Winter Olympics: Eugene

Event Number One: Maintaining a blog while working full time, retaining sanity, and raising three children. Clearly I am not winning the gold for this one.

Event Two: Remembering that the beach is only 1.5 hours from our door and escaping the Willamette Valley fog when it threatens our mental health. I can handle the endless rain. But a week of fog? Now that's taking things too far in my book, Mother Nature. You lose this round.

Up next: Latte Art. We bought ourselves an espresso machine for Christmas this year, which is actually probably more of an investment because I am pretty sure Brent has been singlehandedly financing the growth of Dutch Bros. Time to sell your stocks, people. Brent wins at the latte art, for sure. (I think he secretly doesn't want me touching the machine, since he is always desperately offering to make me drinks. Or maybe he just wants to be nice? Hard to tell. For now, he's handing me lattes so I have no complaints.)

And of course there's been lots and lots of basketball, thanks to the new hoop. And when you lower it to 8 feet, everyone is a winner!

Brent has the infuriating habit of making things look easy. He's super coordinated and has really good balance and so you'd expect him to be a natural at yoga. I've been keeping at it, and not to get all zen on you or anything, but I am pretty sure that yoga has changed my life. I will probably never be a swan, but I am definitely starting to become a flamingo, so that's progress. Only now that my Groupon has expired, I might need to take out a second mortgage on my house in order to afford the classes. So that means I've been practicing quite a bit at home and Brent has joined me from time to time.

It turns out that the one thing Brent can't do is yoga. He is totally a penguin. Gold medal for me!

Event Number Six: Dog Sled Racing. Um, wtf Mother Nature? Just 'cause we beat you at the week of fog doesn't mean you need to get vengeful. 

Disclaimer: this event is probably not safe for kids. Or dogs.

I'm not sure this next "event" should be considered for our Eugene Olympics, but what the hell. I'm gonna go ahead and call Dressing Clementine an Olympic sport. She has this strange habit of dragging clothes around and insisting that you layer her outfit with sweaters, mismatched shoes, pajamas, etc. I think she looks like a homeless person and I suggested that we buy her a toy shopping cart for Christmas, but the toy stroller was cheaper so I guess she's not a future bag lady after all.

 Brent: "Are you getting pictures of this? Are you blogging this?"

Now this should NOT be considered a sport, but when you have three kids, Find the Baby is a pretty high stakes game. These days Clementine can be found brushing her teeth on the stool in the bathroom. Brent had the brilliant idea of giving her a toothbrush and it's yielded hours of entertainment. Why we ever buy toys for our kids is beyond me.

And finally, the event that strikes fear into the hearts of all parents of Lego owning kids. I like to call it "Mom, can you find this piece for me?" or, in other words, FML. Ef-Em-El!

This event requires hours of time spent on your knees pawing through Rubbermaid tubs of Legos, countless episodes of optimism, "Here it is! I found it!" followed by eye rolls and wailing such as, "That's grey, Mom. I need chaaaaarcoal!"

I think I take the bronze here. I'll let Brent have the gold.

Team Ross. We do pretty well. Now, where can we get some of those lovely USA sweaters?

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Xmas, DC, NYC, et al

Christmas Eve dinner was at our house this year. Our menu included spinach balls, stuffed mushrooms, butter lettuce salad, smoked salmon and potato chowder, Metropol bread, buche de noel cake, and jam thumbprints.

I watched my incredulous kids open the biggest present they had ever seen (a long coveted basketball hoop from Doug and Mary). Everyone sat at the table and ate and drank and ate some more. The fire was warm and the food was fine. We were all together, which was the only thing I wanted for Christmas this year.

Christmas Eve jammies were finished just in the nick of time. Sawyer's sneeze happened at the exact wrong time.

Christmas morning was cinnamon rolls and ecstatic kids and lots and lots of coffee. And just when I thought I could never eat again, it was time to go to Brent's mom's house for Christmas dinner. I regret nothing.

Just as the weary winter after-Christmas days began to drag, I boarded a plane with Clementine and flew across the country to see my best friend Amberlee in Washington DC.

I've been sort of paralyzed by photo options for this post, so I finally said screw it and just started uploading.

I also don't really know what to say about this trip that won't sound cliche. It was amazing/awesome/once in a lifetime? Surely I can do better than that...

So maybe I will just tell you that convincing Amberlee to drive us 7 hours through a torrential downpour so that I could see New York City was one of the best decisions I've made. And that walking across the Brooklyn Bridge with the lights of the city mirrored by wet pavement, Clementine snuggled into her stroller, camera in my hand, and best friend at my side, was a moment that I won't forget.

We stayed with Amberlee's friends in a tiny apartment where we climbed to the rooftop for a panoramic view of the city. We drank Six Point beers until we couldn't keep our eyes open. We went out for bagels and pizza and pickles from a "real" deli. We rode the subway, ahem, the train, and Clementine charmed even the most morose looking takers of public transportation. We saw Times Square and hated it. Rockefeller Center had too many people and so we pushed our stroller through the crowds and made our way to Central Park. But not before I popped into the Lego store...

New York was cold and dirty and breathtakingly beautiful. I felt small and insignificant and anonymous and alive.  My feet ached and everything was covered in snot and cracker crumbs. My face hurt from smiling. Amberlee spilled coffee all over her pants. Clementine's cheeks were rosy and her fingers turned to ice. We loved you, New York, but it was time to go back to DC.

Tollroads. Travel stations. Utz road snacks. A fruitless quest for Kandy Kakes. Changing a stand up poopy diaper in a New Jersey bathroom. Tomato pie. It had been a long time since Amberlee and I had been on a road trip together, and this one did not disappoint.

 Old Town Alexandria:

We stayed in for New Years and put Clementine to bed early. The evening was spent drinking wine and champagne, eating cheese and crackers and leftover pizza from New Jersey, and playing Phase-10. We missed the ball drop, which was fine with me.

New Years Day was brilliant sunshine and a trip to Baltimore. I had always wanted to make a pilgrimage to Edgar Allan Poe's grave (I am a big fan!) and Amberlee made it happen. Clementine did not bring the wine or the rose, in case you were wondering.

I had read online about the Poe House, where he had once lived with his cousin/wife which was now a small tourist museum. According to the website, the museum was closed and the reviews on this place were pretty interesting. The Poe House is in an apparently rough part of Baltimore, so reviewers were saying things like "Don't go there unless you have a bullet proof vest" and "We tried to go but the cops pulled us over and told us to get out of that neighborhood."

So naturally we went.

We tried to go to the Annabel Lee Tavern (I told you I am a big fan), but it was also closed for the holiday. So instead we went to a 24 hour diner which was supposed to have some of Baltimore's finest crab cakes. My pacific northwest dungeness crab loving palate could not stomach the Maryland blue crab, so it's a good thing I liked the Natty Boh so much.

It had been a long time since I'd lived out of a backpack. Since I'd slept the sleep of a person who has walked nine miles and woken to wonder what new territory I'd be covering that day. It had been a long time since I'd been so tired or hungry or so smashed into complete strangers on subways. I hadn't smelled city smells since I can remember, or felt that real raw, grittiness of urban life. It had been a long time since I'd washed city grime from my face and hair or smelled the subway on my clothes. And for Clementine, it was a week of firsts. She proved to us over and over again that she is a traveler, just like her mom and her mom's best friend.

I think this girl of mine will go far in this world. And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll get to go along, too.

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DIY Elf and Yoga with the Swans

A very important package arrived in the mail this week. Yep, that's right, Santa sent us our own Elf on the Shelf. Now, the keen eye might detect a resemblance between this elf and some dolls I have made in the past, but my children do not have keen eyes yet, so it's all good. (If you are curious, about DIY Elves on the Shelves, take a look here for inspiration.)



I realize that the Elf on the Shelf craze probably peaked two Christmases ago, but I am usually slow to embrace current trends and so I'm perpetually running a few years behind everyone else. So now I have an Elf on the Shelf, own several pairs of skinny jeans, and have decided to try hot yoga.

Deciding to try something and actually trying it are two different things in my world. Recently I have tentatively stuck my big toe into the vast ocean that is yoga, but following along to yoga DVDs while wearing pajamas in my living room was getting old fast. So when my friend Kate found a Groupon for hot yoga classes, I was all about it, in spite of my limitations when it comes to following directions and any sort of organized movement. The thing about Kate, besides her perfect hair, is that she makes anything possible. I think the proof of this lies in the fact that I've made it this far through teaching sixth grade... Also, she has this obscenely adorable baby:

Anyway, adding to this quickly spiraling cycle of awesomeness was the fact that my friend Alexa teaches at the yoga studio! And in addition to knowing my deficiencies/challenges (both physical and otherwise), Alexa is a crazy talented teacher, which is exactly what I needed. It would take some crazy talent to get a gangly klutz like me doing hot yoga in a room full of strangers, that's for sure.

More holiday merriment while I build intrigue for the story of my first yoga class.

Kate and I committed to a class on Sunday morning. On Saturday she texted me reminding me that I should be hydrating. I was hydrating all right, but not in the way I should have been. There was wine, then some pear cider followed by beer. What can I say? I had seven kids in my house making candy sleighs, these were dark times. 

I wasn't sure what I should wear until I remembered that I had actual yoga pants that I had purchased years ago and had worn for a variety of purposes, but never for actual yoga. Perfect, I thought.

Kate arrived to pick me up bright and early and we equipped ourselves with water bottles (I was cramming for finals with the hydration at this point) and I walked to the closet to grab us some towels.

"Oh, we don't need to bring towels," Kate confidently informed me. And because Kate knows everything, my yoga pants and I followed her out the door sans towels.

We arrived and checked in for our class, immediately feeling intimidated by our classmates. Alexa tried to put as at ease, explaining that there were plenty of other newbs in the class that day. "Did you see her?" Kate whispered at me as we unrolled our borrowed mats at the back of the room, gesturing at one of the other first-timers. "She's like 6 feet tall and a professional athlete!"

The room was HOT. I sort of couldn't breath as Kate and I waited for class to start and whispered to each other about whether or not it was okay to be whispering. The humidity was rolling over us in waves and the smell of tea tree oil hung pleasantly in the air. As someone who is chronically cold, I was actually enjoying the warmth, though it would have been nice to be able to breathe.

Class started and Alexa went fast. I was downward dogging and sun saluting and planking my way right along just fine for about five minutes. Then the directions started getting kind of confusing. Something about my left "peace fingers" and the inside of my right knee and pushing my feet into the ground and extending my back... forehead to the what? I twisted myself up into a pretzel and hoped I was doing okay. They have you looking into a mirror the whole time, which I suppose would help most people, but for me that just made the whole left/right thing more of a challenge. I was a sweaty mess, teetering on some extremity and praying I wouldn't topple over and send us all down like dominoes. And then I make the mistake of looking over at Kate. She is a swan, serenely stretching across the mat in total synchronicity with the rest of the flock. Meanwhile I am playing a game of solitary Twister.

Time goes on. We contort ourselves into frogs and trees. I am a warrior. Sweat drips into my eyes and mouth. I start to really wish I had a fucking towel. The swan sweats gracefully beside me floating her feet and extending her arms as if she has rehearsed this choreography before. I am now sweating so much that I contemplate taking off my yoga pants. Would that be weird? What underwear am I wearing? Am I delirious? 

75 minutes later it's all over. I am a wet noodle as the swan and I gather our things. The room is definitely not smelling like tea tree oil at this point. I realize that hot yoga reminds me a lot of natural childbirth. 

I came home to unsigned Christmas cards, two pairs of boys' pajamas that apparently aren't going to sew themselves, a Christmas Eve dinner menu to plan, a missing stocking to locate, and an Elf who can't seem to keep himself out of trouble. 

But if I can survive hot yoga, I'm sure Christmas 2013 will be a piece of cake.

PS: Kate, you bring the towels next time, k?

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Saved by the Snow

I came home from work last Thursday with a ridiculous to-do list.There were so many things going on: crepe making supplies to purchase for my French class, Christmas card photos to order, pies to assemble for my friend Peter who had graciously agreed to let me raffle off the privilege of throwing a pie in his face to my sixth graders, my knock-off Elf on the Shelf sewing project (more on that later) to finish, Christmas jammies to begin, an Egypt unit to plan, a loved one in the hospital to visit, the advent calendar to stuff, a zombie party to mentally prepare for, and, oh shit, what was I supposed to bring to the staff Christmas party on Friday? Etc.

Meanwhile:

 

"Mom, can I sew a pillow?"

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Did anyone feed the dog today?"

You get the picture.

Sometimes I can roll with all of this. Some days I am checking items off my list and taking names. Often I am amazed at what I can actually get done in a day.

But on Thursday it was all too much. There was a lot of talk about potential winter weather that night, and so I rolled the dice and banked on a snow day for Friday. In other words, I did NOTHING on Thursday night. Not one single thing. Well, I did have a beer and put my feet up, of course, but I did not touch any of those pressing items on my to-do list.

And on Friday we woke up to this:

We thought we scored with a three day weekend. I finished the elf and planned for Egypt. Brent ordered the Christmas card photos. The parties were canceled. Clementine joined me for yoga meltdown.

As the weekend wore on, I entertained the idea that I might not be going back to work on Monday. Little did I know...

Brent and the boys discovered the perfect sledding hill in our neighborhood. Since the rules don't apply around here when it snows, it was also the perfect off-leash dog park...

By Sunday we realized that the snow wasn't going anywhere. I was feeling itchy to get the Christmas tree up and so Brent and the boys walked down the road and found one at a local lot. They pulled it home on a sled.

School was canceled on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. We filled our days with sledding and playdates, movies and popcorn, the Nutcracker and pizza with friends, legos and Christmas books by the fire, and Uno and cookies.

I think I will have to go back to work tomorrow. We finished up all of Jack's homework for the week while decorating sugar cookies tonight, Jubelale in hand, Christmas songs on Pandora. Our washing machine froze during the storm and I've just about made it through the seven loads of laundry that had piled up.

The Egypt unit is totally fucked. The crepes and pie throwing can wait.

My loved one is on the mend in the hospital across town.

Friday, I'm ready! I've totally got this.

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