The Perfect Tree, the Perfect Smile, and the Perfect Pint

The perfect family we are not. I find it incredibly nauseating when people ramble on and on about how perfect their perfect little lives and perfect little families seem to perfectly be. So please continue reading as I ramble on about how messed up our totally dysfunctional family is. Ha ha. Just kidding. Kind of.

But seriously, this business of raising kids can be good, bad, and certainly ugly. We are far from perfect around here. However, that does not keep me from striving for some sort of perfection when it comes to THE HOLIDAYS! Oh yes, I have been intoxicated by the Christmas Spirit(s) (ha ha) ever since we polished off the Halloween candy.

And so, with naive perfection in mind, we set off to find The Perfect Christmas Tree. We were not going to half ass it and buy our tree from the lot. Oh no! No Fred Meyer Christmas trees for us either! We were going up into THE WOODS to CHOP DOWN the PERFECT CHRISTMAS TREE. Dammit.

First stop, the ranger station. Brent went inside to get our tree permit ($5?! what a steal!) and returned to the car with the news that Smokey the Bear was inside (!!! OMG! I was totally obsessed with Smokey the Bear when I was a kid, and here he was! Would he sign autographs? Did my hair look okay?). We unloaded the little people and quickly prepped them for meeting the Biggest Forest Service Celebrity of All Time. OMG! OMG! Smokey the freaking Bear. Remember to breathe. The kids were cool as cucumbers when we walked in the door, but when Sawyer saw Smokey, it was like Halloween at Grandpa Doug's all over again...

After a quick photo op and goodie bags (!) we promised not to play with matches and Sawyer even managed a tearful "Bye bye Smokey" as we headed out the door.

And then we drove up into the snow. I am selfishly hesitant to tell you where we went because it was so quiet and pristine, but since most of you are lazy bums who would never think of putting down your beers to go cut down your own trees, I suppose I'll spill the beans. Again, just kidding. Kind of. We went up the road behind Oakridge and followed the map that Smokey's colleagues had given us. It was so easy to get there and suddenly we were surrounded by gleaming snow banks and potential Christmas trees.

Was this weather not absolutely perfect? Oh yes, we lucked out. I had the brilliant idea that I would get the perfect picture of the boys to use as our Christmas card this year. Seemed simple enough, what with this beautiful forest for a background and flattering natural light. Oh yeah, and the cute kids, too.

I took about 500 pictures of these two goons. I wish I could tell you that I was exaggerating. Most of them looked like this:

What is the deal with Sawyer? Is he incapable of smiling for the camera. You think this one is bad?

The piece de resistance:
Wow. I don't know what is wrong with him. He's much cuter in real life.

See? Much cuter.

Now, I have to tell you something and you're probably not going to believe me, and if you do believe me you will probably be asking what the hell is wrong with us, wondering if we should be reported to the authorities, and considering confiscating our camera. But here goes:

I think this is the only picture we have of the four of us together. I know that is shocking and ridiculous, but I do believe that it is true. I'm really not sure how that could have happened, but apparently it did. Maybe I need to book us a photo shoot at Sears to make up for lost time...

Good thing this one photo is PERFECT!

And we found the perfect tree. Well, perfect enough for us anyway. The funny thing about cutting down your own tree is that it looks a lot smaller out in the forest than in your living room. A lot. For future reference.

Brent had planned out a little side trip and so on the way home we stopped in Oakridge for lunch and a pint at the new brewery, Brewers Union Local 180. If you thought I spilled the beans about the Christmas tree spot, just wait till you hear about this place! This pub is just about the sweetest, homiest, most welcoming place I've ever been. And the beer was divine.

Jack's first time sitting up at the bar. He was a fan!

The ambiance is relaxed, cozy, and totally kid friendly. They have a wall of board games, room for big groups to sit and for people to mingle, corners for reading, and a pint sized pool table for the kids. I loved this place. Almost enough to consider moving to Oakridge. Almost.

We ran into some people we knew from Eugene who were just coming off the mountain. This pub is the perfect apres ski pit stop. Perfect.

And I would love to tell you that we all arrived home from our day in the woods feeling refreshed and ready for an evening of Christmas carols, cocoa, and tree decorating. Instead, Jack threw an epic tantrum, Sawyer tried to smash all of the ornaments, and Brent and I had to put the kids to bed early to preserve the remaining shreds of our sanity and get that damn tree decorated.

But at least Brent had the foresight to bring along the growler and have it filled at the pub. And so, if nothing else, the beer was perfect that night.

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The Top of Eugene

The short version of the story is that my two cousins, Nicole and Andrew, came through Eugene the week after Thanksgiving and prolonged the holiday family love fest. And it was all thanks to a wayward jacket of supreme importance.

I was secretly glad that Andrew had to backtrack to Portland for The Jacket because it meant that he would come through good old (boring) Eugene. I guess I felt like there was some hospitality to repay or something, but I hadn't exactly convinced him that Eugene was worth his while until the jacket mishap presented itself and the only logical thing for him to do was to come right on down the old I-5 and make a pit stop in Eugene. Nicole had tagged along for the ride, wisely seizing the opportunity for an impromptu road trip. (I believe you should always seize the opportunity for an impromptu road trip. More on that later.)

So yay! Out of town guests. Now what? See, there's not much to do in Eugene on a cold and rainy day in December. Of course we were going to end up at the Ninkasi brewery, that was a given. But how to fill the day?

I decided that we would climb Spencer's Butte. Sure it was cold, sure it was rainy, sure we would be dragging the kids along with us. It didn't matter- it was an adventure! Cold, check. Rainy, check. Muddy and windy, double check. It was a true Eugene outdoor adventure. But I noticed a strange thing on the way up- we were actually having a lot of fun. And somehow Jack managed to hike THE ENTIRE WAY. This is the kid who will often throw a temper tantrum when you ask him to wash his hands. He hiked UP and BACK. I am still shocked by this. Where was the whining? The complaining? When I complimented him on his perseverance, he gave me the look of incredulity that the young often give the old and replied, "I'm really good at hiking. My dad takes me all the time." The "duh" was implied.

We reached the summit and were assaulted by a vicious wind that just about knocked Jack over. Sawyer was, once again, refusing the comfort of gloves and preferring the epic meltdown approach to generating body heat. He fell asleep on the way down.

Can you find a camouflaged Jack hidden in this picture?

We were muddy and cold by the time we reached the car, but I felt that I'd given Nicole and Andrew a taste of the Eugene experience. Then it was time to sample some of the Eugene beer experience, sans kiddos. We dropped them off at Doug and Mary's house and headed for the brewery.

Brent and I are shamelessly obsessed with Ninkasi beer. I am serious, it is so good. Since we just so happened to have a keg of Ninkasi Sleigher on tap in our garage, our guests had had plenty of "sampling" of that one already, so we ordered a couple of rounds of tasters. I will drink with wild abandon just about everything that brewery puts out, but I had to draw the line at the ConventionAle Stout. I never thought I'd say this about a Ninkasi beer, but yuck. Nicole and Brent concurred.

To each their own, however, and Andrew gulped it down, taking one for the team. But then again, his palate might be more refined than ours, having been raised on Guinness and other fine European beers while Brent and I cut our beer drinking teeth on PBR.

It's a funny thing, spending so much time with cousins and realizing how dominant some of our family traits seem to be. I've always identified myself closely with my Scottish side of the family, mostly because my 80 something year old grandmother vehemently proclaims Scotland pride and pretty much insists that we do the same. My family and I all seem to possess some particular traits that we apparently share with our relatives across the pond.

1. Beer. We like it.

2. Wanderlust. Most of us have travelled pretty extensively. We crave new experiences and savor the open road.

3. A very particular brand of humor. Some people would not think it funny or appropriate to discuss the plot of "Deep Throat" at the dinner table with your entire extensive family present.

While Andrew was here and we reminisced about the time that Nick and I stayed with his family in Belfast, I pulled out my old travel journals. It was with trepidation that I found the entries based on our visit- had I said anything bad about them? Had I waxed philosophical about my own insecurities at that point in my life? Had I complained about the food?

No, I had not. And we pored over the old journals and laughed at my observations about Irish and Scottish culture and Nick's first foray into the bar scene (Belfast is no place for a newbie, FYI). I had written so many details that were now meaningless to me, but some things triggered really great memories. Those journals are priceless, just as the time I spent in Europe is. I am so glad I took the time to write while I travelled.

And it all made me realize just how important this little old blog is to me. People ask me all the time why I would want to write a blog. Why did I start it? Who reads it? The truth is that I started this blog because I miss my mom. I miss knowing how it was for her when we were little. I miss knowing what we ate for dinner or who gave who what for which birthday. I would love to have a window into our lives so that I could see the things I can't remember. And I would kill for her Twice Baked Potatoes recipe. So I guess I started this blog because I want to document the most important journey that I've ever taken. Forgive the cliche metaphor. It's the truth.

I've gotten a few raised eyebrows lately when I mention my upcoming trip to San Francisco. Yeah, it's pretty crazy to think that I'm going to leave my kids behind and head south instead of cherishing the first days of my winter break at home with my family. Yeah, it's probably selfish and maybe even unfair. But I have to do it. It's been too long since I've seen the open road. Travel is a part of who I am and I haven't acknowledged that part of me for awhile. I need to seize this opportunity, because it might not come again.

And I really want my kids to know that part of me. I want them to grow up jumping at opportunities for adventure and trying new things. Hiking is normal to Jack because Brent does it. I want travel to be the same way.

So come Friday morning, off I go. No guilt. No regrets. Camera in hand. Ready for the adventure.

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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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