The End

Well, I guess it's time to say goodbye to summer. Goodbye to the suckiest summer ever in terms of weather, but one of the best summers EVER in terms of everything else.

Because this summer was all about the travel and the late night barbecues with friends. The popsicles, the campouts, the bountiful harvest (thanks to Lost Creek Organic Farm), late night salsa canning parties, adventures with the pressure cooker, and the playdates. And this summer we were all about the non-chaperoned playdate. You guys, we actually have friends who will take our kids for hours at a time in the name of playdates. Oh yes, it was a fun summer for playdates. A fun summer indeed.

I have a certain nostalgia for bikerides in the darkness on a warm summer evening after a few beers. Nothing says summer to me quite like that brief moment when you lose sight of the pavement and sail into the blackest of night, coasting along and hoping you remember your way as you blindly pedal forward.

And there were also swimming lessons. And a lot of time spent on the bleachers trying to keep Sawyer occupied while Jack learned to chicken-airplane-soldier.

He ran up to me excitedly after the first swim class to announce that there were bobbins! Just like on the sewing machine! Love that kid.

We continue to read a ton. Our shady back deck and cozy camping chairs make the perfect afternoon library, especially when a friend comes for dinner and brings a new book to add to our collection. I do wonder why I didn't start with the bigger kid books earlier.

We finished Runaway Ralph and now we're deep into Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. This has been my absolute favorite so far. I am loving the vivid imagery, the outlandish fantasy and the subversive morality. It surprises me how much Jack really understands. I feel like I've unlocked a little piece of his puzzle with this reading thing. Up next: Harry Potter. I know!!!

Also this summer I conquered the art of canning. Well, I at least overcame my fear of the pressure cooker and botulism and tainted canning lids to do up a big old batch of green beans with a friend. And after all of the washing and the trimming and the funneling and the pressure cooking I realized that we don't really like canned green beans much at all. Oh well, I still have my chest freezer and plenty more beans coming my way...

Do you ever wonder what to do with all of those cherry tomatoes?

I've been oven roasting ours and popping them into the freezer. Brent, who is the pickiest tomato eater of us all, declares that they are delicious. I'm hoping to use them in quiches and on pizzas this winter. I followed this easy recipe, in case you too have cherry tomatoes that need a destination.

If you stopped by my house this summer you probably walked away with a jar of blackberry jam. I'm not sure why it took me so long to come around to the idea of blackberry jam, but now that I've started making it I just can't seem to stop. It is so good. And easy. And with two blackberry pickers around to do the dirty work I've found myself making it on a daily basis. Oh yeah, it's that good.

Jack can do almost an entire batch by himself. He just needs help with the stove and the funnel. That's my boy!

Here is our very unscientific method for blackberry jam:

Pick a few cups of blackberries (5-6? It really doesn't matter)

Rinse the berries in a colander and then mash them in a saucepan.

Bring the pulverized berries to a low boil and stir in a bit of sugar (less is more! Maybe 1/2 cup?) and a couple of spoonfuls of pectin.

Stir in some water (say 1/2 cup?)

Let boil for a minute or so.

Pour into clean jars, top with a lid, and let them sit on the counter for a day.

Refrigerate, freeze, or give them away to lucky friends and family.

Also, blackberries really add some color to your smoothies. Observe:

And. AND! BLACKBERRY SYRUP! OMFG. You know how I feel about pancakes, so you can imagine that my enthusiasm for blackberry syrup is intense. Woah.

Anyway, my main reason for wanting to learn how to can was SALSA! Who doesn't love some garden salsa in the middle of January? Turns out- no shocker here- that canning is actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. We did two different batches of salsa and I recommend this one. But probably you won't be leaving my house with a jar of salsa when you come to visit. Those tomatoes are a pain in the ass to peel.

And now we are going to attempt to cram in every last summery detail possible before next Monday rears its ugly head and hi ho hi ho and all that cheery back to work crap.

Let's start with some nekkid boys in the sprinkler.

I feel better now. And anyway, I still have this week to pick blueberries and swim in the lake and gaze at the summer stars.

(Hi ho hi ho)

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Home Sweet Home

Where do I even begin? I have about about fifty photos and just a few words because, hey, it's summertime and I have better things to do than sit around on the computer. Also, you have better things to do than sit around and read more than just a few words, am I right?

Look what came out of our garden!

And Jack's been at the sewing machine again. He made a mini Snoopy pillow for Sawyer because suddenly the kids have decided that they like each other. DID YOU HEAR THAT? They LIKE each other! It's amazing. You said it would happen and it finally did.

Do you see his thumb? This is what happens when thumbsuckers eat markers. (What are we going to do with this kid?)

We've spent these warm and sunny afternoons lounging around by the pool in the front yard, sharing popsicles and big bowls of popcorn with our friends and soaking in the summertime.

And we also roadtripped up to Portland to hang with our friends Peter and Simon. No sense in wasting water, is there?

On Wednesdays I get to be a soccer mom. It's more fun than it sounds, I assure you.

The veggie leftovers from the farm have been plentiful. Jack is totally into helping in the kitchen and so I put him to work for me. He grated and bagged up a big old bunch of zucchini for the freezer. He also helped me pack up a flat of tomatoes. This summer I have seen a side of him that inspires me as a mother. This summer I have seen Jack as the real person he has become, not just my kid. What I see is pretty amazing.

We are reading The Mouse and the Motorcycle. We sit on the deck in the afternoon shade and sip cool drinks. He always begs for just one more chapter and I always say yes.

And I've been sewing. This is Sawyer's new sunhat which he has steadfastly refused to model until I caught him unawares in his blueberry picking delirium.

As you can see there are lots of green berries left on the bushes. We picked 20 pounds this time, but we will be going back for more soon. Much, much more.

And we got our first egg from Daisy! It was the tiniest, daintiest little egg I'd ever seen and she's given us one each day since. It was Jack's idea to compare it to the blueberry for perspective. He is a budding photographer, I think.

This picture was taken just before Lulu jumped up on the table and ate her weight in blueberries while Jack and I were in the other room.

Sawyer discovered his beloved blanky in the washing machine and held a one-man sit in to protest. He calls it "mine bunky" and DOES NOT appreciate laundry day.

Afternoons at the lake...

I'm so glad summer finally came.

Remember when I told you about my dress? Well, I finally finished it, invisible zipper and all. Yeah, that's right, I said invisible zipper. Booyah! (Yeah, that's right, I said booyah.)

I also refused to be intimidated by collars and buttonholes any longer and made the boys some button up shirts.

No one will ever pose for me. Ever.

And now we head to California for my cousin's wedding and a long weekend of pools and parties and family and food and staying up way past your bedtime and all of those other magical summertime things that you remember from being a kid.

And that is that.

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Confidence: I Haz It

This first week of official summer vacation has been a mix of lively activity and much needed down time. It always takes a while to find my summer rhythm after the hectic and draining climax of the school year. But it will come. It always does.

Usually we have the luxury of being a two parent household during the summer months, but Brent has been landscaping like a maniac and his job at the farm is in full swing and so he has been getting up sometimes even before puppy and kids to sneak out to work each day. This leaves me lots of time to settle back into life at home with the little people.

I've been beating myself up over the past few weeks about Jack's temper tantrums and bad attitude. I told you about "Punch the fuck out of my head!" but I haven't talked much about the other stuff, mostly because someday he will read this and it's just like what I said earlier about embarrassing family stories. Sometimes parents should just keep these things to themselves. But I will tell you that this "phase" which I am choosing to call it because that evokes a sense of non-permanence, has stretched my patience to previously unseen limits.

(I will, however, exact a small bit of revenge by publishing the following photo...)

What amazes/horrifies me is how much of myself I see in Jack. I know I have mentioned this before but seriously, during those moments when his frustration boils over and the hot tears spill down his face, I remember what it's like to be four and to feel that the whole world has conspired against you. Jack goes from zero to meltdown in a matter of seconds and it's often over something so incredibly trivial that I won't embarrass him by giving an example. But I know what he feels. I remember it. I suppose we are just overly emotional and melodramatic, he and I, but we are who we are. Now the question is: how do you cope with this? I outgrew it over time, but not before I put my parents through some pretty epic tantrums. I'd like to spare us all that same fate if possible.

And so I turn to my instincts. I know that many people would observe Jack's temper tantrums, cluck their tongues, and admonish me for not sending him on a time out. But I know my kid and I know that removing him from the situation is a temporary fix. Jack need to process the emotions he is feeling. He needs to be reminded to take a deep breath and use his words. Most of the time he just needs to be heard. And then usually he can move on. Don't get me wrong, we do plenty of time outs around here, but if we timed Jack out for every infraction he'd never see the light of day.

I try hard not to doubt myself so much. I need to trust those instincts and proceed with confidence. I want to look back on this time and know that I did what I thought was right. What I believed would work for my kid. What felt natural and healthy and productive. I want to remember that I disregarded unsolicited advice and resisted the urge to compare my kid with his peers and focused my energy on just Jack. Just Jack.

He will outgrow this. He will become the sweet, compassionate, loving, and strong minded boy we have been raising him to be. But probably there will be more tears before we get there. I need to be okay with that.

I have been thinking about what I said last time about winging it in the kitchen. Maybe I need to give myself more credit. Maybe instead of winging it I should look at my culinary endeavors as practice. I guess I am a self-guided student of the culinary arts. I am learning and with each try I become more experienced and more confident. I need to trust my developing instincts in the kitchen because for every questionable entree, there is a lesson, a tip, or at least a no-no that I can keep for later use.

Earlier this week I surprised myself by tossing together a pesto and zucchini pasta dish in just a few minutes. I am becoming one of those cooks who keeps her recipes upstairs. Pesto is now embedded in my long term memory. This is a cool thing, I think.

Something that works well with Jack, and most four-year-olds probably, is letting him participate in whatever I am doing. This week we hulled and sliced a flat of strawberries for our first batch of freezer jam. I did some internet research about the whole strawberry jam/pectin/sugar thing. In case you don't already know this, strawberry jam is LOADED with sugar and it's kind of like homemade ranch dressing- once you watch it being made it will never taste the same. I could not stomach the idea of dumping that much sugar into those juicy red strawberries and also, pectin? Is that really necessary? The internet gave me conflicting advice, as the internet is wont to do, and so I returned to those instincts and decided that half the sugar and half the pectin would still make for some deliciously spreadable strawberry jam. And guess what? I was right.

Have I told you that the kids are now sleeping until 8? I have no idea what happened, but let's chalk it up to a pervasive sense of relaxation in our house right now.

Relaxation for me means setting up a comfy deck chair, grabbing some iced coffee or a cold beer depending on which spirit is moving me, and reading a good book in the sun. Jack has caught the bug. We've been sitting on the deck and reading Charlotte's Web each afternoon. I wasn't sure if we were ready for read-alouds yet, but Jack never ceases to impress me when it comes to reading. He would sit and listen for hours if I had the patience to keep going, but I've limited us to two chapters each day. Any suggestions for what to read next?

I have been sewing a bit. My talented aunt Bobbi inspired me to make a dress for my cousin's wedding in August. You will perhaps recall that I rarely sew for myself, but when she gave me this pattern how could I say no? She also advised me on how to alter a pair of jeans that have been rotting away in the recesses of my dresser for.. wait for it... seven or so years now. Seven years?! I have had some, let's call them sizing issues in the past seven or so years. I sort of ballooned up while living in France, became a real runner and shed those croissant pounds, then had two pregnancies, became a milk cow and shrunk back down to my current twelve-year-old boy-like frame. So I have lots of clothes that don't fit me. And some of these clothes are clothes that I have an emotional attachment to because I bought them, say, in London and they symbolize FREEDOM! And YOUTH! And WANDERLUST! For example.

Back to my jeans. I loved those jeans. I lived in those jeans. Emily? You remember those jeans?

Infused with confidence after my visit with Bobbi, I tackled those jeans armed with sharp scissors, a denim needle, a whole lot of pins, and optimistic naivete. I immediately broke my first needle. No worries, I thought. I'll just switch to another. I smiled as I inserted the new needle without the added burden of consulting my machine's manual. I've got this. I know what I'm doing. But the new needle wouldn't descend all the way- it kept getting stuck on the presser foot. I thought this was strange but figured maybe the bigger needle needed a different presser foot. That's an easy swap. No problem. But the needle still wouldn't go all the way down. Hmmm, I thought. Is it too late to call Bobbi? I dug around for the little screwdriver and removed the plate from the machine's base. I poked around looking for whatever might be causing the obstruction. I felt certain I would be able to fix this, after all, I am an experienced and confident seamstress. I know my way around my machine. Nothing seemed amiss and so I reattached the plate and began to do a bit of audible muttering that was peppered with some choice swear words. Brent came along, beer in hand, and watched the spectacle. I started to explain my dilemma and then caught myself. "It's too complicated. You wouldn't understand," I told him.

"Hmmm," he glanced ever so briefly over my shoulder as I attempted to coax the machine into submission. "Maybe that needle is bent."

Sure enough. Bent needle. Either he is a genius or I am an idiot. Take your pick.

And yes I did finish those jeans, and no I did not take a picture of the jeans before, during, or after the process because I have ISSUES with jeans. You would too if you had no butt. Ahem.

A few notable quotations from the week...

As I served our first strawberry shortcakes of the season, Jack: "Mom, how do you always know how to make such cool stuff?"

Sawyer: "Mom, I love Mama."

I love you, too, buddy.

(And your little dog.)

(And your grouchy big brother. Tantrums and all.)

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Happy Spring

Spring:

It's that time of the year once again when my world starts to spin faster and faster and despite the extra hours of sunlight I still find that there's not enough time to fit it all in. And so I stop answering my phone. And the laundry piles up. And stacks of mail sit unopened on the counter. Spring is in the air, even if the sun hasn't gotten the memo yet, and our lives are starting to shift into summer. This is a welcomed change and soon the pace of our lives will slow into extended vacation mode, but for now spring is lively.

The menu changes from wintery comfort food to salad and chard and new potatoes sweet onion and kale and cilantro based creations. There are many vegetables to chop and the kitchen compost bucket has to be taken out multiple times a day. The chickens are fat and happy and the garden is starting its slow but epic explosion. We are eating well around here, but eating well takes time and springtime dinners get later and later. Oh well, soon nobody will have to get up early for school.

Jack helped with the first rhubarb crisp of the season. Nothing says spring to me like rhubarb crisp and vanilla ice cream. I am usually of the persuasion that dessert is not dessert unless it is chocolate. I make an exception for rhubarb crisp on a spring evening.

Can you see small fingers attempting to abscond with a loaf of bread during the photo shoot? Nice try, Jack.

And then there are the spring projects. Brent planted an herb garden and another strawberry patch for me for Mother's Day and he's been hammering and sawing and measuring and fence building, too. There are more big changes in store for our backyard this summer including a major move of the chicken house and possibly (possibly!) a new patio. These changes come in light of recent chicken escape attempts which have been thwarted by Jack's watchful eye. I have said it before and now I say it again, it's probably a lot easier just to buy eggs.

My work life is also spinning faster in that high energy end of the year tailspin that begins each May. I rarely mention my job here because I once read that the only way to "have it all" is to be totally present when you are in each of your spaces. So when I am at work I am all business and try very hard not let my mind wander back home, and during my time at home I push all things work related into the recesses so that I can focus on my family and my domain. But sometimes these two worlds collide and I lug home a stack of personal narratives to grade at the kitchen table. But then again, I do find that a nice cold beer sometimes makes 7th grade prose more palatable.

Then there are times when the work that I do does enter into that category of things that I truly enjoy. Like sewing costumes for "A Midsummer Night's Dream"- this is work that I do not mind bringing home, but it certainly keeps me busy. Let me tell you something about Shakespeare and 8th graders: this is a magical and hilarious combination. I have had more "And they actually pay me to do this?" days in the past few weeks than I've had during my teaching career. It's good to love the work that you do.

Jack is not quite ready for sweatshop labor yet, but he will be there soon, and then he can help me with those costumes.

These high energy work days are exhausting and sometimes when I get home the kids are climbing the walls and Brent is in serious need of some alone time. When everyone has a bad case of the afternoon grouchies, I load up the stroller with kids and snacks and we head out for some fresh air therapy. Sometimes I run, sometimes I walk, but whatever we do seems to push a refresh button on the day. My mom used to tell me that things always look better in the morning. I think I will tell my kids that things always look better after a run in the fresh air.

On occasion, the grouchiest person will catch a quick nap in the stroller, blanket in mouth and all.

Often on our runs and walks we play Slug Bug (minus the arm punches, of course) and I sometimes wonder if the people driving those little Volkswagens have any idea how much joy their vehicle purchase decisions bring to my kids. They must have some clue when both kids start gleefully screaming and wildly gesticulating, but I have noticed some drivers who seem confused by all of the attention. Our stroller time is also enhanced by fire truck sightings and I get all cheeseball sappy sentimental when the fire fighters notice my kids' small hands waving in the air and take the time to ring that little bell in response. I hope they know how much this simple gesture means to my little people. Again, it's good to love the work that you do.

If we walk to run errands, we pass by several fast food restaurants and the kids never miss an opportunity to yell at the "yucky food place" and complain about the wafting stench of fryer grease. I guess my hatred of all things fast food has left a lasting impression on my kids. I think this is a good thing, but they need to become a bit less vocal in their protest. People in the McDonald's parking lot sometimes stare.

During the middle of the week we had a chaotic episode which I think epitomizes our lives right now. The incident involved a missed 5K, a lost sweatshirt, and a soccer game. In that order. I planned to run a race that evening and so Brent helped me rally and feed the troops while I heaved the stroller into the car. As I hopped through the house attempting to singlehandedly tie my running shoe, my phone rang with the news that the race started half an hour earlier than I had thought. We would never make it. But this mama doesn't get all suited up in her running gear for nothing and so I decided we would run down the bike path to the gym and watch Brent play with one of his soccer teams. The kids seemed agreeable to this idea and we were just about to hit the road when Jack realized he'd left his hoodie at the park that morning. His favorite super-cool-from-the-big-boys-section skateboard sweatshirt that was a birthday gift from Grandpa Curt. In other words MY SWEATSHIRT! I NEED MYYYYYYYYY SWEATSHIRT! Insert hysterical crying which resulted in hysterical hiccuping. And so for the third time that evening I changed the plan and we set off running in the direction of the park. I confess that my stomach began to get that sinking feeling when Jack started to entertain the possibility that his sweatshirt might not be waiting for us at the park. Why would somebody take my sweatshirt? If a kid stole my sweatshirt, I would be mad at him. Kids who take sweatshirts aren't my friends. And on and on. Thankfully as we approached the park, Jack spied his beloved sweatshirt hanging from the bench and I silently thanked the universe and the neighborhood miscreants for sparing my kid that horrible feeling of losing something that you love. Even if it is only a hoodie.

We made it to the soccer game just in time to see Brent in action. When dad scores a goal and we all actually SEE IT, it is a BIG FREAKING DEAL. And so it was all worth it.

And on Friday night we grabbed bikes and burritos and went to the part for a family date night. It was definitely date night at the park and I overheard one couple's obviously first date awkward banter that left me alternately cringing and gagging as I eavesdropped under the guise of pushing Sawyer on the swing. This was a textbook first date conversation topic: If you knew you were going to be stuck on a deserted island, what one thing would you bring? I missed his response (I suppose some child's need was being met or something irrelevant like that) but when she said "Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five" I wanted to lean over and tell her to stop trying so hard. Really? A book that you've already read? C'mon. Get real. Don't get me wrong, I love Vonnegut as much as the next well-read urban hipster, but how about an emergency flare? A life raft? Some food? Booze? When the conversation devolved into what drink you would bring and he said "water" I bit my tongue to keep from yelling at her to ditch this guy, who was obviously not trying at all. I don't think they will have a second date, but who knows. Reason and love keep little company now-a-days, to quote my old pal Will Shakespeare.

But back to my pseudo date: We set up picnic on a bench and the kids scarfed down their dinners and took off on their bikes. Brent and I sat on the bench, dining alone in the peaceful quiet following the wake of our exuberant offspring, and for a moment- a fleeting moment- it was almost like a real date. The boys rode around and around and around the park and the wind carried their laughter across the grass and over to our ears. Right then I wished for my camera- not only to capture the moment for the kids, but to capture our moment for us as well. I caught a small glimpse of our future and was struck by the idea that one day we will come full circle and it will be us alone on the bench every night.

No matter where I am or who I am with or what I am doing I almost always have my camera. I've found that photo opportunities come knocking at unexpected times and places and I hate to be standing there surrounded by beauty and cursing myself for leaving the camera at home. I've heard a lot of people say that the point-and-shoot is the way to go when you have kids, but I never mind dragging around the big guy so that I can get the shot I want. Once you get in the habit of carrying around a camera with you at all times, you almost feel naked without it. Looking at the world through my camera lens has helped me to see the loveliness in everyday moments. And I think that sometimes by capturing the moment with a picture I am more able to recognize its significance. No matter how quickly these moments seem to pass.

When the moments start passing too quickly, as they have been lately, I know it's time to pull up a chair, grab a brew, let those essays wait, and chill the eff out for awhile. Because spring comes only once a year and we all need to kick back and enjoy the hell out of it while it lasts. So happy spring to you, may your days be long and your cups be full and your kids be happy. (And may that sun continue to shine... Please?!)

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