of snowfall apparently). But don't be hatin' on our snow days- they totally rule! Snow days are everybody's excuse to stay home and play with your kids and drink hot chocolate and enjoy the precious gift of a surprise day off. Snow days kick ass.

Woah, what's this? Snow, you say? Can I eat it?

My poor deprived kids hardly knew what to do with themselves in the snow. Jack really Really REALLY wanted to build a snowman but gave up once his fingers iced over.

Sawyer has a big problem with the concept of gloves. He refused to wear them and then screamed hysterically for about 45 minutes because his hands were cold but he wanted to stay outside. If you've ever tried to put gloves on a small child (or if you've ever dressed a cat in a Halloween costume) you know that once the first battle is over the war has been lost. I'd like to tell you that this was an isolated incident of insurgency, but you'll be reading the sequel version of "Sawyer Vs. the Gloves in the Cold" here shortly. Stay tuned.

The funny thing about blogs is that people interpret your writing in many different ways. Sometimes I go back and reread something that I've written and realize that I sound much happier/sappier/idiotic/insert-comparative-adjective-here than I meant to. In recent posts, I realize that sometimes I sound like a frazzled soccer mom who drinks wine coolers in her mini van (now I know there's at least one person out there who will appreciate that reference!) and finds her kids to be annoying little brats.

It's called sarcasm. Maybe you've heard of it before?

Just kidding (or was I?). But truly, I loved that snow day. I love an entire day to sit back in my cozy house and enjoy the presence of my children. I loved the pathetic attempt at snow angels, giving Sawyer his first sip of hot chocolate, filling the kitchen with the aroma of Jack's cookies, and sneaking in an hour of uninterrupted sewing. Time is a funny thing. I often find myself wishing I had more of it. It has become a precious commodity. I wonder if I will regret the time that I spent at work while my kids were growing up. I wonder if I'll feel like I was there enough. I hope I will.

I've always thought that you really could have it all: motherhood, marriage, career. And I guess you can, but one person can only do so much and sometimes things get forgotten. Friendships get neglected. Parts of your identity slip away. When you hold too many things in your hands, things sometimes get dropped. I needed that snow day.

Brent took Jack to Mount Pisgah that afternoon to look for animal tracks in the snow. I guess he knew that I needed some of that day for myself, too.

So bring on the snow, I say! Or the black ice or power outages or broken sewer lines or whatever it takes! I could use a few extra hours at home with my boys.

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Waiting for Snow

It needs to snow tonight. I really want a day off tomorrow.

I want a day off tomorrow because I am tired. I am tired because I RAN THIRTEEN-POINT-ONE FREAKING MILES ON SATURDAY! And also because my kids are totally taking years off my life by slowly driving me crazy. Plus I'd like another beer (I limit myself to one on school nights- if the white stuff starts coming down I'll be pouring another).

So hurry up with this promised snowstorm already.

Nobody wants to see pictures of little old me running the race (I mean really, there are few things in life less flattering than pictures of me running), so here a few shots of Jack in his moments of glory. I am happy to report that he did not finish in last place this time. Atta boy!

Winner. Indeed.

This is boring. Let's get a donut already.

Alright, alright, here you go. A picture of the old man and me crossing the finish. My goal was to run the entire way and finish without looking like I was about to collapse- I think I succeeded, don't you? I wanted to run the race in under 2:12, my previous time from the half marathon I ran in Nice, France in 2003. That race was memorable because there were no bathroom stations along the way, they ran out of water, and runners were handed squares of dark chocolate somewhere around mile 10. Vive la France! Allez les filles!

Okay, so yes, back to the idea of not looking like I am dying. Mission accomplished. Finish time: 2:05!

My legs are sore (my knee is fine?!) and I'm generally fatigued. So that's why I'm really hoping for this day off. (Just checked- still rain.)

I'd also like some recuperation time from the horrid realization this weekend that Jack has gone from a three-year-old to a teenager overnight. I present you with the evidence:

Gah! MY BAYYYBEE! How did this happen? (I need another beer tonight for sure.)

A bona-fide teenager, complete with mood swings and angst. (Maybe two?)

Sawyer is still my little buddy, for now.

We made applesauce this weekend and I did some more binge sewing. I've really been cranking things out lately because we are hoping to do homemade gifts for everybody this year (Family spoiler alert! You've been warned. Try not to look too disappointed when you unwrap that crocheted toaster cozy! Just kidding, I don't know how to crochet. Yet...). I somehow have become one of those people who gets really excited about Christmas and starts squirreling little gifts away in my closet starting in June... usually I forget about all of my preplanning until I clean out my closet in March and wonder what that slinky is doing in with my scarves.

But this year I am planning ahead for a different reason: San Francisco! Yes, that's right- Mama's going on a vacation! Me! A trip! With friends who are adults and can take care of themselves. And more importantly, without the little people who are staying home with Dad. I'm going to Alcatraz! I'll shop! I'll eat in a restaurant without booster seats or crayons or bibs or saltine crackers! I'll have wine with dinner. Or maybe even with lunch! I'll sleep in! Oh yes, lap of luxury here I come!

The trip is set for the weekend before Christmas, which means that I'll be busting my butt from now until then to get everything ready for The Big Day. Because it is a big day.

It hasn't always been. I hated Christmas for years.

Whenever somebody dies, you especially miss them during the holidays. Christmas was my mom's big day and without her around, it felt really empty for a long time. I still don't always deal with the holidays well, at some point I'll be nursing a glass of Chardonnay in a bathroom while choking back a sob and cursing myself for wearing eye makeup, but for the most part, I now enjoy the season. It's the kids. They might be driving me crazy with their antics, but at least now I can get excited for Christmas.

And I'll really get excited about a stack of pajamas for Christmas Eve and a train hat!

If this snow would ever start, I'd get pretty freaking excited about that, too.

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Sewing for Boys, the Accidental Cookie, and Further Adventures on the Bike Path

Am I a horrible person for admitting that I really wanted Sawyer to be a girl? And am I even more despicable for confessing that my number one reason for wanting a girl was so that I could sew cute little things for her? Shallow and selfish, I know, but I am being honest here.

But two boys I have, and two boys I love and of course I wouldn't have it any other way. (Sawyer could have done something other than scream for the first FOUR MONTHS of his life, but other than that, I suppose I can't complain. Too much.)

Sewing for boys kind of sucks. There are only so many pairs of pajamas and Halloween costumes that a sew happy mama can make. It's really hard to get inspired to sew cute little things for boys. But! Look at these adorable pants I made for Sawyer! It's all about the fabric with boy clothes and I picked this print up over the summer in Portland and stashed it away for something special. I love how the cuffs turned out.

And I'm so glad that someone finally told me to add an extra row of stitching across the top of the waistband to give the pants a more finished look. I really love how these turned out.

Brent and a few friends went out and picked Chanterelle mushrooms last weekend. I was all freaked out about us accidentally eating poisonous/possibly hallucinogenic mushrooms but Brent looked up mushroom identification online and found that Chanterelles are unique in that they smell like apricots. Who knew? So nobody got sick or tripped out and we all enjoyed mushroom lasagna and a mushroom and onion quiche this week. Even though Brent hates mushrooms. Which makes you wonder why he picked them in the first place...

Mmmmm. Dirty, earthy fungi. I love mushrooms.

We had Lily at our house for two evenings last week so her mama could work late while her dad is out of town. I love that she feels so comfortable at our house and fell into our family rhythm just fine. Everyone got tired so I just tucked Lily into bed with Jack and she was out like a light. It's so nice to have friends around to share in the raising of your kids.

This weekend was the last farmers' market and it was a cold and wet one. Instead of trucking down to visit dad at work, the boys and I kept busy in the warm kitchen making ciabatta bread, vegetarian chili, and oatmeal cookies. As we started the cookie dough Jack and I discovered that the sugar ants had invaded the brown sugar (how do they do that? It wasn't even opened yet) and so we made the cookies without much of the required amount of sugar and then, just for fun, I threw in some wheat flour. These cookies were seeming healthier by the minute, but I worried that they wouldn't be sweet enough, so Jack suggested that we add some coconut flakes. They turned out delicious. Oh, and if you are wondering if we make cookies on a weekly basis, wonder no more, we do.

Jack's Oatmeal Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies

2 sticks unsalted butter (this is why I run!)

1/2 cup brown/white sugar (I had to mix the two)

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

1 1/2 cups wheat/white flour (again, I mixed)

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

3 cups uncooked oats

1/2 cup unsweetened coconut

1 cup semi sweet chocolate chips

Oven to 350. Beat butter, sugar, vanilla. Add eggs. Combine your dry ingredients and mix in to the wet. Stir in oats and chocolate chips. Bake 10-12 minutes, let cool on sheet before transferring to a wire rack.

And it just wouldn't be a blog entry if I didn't mention running, now would it? As you may recall, I have found myself in some interesting situations on the bike path near our house, but there has been nothing new to report in that department for awhile. No Lance sightings. No blood. No guns. Just your run of the mill bike path encounters. I am a totally bike path regular and over time I have discovered that there are other regulars on the path, as well. I often see the same group of people sitting under the same bridge and they often wave or call out cheerful greetings and words of encouragement to me as I run by. I am always friendly and sometimes engage them in small talk as I heave that stroller up the incline, because I figure that the friendlier I am the more likely these people will come to my defense if Bloody Drunk Guy comes after me. Or if I get in Lance's way. So anyway, I have developed somewhat of a rapport with the bike path locals, I guess is my point.

Wednesday afternoon I decided to go running, completely forgetting about that pesky daylight savings business. I coerced the kids into the stroller and off we went. They were being quiet and kicking back to relax and so I pulled out my iPod and started to listen to the podcast "This American Life", which many people had recommended to me but that I had never actually listed to before.

The topic was unconditional love, and the host, Ira Glass, was talking about studies done on monkeys in the 1950s which proved that the bond between a mother and infant goes much deeper than the feeding (duh!) but then he went on about the cruel ways in which this theory was proven and I started to sniffle a bit as I thought about those poor baby monkeys who had been taken away from their mamas.

As I rounded the corner that marks the halfway point of my run, I realized that there was no way I would make it home before dark. No choice to make there. I just had to keep going.

The kids were getting restless and started bickering about leaves and cups and whose boots were touching whose side of the footrest, etc. I just turned up the volume and ignored them.

So then Ira interviews this couple who adopted a son from Romania who (no surprise here) suffered from attachment disorder and their experience really tested the boundaries of unconditional love. It was a heartbreaking story and the mom spoke so candidly about raising this son who seemed incapable of love. I was really getting choked up at this point. The kids were still bickering halfheartedly at this point.

I turned on to the bike path. The home stretch! Only a mile and half to go! By now it was totally dark, but the path is well lit and there were enough bikers and other runners that I felt safe enough. Ira then goes on to interview a couple whose son had severe autism and they told the story of their excruciating decision to institutionalize him at the age of twelve. This story was so incredibly sad, you knew that the parents ultimately were doing the right thing for their child, but it was so hard to listen to them as they described the moment when they said goodbye and returned home to an empty house. At this point I was sobbing uncontrollably. If you've never experienced this before, crying while running is an interesting phenomenon that doesn't really work out so well. I would have stopped to walk, but the kids had reached their stroller breaking points and were now alternating between trying to jab each other's eyes out and shrieking. So I kept on running, trying to catch my breath, and making a sound that I could only imagine to be akin to that of an asthmatic donkey.

And then we see a large group of people coming toward us with a couple of dogs and a shopping cart or two. And then they stop me to ask me for directions. And then I recognize a few of those people as some of my regulars on the path. The kids are screaming and I am a sobbing mess. I try to answer their question but all I can do is croak out this raspy incoherent response.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" They think that something is really wrong and that I need help. I can barely get the words out to explain that I miscalculated the daylight left, my kids are grouchy, and that I have been listening to this gut wrenching podcast about unconditional love. I then recognize how insane I must seem.

Ahem. So, crazies on the bike path. I am one of them.

Back to sewing! Look at this adorable shirt! I copied this tutorial and you should, too. This one was easy because I simply "repurposed" an old shirt of mine and so I did not have to bother with the hem. I really can't believe how easy this was.

The author of the tutorial uses a serger, but I just left the edges raw and I love the way it turned out.

In fact, sewing this shirt was way easier than trying to get a decent picture of Sawyer modeling it.

Many of our pictures of him end up like this...

He really wants to get ahold of that camera.

The half marathon is next Saturday at 9. Here's a link to the course map, in case you plan to come cheer us on. We'll be running (hopefully) 9 1/2 minute miles ish so you can do the math if you want to. Or just stay home in your cozy, warm house and make some of Jack's cookies. Which actually sounds like the sane thing to do.

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The Journey

Daylight savings is a bitch. This whole business of "spring forward" and "fall back" really screws up your life when you have small children who rise with the sun. And so it was that at 6:30 this morning (yes, I know, it could have been worse) I awakened to the sound of dueling high pitched voices calling out "Mommy!" (Jack, who is perfectly capable of getting himself out of bed) and "MAAAAMMMMEEEEE!" (Sawyer, who is still incarcerated in the crib). Just once I'd like them to wake up hollering for Dad. Just once.

Coffee. Breakfast for the kids. Running clothes.

Oh yes, today was the big day. Not the half marathon, that's November 20th, and I'll be providing you with all of the details in case you are bored out of your skull enough to come stand in the rain (just a guess) and watch people run for two plus hours. Today was the big day, though, because today was the final long training run. The twelve miler. My dad and I hitched a ride to Springfield and as we climbed from the cozy, NPR filled car and looked around at our dismal surroundings and the threatening clouds over our heads, we both had one of those "What the hell are we doing here?" sort of moments. The Subaru vanished and we had no choice but to run. All the way to north Eugene. And then back around to my car, which we had parked at EWEB. And so we did. And it was totally awesome.

But what about the race? Isn't that supposed to be the big day?

I realized that this half marathon isn't about the race at all. It's so much more important than that. It's been my reason for hauling myself out of bed, rain or shine, every weekend and lacing up my running shoes and heading out the door. It's been my motivation for doing those mid week shorter runs, even on the days when work has exhausted me and the thought of pushing the stroller, heavy with two kids, seems impossible. It's been my quiet, alone time to reflect, plan lessons, and to sort things out when I run by myself. It's been time with my dad, time that we've never had before, and that we might not have again for awhile, when we run together on the weekend. You really get to know a person when you run twelve miles together. I feel closer to my dad now than I ever have.

The journey has been more meaningful than the destination. I will be sad when the race has been run. I will miss the journey.

And yeah, I know, we could just sign right up for another half marathon, right? But really I can't. It's too much time. My kids need me. Brent needs me. I need to spend my Sunday mornings at home with pancakes and the newspaper and my family again for awhile.

Also, there are other journeys in my life that need my attention. The sometimes daunting and overwhelming undertaking of raising two kids to be decent human beings, for one. This world seems so effed up sometimes: people hate each other because of their differences, the gap between the haves and have nots widens, schools are closing... Sometimes it all seems so corrupt. I am constantly obsessing over how my actions of today, and the actions of those around them, will influence my children tomorrow. Will they go to good schools? Will they be happy? Healthy? Interesting? Empathetic? Funny? Athletic? Tolerant? Well-read? Most importantly, will they be themselves? I know I will miss this journey, too, once the destination has been reached, but damn, this is one hell of a ride.

Kind of makes that half marathon look easy now, doesn't it?

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For Chelsey

Halloween 2010- thank gawd that's over. I mean I've only been costume planning since August and all, but really I'm feeling ready to move on to bigger and better things, like Christmas! Yes, I know what you're thinking: Christmas?! WTF? It's barely November! But I have somehow become the person who starts thinking about the holidays waaaay in advance and obsessing over every minor detail to the point that I ruin the holidays by stressing out the people around me. Well, not quite... but there was that one Halloween when I was frantically (and grouchily) sewing a puppy suit on the afternoon of... And that's exactly why I've been planning this Halloween since August. I can learn from my mistakes.

So yeah, about Christmas. I'm excited! Already!

Back to Halloween. Jack got to dress up in his costume for preschool on Friday and posed for a shot with his old buddy Quentin. The Jack/Quentin friendship has endured some trying times this year, what with the new kid, Eden, joining the class. Jack and Eden hit it off and Jack's been snubbing Quentin whenever Eden is around. Quentin's mom even recounted to me an incident when Jack was holding hands with Eden and wouldn't let Quentin hold his other hand. Gaah- the drama! And so it begins...

Here's Jack with his preschool class. Pay special attention to the teacher with the long, brown hair. She'll come into our story later. (Eden was absent that day. He seems to have an attendance problem. I'm rooting for Quentin.)

Fall can be beautiful. Fall can be crisp and clean. Fall can also be a rainy, muddy mess. We stocked up on rain boots and I about threw a hissy fit at Fred Meyer about the fact that apparently only girls wear raincoats since the boys' section had none. Blatant sexism! I am so SICK of retailers who cater to girls- boys need cute clothes (and raincoats) too, you know! What the hell, Fred Meyer, what the hell? (I told you it was a hissy fit. I am still mad.)

And then it was the BIG DAY! Jack and I had been rehearsing the whole trick-or-treat routine and he seemed to have it down pat. Sawyer, as usual, was just along for the ride and dressed in the aforementioned puppy suit, which is now in its third year of use, thankyouverymuch. Our first stop was Doug and Mary's house. We pulled up in front and I quickly reviewed the procedure with Jack, "Take only one piece of candy" "Don't forget to say thank you" etc. He had his game face on. His eye was on the prize. This kid was ready! He shot me a confident grin, scrambled up the steps, and tapped gingerly on the door.

Little did we know, Grandpa Doug was in costume, too.

And as you can imagine, that did not go over so well with Sawyer. He may be traumatized for awhile. If not by the fact that his grandpa was wearing the monster mask, then for sure by the fact that his mother laughed uncontrollably and snapped pictures instead of coming to his rescue. Oops.

Nothing a little candy in the car on the way home couldn't fix.

Then it was time for dinner with Lily (Tinkerbell) and family and some trick-0r-treating around the block. The kids made a haul and we survived the entire ordeal without rain and with minimal antics (Sawyer managed to run into a few houses...)

And now it's all over and we are stuck with a mountain of candy and two cracked out kids who apparently think about NOTHING but candy from morning until night. I'm not sure what we are going to do about all of this sugar lurking around the house. Jack is way too skeptical for us to pull some sort of candy fairy business (the kid is already questioning the logistics of Santa!) and I simply cannot bear the idea of keeping it around and doling it out piece by piece. So far our strategy has been to let the kids have a piece after dinner and then Brent and I gorge ourselves after they go to bed. I guess at this rate that candy will be gone in no time...

(I think it's worth mentioning that Brent used a drill to carve one of the pumpkins this year. I'm not making any sort of statement, not passing any judgement, just letting you know that power tools were used on our Halloween decor this year. It was a git-er-done sort of Halloween, I suppose.)

And now I'd like to tell you about my new friend Chelsey. She's a friend of a friend, and you know how these things go... you're never quite sure when that line is crossed from being friend-of-friend to actual friend, but because Chelsey is now my facebook friend and because we have discussed things like whether or not I am too old to wear skinny jeans (she says I am not!) and because now she has been to my house to drink copious amounts of wine, Chelsey is my friend.

But this story takes place last summer, before the wine and the talk of skinny jeans and the facebook friending. Back when Chelsey was just a friend of a friend. I was at the park with the kids and they were being particularly annoying and so I was basically ignoring them and standing around wishing some adult would come and amuse me with witty conversation. No takers. But then I saw Chelsey and she came over and we started to chat it up about how annoying my kids were being and how kids are just annoying in general. And in my attempt at humor I made some comment about bringing them to the park so I could ignore them and talk to adults and blah blah blah. She told me she was there watching a friend's kid and I said something along the lines of "How did you get suckered into that?" and ha ha and more blah blah blah. I knew that Chelsey had recently gotten a new job and so I asked her where she was working.

And then she turned and looked at me like I was insane.

Which I am.

Because IT WASN'T CHELSEY I had been talking to! It was one of Jack's preschool teachers! And I am the biggest dumbest LOSER ever. What could I do? I had to own it. And now Jack's preschool teacher knows what a terrible mother I really am! She has never looked at me the same since.

And so, Chelsey, please return to the top photo to see that, in fact, you really don't resemble her as much as I had convinced myself that you did. Damn it!

In conclusion, Halloween is over, Sawyer will need therapy, I got a picture of the teacher to show Chelsey (!!), and there is now further proof in the growing body of evidence to support the idea that I am a total dork. As if you couldn't tell by that last sentence.

Anybody want any candy?

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Sometimes it Rains

Two funerals in one week.

One was more of a party, really. The death was not a surprise- we knew he was not long for this world, and we can only hope that he's found the peace in death that he never seemed to find in life. Still, it was a goodbye.

But the other? Oh, it was a sad one. The vitality of youth gone in the blink of an eye. Dimples, freckles, and an easy smile that once lit my classroom- gone. I knew this day would come, I knew that one day a student would die, I just didn't realize how sad it would be. I didn't realize that I'd sit in a church and watch parents grieve over their child and that I would feel the hollow pang of a mother's loss of her son. Bearing witness to the unthinkable, the unimaginable.

What can you do? I hugged my boys a little tighter when I came home and choked back a tear when Jack planted an impromptu kiss on my cheek and laughed until I cried when Sawyer went barreling down the driveway on his bike in the rain. This life is strange, but I suppose we just keep on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to make the most of this wild ride.

And it was also my birthday. So I chose to celebrate life, not forgetting about the deaths, but focusing on those who make my life worth living and who sometimes make the ride even wilder.

The rain came this weekend and filled the air with that unmistakeable smell of fall- wood stoves, wet pavement, and soggy leaves. This was a fitting weekend for the rain to come. Upon us all, a little rain must fall.

And so I spent a wet weekend loving on my family and friends a bit more than usual. A nine (and a half!) mile run with my dad, wine and cake with the girls, an afternoon visit with an old friend, hours in the kitchen with all three of my boys. Jack and Brent tackled a mountain of tomatoes and cooked a giant pot of pizza sauce for the freezer. And Sawyer helped by taking an epic nap.

The recipe is simple and I'm starting to think that we've finally nailed it. The last batch was just about perfect.

Pizza Sauce

a giant pot full of plum tomatoes (diced)

garlic

basil

oregano

crushed red pepper

salt

tomato paste

Employ helpers to dice tomatoes. Or spend about 45 minutes doing it yourself. Bring your giant pot full of diced tomatoes to a boil and then let simmer until reduced to half the original volume. This will take a few hours, be patient. Then add everything else to taste. Puree in the blender. Freeze for later or make some serious pies.

Brent has been amusing us by bringing home different colors of cauliflower. This week it was purple...

We had a rainbow stir fry for dinner. Oh, and the cookies. I mentioned to Brent that the rain made me feel like baking something. Every once in awhile I just get that itch to turn on the oven and I don't always know what I'm after. Brent reminded me of the Cocoa Oatmeal Cookies that I made last year and that idea just hit the spot. And so...

Cocoa Oatmeal Cookies

(adapted from allrecipes.com)

1 cup unsalted butter

(yes, I know that's a lot of butter, trust me, they're worth it)

1 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 t vanilla

1 1/2 cups flour

1/3 cup cocoa

1 t baking soda

1/2 t salt

3 cups oats

Cream butter and sugars, then add eggs and vanilla. Mix well. Blend in dry ingredients and bake at 350 for 10 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack gently. Store in an airtight container and they'll be even better the second day. Sure, you'll be brushing your teeth a little harder and doing a few extra laps around the track after you eat these, but they are perfect for a rainy afternoon stuck inside with the ones you love.

And really, what more could I ask for from this life? I am often humbled by the beauty of it all, even when it rains.

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