Falling for Connecticut

Mind the Children

While I practice mindfulness myself, I've wondered how to encourage it in the kids, while recognizing that they are more expert in it than I am. So maybe I'm wondering how to encourage them not to lose it. And Karen Maezen Miller, writing for the Huffington Post, gives some suggestions (check out her photo montage for her explanations):

1. Handwrite

2. Read picture books.

3. Listen.

4. Sing.

5. Smile.

6. Walk (to school).

7. Brush teeth.

8. Give one hour.

While she says that "mindful children grow up in mindful homes," I would almost add that "children growing up can make homes mindful." If you pay attention.

No Comparison

Ecstatic about yesterday's inspiring Chilean miner rescue, I followed the story all day, internally cheering each time the number saved went up. And I think it read it on the NYTimes Lede blog, or maybe on the BBC's live coverage, that this event was a reverse of September 11. Then, the world watched in horror, scared and angry, coming together in sympathy and compassion and goodwill (at least for awhile), but the hopes that more survivors would be found--that the donated blood would be needed, that the people on "Lost" signs would be found--were dashed. Yesterday, the world watched in increasingly optimistic anticipation, coming together again in sympathy and compassion and goodwill, and all our hopes were rewarded as all 33 miners and the additional rescuers were pulled safely from the depths of the earth and despair. At least for a little while, we saw the possibilities of an inspired, overjoyed, connected world community.

Star Wars

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

Namely in Texas about 35 years ago, I was obsessed with Star Wars. I saw the movie something like 22 times--and that was in the theater, before videos or even HBO (though, in my defense?, over years of releases)--not including Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi (which my amazing mom took me out of school to see on opening day!!!!). (By the way, as I understand it, Aunt Banana, it was your first film when you were about 2, we had to go all the way downtown to see it, and I think our folks spent most of the movie with you in the lobby!) I was Princess Leia for Halloween, with a meticulously-crafted foil necklace like the one in the last scene but also the trademark hairdo. I had figurines and trading cards, school supplies and t-shirts, stuffed animals and posters, albums (both symphonic and movie dialogue) and books (the making of, novelizations, Splinter in the Mind's Eye, etc etc etc), even the oversized barbie dolls (one of which got stuck in a tree and was forever after "Luke Treewalker."). Mom even took me to hear John Williams conduct the orchestral scores of the films! And I was always playing Star Wars by myself and with friends (my-very-most-favorite-babysitter-of-all-times, Julie Hunt, would play too and liked it as much as I did, even taking me to see it at least once. How old was she anyway, Mom?)

However, lots of time has passed since then, other obsessions and occupations have intervened, and I REALLY don't like the second set of movies (i.e. the first three, chronologically) or any of the odd digital changes and additions to the first three that interrupt my childhood memories--like Han talking to Jabba in the hanger bay of Mos Eisley!! (Forget the 3-D version!) See, it's all coming back to me now. Like a lost language. Because the children are obssessed (even if they are usually confused about plot points and characters and constantly have to ask who and why!). It's all Star Wars, all the time. They read books, draw pictures, act it out, play with the figurines. The unabashed merchandizing (and I believe those in the know say Star Wars kicked off that trend) continues. So familiar . . . and yet so different. First, those new figurines are "classics." Ouch. Except they aren't like the rather immobile Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker that I had--their joined arms and legs can pose (except they are cheaply made--limbs fall off and no hand will maintain its weapon)! Mercy, R2-D2 can beep and glow instead of just swiveling his head with a click if you turned it. They even come with little stands (and dice and cards for some game) so that you don't have to waste time trying to balance them--which never worked--though, the stands don't always work either, so maybe holding them by hand is the best, though in Bud's case, unacceptable solution. And yes, I still have mine for comparison's sake and will be bringing them out, along with my Ewok village this weekend--no sense letting it get moldy in the basement; I must have saved it for something. The kids are really excited.

Because they can't wait to set up a battle. Which interested me not a bit as a kid. I liked the story, the good-vs-evil, archetypal characters of absent/mysterious father, beautiful princess, young-hero-on-a-journey tale, you know, Jung and Joseph Campbell altogether. Not the actual fighting. While I can identify an X-Wing and a TIE fighter, I never even owned stormed troopers, Darth Vader, or any ships. And I never played battle. But the kids love that part. Sure, they are younger than I was, and still in that superhero-wins-all developmental stage . . . and they are in kung fu and like medieval knights too . . . and frankly like to chase and bash on each other.

And then there are other changes. So much of the current material is based around the "other" movies and the new cartoon. I saw the "first three" films. Simpering Amidala and stone-faced Anakin. Only redeeming quality was watching Yoda kick Sauron's butt. (Well, and I like Liam Neeson.) As for the Clone Wars cartoon, I just can't be bothered (not being a fan of cartoons much or video games). Much less, even, all the post-Star Wars novels, etc, with Leia and Han having twins and whatever . . . . It's just not part of my Star Wars mythology--it's sacred in its way (so much more than just a movie, it was an experience, a shared cultural and generational happening, perhaps in the way that people used to follow serialized Dickens stories) because I grew up with it, much like the Harry Potter generation or perhaps the Tolkien readers and "Star Trek" watchers before that (I wonder what will be the defining cultural experience of Sis and Bud's generation?). Except the kids ask everyday about Nute Gunray or Ahsoka Tano. And who is Anakin?

I'm not quite ready to explain that Anakin, the beloved hero of some of these early stories, becomes Darth Vader. Mainly because I think it ruins the arc of the original films if you know all of the origin tales in advance and I want my kids coming to it as Star Wars virgins, so to speak, in the "right" order. I can't wait for them to find out that Luke and Leia are twins! That, and I don't think any of those films, besides the first one, even ESB or ROTJ are child-friendly fare. Gutting a Tonton? Han Solo in carbonite? Leia-as-teen-porn? Dying Ewoks? Anyone? Anyone? (Granted, I fast forward the burning corpses of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and the cremation of the dead Jawas). I was a tween by the time the last one rolled around, when my mom took me out of school (have I mentioned that this is one of my favorite childhood memories? one of the greatest things I think my mom did? Encouraging my interest. Having some fun. Letting me ignore school for a bit. Spending time with me. Standing in a long line while I was in algebra!!). I'm not showing it to my kindergarteners.

We are, though, having some great discussions about good and evil, how people can change and overcome poor choices (um, if that is what you would call turning to the Dark Side and back again), loyalty and disloyalty, the meaning of the Force in our world (what some people call God or nature or the divine or the universe), reality vs. fiction, if robots are alive, if it is real in the sense of "are there aliens in outer space." So, I'm still encouraging the love, enjoying the mutual interest, bonding over the action figures, even if it came a few years earlier than expected and has taken on its own life. Star Wars for the next generation, to mix my sci-fi references. And so Bud has changed his mind and wants to be Darth Vader for Halloween. And I'm going to be Princess Leia. Again.

May the Force be with us.

Welcome!

To the new baby boy in our playgroup who arrived safely into this world yesterday morning! We can't wait to meet him.

Booyah!

Nine weeks to the day, minus about 12 hours, I have driven my kiddos to school for the very first time! And it feels so good. Okay, so I made two wrong turns, one going and one coming, more out of excited nervousness than anything, but we were still there exactly on time and I'm home in one piece, with no aches. So, I'm going for my celebratory 45-minute walk around the block!

Joy

. . . . everytime the number of Chilean miners rescued goes up one!

Frustration

As if Mama doesn't have enough to do with a 55+ hour a week job, all the household chores and shopping, and chauffeuring duties, I go and make it extra difficult by spilling an entire big bowl of red and black chili beans, my dinner, all over the kitchen. The bowl slipped out of the paper towel I was using as hot pad to take it out of the microwave, just slipped right out of my grasp . . . all over the microwave door, the drawer, both sides of the cabinet door (because it never shuts all the way), the side of the fridge, and about a 2' square section of the floor. And I can't clean it up. I can't squat or bend or kneel to scoop up the mess. And it won't be good for my broom or electric broom or steam mop. It's just going to have to stay there, my red stain of immobility, now covered in paper towels of shame, all over the floor that was meticulously mopped today, until Mama can come home and clean up the cold, staining, gloopy mess. She must love me. Because she said she'll come home tonight anyway.

My First Outing

No, no, not National Coming Out Day (though, thank you, Ms. Sew-and-Sow for calling attention to the day in such a beautiful way; I'd totally forgotten the date).

We went on a family field trip on Saturday, our first since the weekend before my injury. And it was a doozie: the renaissance festival! Perfect for Bud and Sis, who are into all things knights and dragons these days. They even wore their medieval knight Halloween costumes for the occasion, complete with faux chain mail, capes, armor plate, shield, and sword.

Now, the faire had a major thing against it, mainly the long drive, but several things for it, including a focus on walking instead of sitting, a casual self-directed activity, and, most importantly, places to lie down, namely the ground or a bench. And so, with emergency meds in tow (because Percocet will fix anything in a pinch!), my brace, and an ice pack, we were in business.

The kids were really excited at the site of the castle gates and all the people in garb, but Bud needed some reassurance that the several pirates, hooded executioner, and armed men were all pretending, just like he was, and that the muskets' firing in the weapons demonstration were not dangerous and would stop shortly. They were both shy when people spoke to them "Elizabethanly" and addressed them as Dame Knight and Sir Knight. Otherwise, they had a blast. They loved the jousts, the games (and Sis was good and won at frog toss and whack-a-rat), shopping (yes, shopping: Bud was desperate for some real armor--and they did sell heavy chain mail and real swords!). There wasn't great food or much music, which was a disappointment, and we only sat through a few shows, namely the joust, the weapons demonstration, some one-on-one sparring. But those shows were exciting and so real, as was the reenactment village with historical cooking and costumed interpreters.

But for me, I think the best part was when the kids participated in the knighting ceremony, learning the code of chivalry, raising their swords to swear fealty, and then kneeling to be dubbed. So cute, especially in those Halloween costumes. Later, they danced around, wielding their swords and mock fighting, capes billowing behind them. Really, the perfect day.

And I only had to lie down three times in five hours!

Tidbits

Last night, we could hear Sis and Bud while they cleaned their room, part of their getting-ready-for-bed checklist. Sis said to him, "Zero talking, one hundred cleaning."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Calling her bluff: Sis often says to Bud, when he isn't cooperating, "If you don't do this, I'll never play with you again!" Today, he turned to her and retorted, "Sis, you say that a lot, but then you always play with me anyway."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

One of the twins' new favorite games is called, "Kid." As in Mommy, Daddy, and Kid. And I'm Kid. That's not "the kid." Nope, Kid is my name, as in "C'mon, Kid," or "Sit here, Kid." Not in some disrespectful, off-handed way, but as my name. (Note, while I refer to them as the kiddos here, I don't often do it in person. I think. Maybe more than I think). And I've been to the doctor's, flown on an airplane, had a birthday, gone to the first day of school, had kung fu class, and the like. It just tickles me to no end that practically every object in this house has a name, from Tango the penguin and Amy the bunny, to "Tick," which is what Sis calls bits of fuzz (he's a pet of hers sometimes), and I'm just Kid. I guess Shirt is "Shirt." It works for them . . .

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Apparently there is going to be a slumber party soon: the kids arranged it all on the bus. I understand that they arrange playdates on the bus everyday, with everyone participating. It's us parents who fall down on the job and don't see it through. So, I just called the mom whose daughter volunteered them for the sleepover and said I'd be glad to drop off the kiddos anytime!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

We made chocolate-chip blondies to give to Mrs. Director, who had three deaths in her family a few weeks ago. But upon seeing the finished dessert, Sis declared, "There isn't enough chocolate." And so we "iced" them by sprinkling them with chocolate chips when they came out of the oven and then smoothing over the melted chips. Voila!

Getting a Ticket

No, no, I'm a good driver! And, knock wood, I haven't gotten that kind of ticket in 20 years.

This is a different kind of ticket, part of a rewards system we've instituted, based upon an amalgam of plans that Mama Teacher implements at home and at school, with such arcane and Byzantine rules that only vested 5-year olds can keep track!

The kids get a ticket (a colored piece of index card with a stamp of a bunny or penguin):

• if they complete their checklists and other tasks as assigned without any undue delay;
• on a surprise basis based on their behavior, but--and here's the trick--they can't do things specifically to earn tickets; in other words, we "catch them out" in good deeds and reward them accordingly (like when Bud brought in both their backpacks from the car or Sis did the same with their lunch kits);
• for positive behaviors above and beyond the call of duty, like following directions and holding it together during the hailstorm that sent us to the basement
• and my favorite, for "trading in" old toys they no longer use, understanding completely that the toys go away to other kids; if the toy is used by both, they split the value and must agree.

Tickets are never taken away. However, "outs" are given if something egregious occurs--three "strikes" (warnings to stop), or violence--and if you get three outs, you don't get to shop that week. Tickets can be redeemed at the weekly "family store," held on Sunday afternoons. Objects are priced from 1 ticket to 20. The kiddos generally earn about 7-10 tickets a week and are encouraged to save tickets from week to week to get the, literally, "bigger ticket" items (which this week include a small Playmobil knight set and a Calico Critter furniture set; think about a dollar per ticket, on average, but not exactly). We are also working on having non-thing choices, such as an outing alone with a parent, a meal at a restaurant, some kind of activity. But no candy and no stuffed critters. Period.

My favorite part is when the kids are close but not quite to the number of tickets they need to trade in for something they want. So, they run around the house looking for old toys to offload, as I make suggestions based on what I know they don't use and what I'm keen to get rid of. I feel like an auctioneer, "I'll give you three tickets for the puzzle, three tickets, going, going, gone!"

Another caveat--see, I told you this was convoluted--kids can help us choose what goes in the store. For instance, we were at the Ren Faire on Saturday (more on that soon) and Bud wanted a siege tower but it was above our standard allowance of the equivalent of the admission fee for souvenirs, and so he bargained with Mama to have it purchased for the store so that he could trade in tickets for it on Sunday. And it worked. Brilliantly.

Okay, I've told you what and how, but not why. Which is as murky as the rules above and emerged for a variety of disparate reasons. First, we realize that we have too much stuff and are, perhaps as older parents who like to buy things (especially the parent who works!), always thinking of things to get the kids. But we want to discourage the "greedy gimmes," and have the kiddos understand that sometimes they need to earn their things and not just feel entitled to having everything they want. While still letting them have things. But without real money and an allowance involved, since they don't really understand the value of money yet. Call this a pre-allowance project. Secondly, we were keen to encourage them to let go of things they didn't use and to think about what they really wanted.

But I had real reservations about a). rewarding them for what I feel like they should be doing anyway as healthy, responsible individuals (like brushing their teeth) and as part of the family (like picking up their dirty clothes) and b). using tickets as a bribe for discipline and good behavior, which goes against all my NVC training on respecting the individual, establishing a connection, making requests, communicating, etc (instead of threatening punishment and offering rewards, which is really only short term). While Mrs. Director assuaged my concerns on the former, suggesting that because we all function as a family, we all get to share in some of the family reward and that it's not a one-to-one correlation between, say, unloading the dishwasher and getting the ticket exactly, I'm still hesitant about the latter, especially when they do things just to get the tickets, not because it's "right" or "good."

Sigh.

But as Mrs. Director points out, this works now--and it does, by "works" I mean curbs our propensity for stuff and encourages positive, responsible behaviors--but it won't work later so we'll try something new then. Frankly, I like the multifacetedness (I know, not a real world) of the plan.

Still, I try to do our jackal and giraffe talks (a la NVC) as the opportunity arises, encouraging talks about feelings and needs and how these are met and unmet as we interact.

Right before I give out the tickets!

Eureka!

I've got it: homemade, almost-natural, Russian Spice Tea. Jumping off from a Cooking Light recipe I found, I have created my closest rendition yet to that childhood, Tang original.

Try this:

Mommy Hungry's Own Russian Spice Tea

1 cup boiling water

1 Lemon Zinger tea bag

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 cup orange juice

1/2 teaspoon (or less) sugar (I had raw)

I have a Keurig, so I just used the tea bag in the machine and had it drip into all the other ingredients mixed in a cup. WOW! Even Mama says it's pretty close. The right color, the right, well, grit, the right smell, almost the right taste sans all those chemicals and fake flavors.

And just in time for the cold/allergies that seem to have taken over my head (caused by my own hubris, as I was caught saying this weekend that the next time I am sick or injured, I don't want it to affect my mobility--head cold, broken arm, whatever--just so I can stand, sit, and walk. Well, here we go with that head cold. Hope these things don't come in threes).

Enjoy the tea!

Sad Again, But Not Surprised

And when candidates for high public office, this time Carl Paladino, running for Governor of New York, can say this and be applauded:

“That’s not how God created us,” he said, reading from a prepared address. "I just think my children and your children would be much better off and much more successful getting married and raising a family, and I don’t want them brainwashed into thinking that homosexuality is an equally valid and successful option — it isn’t."

And then, to applause from the group at Congregation Shaarei Chaim, he said: “I didn’t march in the gay parade this year -the gay pride parade this year. My opponent did and that’s not the example we should be showing our children,”

. . . we wonder why kids are killing themselves and nine men in the Bronx tortured three gay men for hours.

And Paladino swears he's not "homophobic."

My goodness then, what is he?

Thank You: The Last Supper

While I am not done with the thank-you posts (mainly waiting on recipes), tonight was our last meal from a friend, fittingly prepared by Mama Teacher, who organized the whole thing. She came over for a playdate, bringing her delicious winter vegetable soup as well as waffle makings for the kids. And she was game to try a new quick bread recipe with me to go with the soup.

After chatting for a bit, we got to work. Or, she did. We assembled the Quick Whole Wheat and Molasses Bread from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything, though under duress I switched baking powder for soda (no worries, really, it came out well enough when I doubled the powder). It smelled great while we reheated her delicious soup and she got to work on waffles.

And then we chowed down. The kids inhaled the waffles, with each of them putting chocolate chips in each square. Bud then lathered his with strawberries and syrup. Mama Teacher and I started with hearty soup (realizing pureeing half of it would be an interesting idea for thickening it) and bread, which was good with butter. Then we had dessert waffles, just like the kids, except with whipped cream too.

Did I mention the bacon? The kids ate an entire package of bacon, though Mama Hungry arrived home in time to help polish it off. And soup and waffles too.

All in all, it was a delightful way to finish off our run of free meals and to celebrate my continuing recovery with a friend.

Thank you, Mama Teacher.

And we'll get your waffle iron back to you soon!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Quick Whole Wheat and Molasses Bread

Makes: 1 loaf

Time: About 1 1/4 hours, largely unattended

A super all-purpose bread that’s heartier and more flavorful than most, and relatively light for a 100 percent whole grain bread. It also makes excellent sandwiches, especially when toasted.

Oil or butter for the pan

1 2/3 cups buttermilk or yogurt or 1 1/2 cups milk and 2 tablespoons white vinegar (see Step 2) [I had buttermilk powder and water, which seemed to work just fine]

2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1/2 cup cornmeal

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 cup molasses

1. Heat the oven to 325°F. Grease an 8- × 4-inch or 9- × 5-inch loaf pan.

2. If you’re using buttermilk or yogurt, ignore this step. Otherwise, make soured milk: Warm the milk gently to take the chill off—1 minute in the microwave is sufficient—and add the vinegar. Let it rest while you prepare the other ingredients.

3. Mix together the dry ingredients. Stir the molasses into the buttermilk. Stir the liquid into the dry ingredients (just enough to combine), then pour into the loaf pan. Bake until firm and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 1 hour. Cool on a rack for 15 minutes before removing from the pan.

Mark Bittman, How to Cook Everything

My New Guilty Pleasure

Alright, I really like our new big tv.

But that's not my main guilty pleasure: I am addicted to watching "Tudors" on it. When the kids are gone, I'm watching episode after episode. And no, it's not all that straight sex that interests me, or even the historical story (in the sense of history, because it is only loosely, very loosely, historical) but the historical trappings. Seriously. I love the dresses and the doublets, the heavy furniture and gilt furnishings, the castles and carriages, the music and the merriment.

Sure, for me now, it's Renaissance England, as in the past it has been ancient Greece and Rome, colonial America, or Georgian/Regency/Victorian London. Anything before the mid-20th century.

Call it "period porn." I can't get enough.

Hope

I haven't known what to write about the rash of suicides of gay youth, most notably that of the student at Rutgers. It saddens me, though it does not surprise me. Despite huge strides in GLBT acceptance, or probably because of them, there is also vocal and vehement oppositions to GLBT people. It is often difficult even as a secure, confident adult lesbian with a loving partner and supportive family living in a GLBT-friendly state with actual marriage and adoption rights to withstand and turn the tide on the torrents of hatred that frequently swirl around the greater society. Teens, who are only just forming their identities, especially those living in less-friendly locales, are vulnerable, overwhelmed, scared, even hopeless. Dan Savage, Ellen Degeneres, and other celebrities seek to reassure these kids that life can and does get better. And it does.

I grew up not far from Cypresswood, TX, where a 13 year-old gay boy killed himself recently. When I was a teen there, just the rumors of gay and lesbianism, whispered with sly glances in the hallways, were enough to ostracize classmates. My best friend, a lesbian, about whom much was said, found refuge in the girls' basketball and softball teams, with other lesbians, including the coaches. And I, who was not so much a questioning youth, as the saying goes, but a clueless one (with more girl crushes than I can count, only two platonic "boyfriends," and a kiss with that best friend!), more interested in schoolwork than in boys or girls, avoided trouble in that very asexuality, which took years to shed. I was one of the very lucky ones.

But there is hope. And I saw it down the street yesterday. The niece of a neighbor, a teenaged girl who had realized early that she was a lesbian, now out and proud and happy and embraced by all around her. She's our future. The little kids playing around and with her, and knowing me and Mama, accepting us all as little kids do, whether they become gay or straight, are our future. And so GLBT adults, and perhaps even those lucky teens with family and friendly support, and those who love us, must continue to model acceptance and to resist those who so loudly say otherwise so that those without hope will know that they are accepted too.

Mommy, Invisible: Making Matters Worse

While I was not actually all that offended by being ignored by my five-year old this morning because I recognize (and was repeatedly told that by the preschool teachers) that kids behave oddly when their parents come to school (even though I recall being thrilled and proud when my mom was there), I did think it was necessary to remind her that, according to all the beliefs we hold (UU: worth and dignity of all people; kung fu creed: respect; and, school pledge: take care of others), we acknowledge and greet people we know when we see them.

And she said, "But I didn't see you, Mom."

Uh-huh.

I tower above her, was less than a foot away, and she practically had to turn away her whole torso to avoid me.

Now we can add deception to disrespect.

So, what do the teen years hold for me if this is kindergarten?

I love that girl, I really do.

Sigh.

Mommy, Invisible

I didn't think it would happen so early: my daughter disowned me this morning.

I was at the school for a literacy volunteer meeting and ran into the kindergarten classes as I was leaving (more on that in a minute). I saw Sis and said hi.

And she turned away.

Because the girl in front of her knew me and stopped to smile and wave, the line stopped. But Sis still wouldn't say hi.

Then I heard, "Hi Mom!" from behind me. Bud was smiling and waving.

Sigh.

In fact, the reason I was rushing out the door at all is because they were riding the bus home and I needed to beat it back here. Sis was adamant about taking the bus with her friends, while Bud was willing to go with me and do something fun. But with Sis on the bus, I knew there would be no time for fun as we raced home to meet her, so I encouraged him to ride the bus too.

Sigh, again.

And since I'm going to be at the school probably about once a week, I can replay these scenarios over and over.

Will it get better, you think?

Thank You: For Today

A huge thank you to Ar-Ma, who took care of Sis and Bud while we went into town to the doctor's appointment today. She braved city traffic to be here in Connecticut before the kids left for school and was then here to meet them afterwards. She repaired Shirt's new holes, made lunch, and played for hours until we made it back from the city through lots of traffic. And then she drove home through that traffic herself for two hours. Thank you, Ma.

8 Weeks

Today, eight weeks after herniating my disc, I went to the doctor and am, in many senses, healed. He has taken me off all meds and not yet assigned me to any physical therapy, wanting to see me in a holding pattern of walking 45 minutes a day and refraining from sitting as much as possible, to see where I'm at and where that takes me, which will lead us to where we go next.

And I feel . . . . scared, exhilarated, relieved, nervous. To say that the meds and PT were a comforting safety net would be an understatement. Crutch, maybe? So I'm nervous to be on my own after 8 weeks. But I'm doing it. Starting tonight. Of course, in reality, I'm still very much under a doctor's care, which is reassuring--I'm supposed to call the minute something changes. And if it does, I have faith in him that we will have options on how to proceed in an effective and timely manner. But he seems hopeful (I won't say "certain") that, with walking and 2000 mg of fish oil everyday, I'm through the worst of it (I'll add, so as not to tempt fate, "for now.")

Here I go . . . .

PTArrrgggggghhhh!

I went to my first PTA meeting last night.

And frankly, I was appalled.

Now, as I see it, meetings have two functions: to disseminate information and to make decisions (organize, plan, decide, vote, whatever, usually after some committee has worked on and then presented an issue if the meeting group is a large one).

But if less than 10% of your population shows up, is a meeting really an effective way to do either?

For two hours, we a). received information that they said they would then send out via email and newsletter anyway (and in this case advance notice held no advantage, really) and b). didn't make any decisions, despite needing to approve the budget, which came up for a vote, with lots of discussion, then a motion and a second (after one of the officers said we should try Robert's Rules and then no one in charge knew how), but then everyone got too distracted AND FORGOT TO ACTUALLY HOLD THE VOTE!!!

There was a ton of other discussion--all of which should have taken place in committee or one-on-one or in email--with Maria getting a great fundraising idea but then Ann noting that she had already researched and found it untenable (and why was that, could Ann explain?) and then Lucia wondering why we aren't doing something the way we did last year because she liked last year when she ran it and didn't like the new idea but wasn't going to help out and Tasha asking Susie why she hadn't received the email about the field trip that was cancelled (and why was that, exactly?). Yadda yadda yadda. Ad infinitem et ad nauseum. Forgive my internalized misogyny, but it all sounded like a disorganized hen house.

And I was starting to feel wolfish.

When the conversation veered into a discussion about one or another meeting that may or may not have been held five or so years ago on some topic or another, totally unrelated to the business at hand, I finally raised my hand, "I'm sorry but I'm new and I'm lost. Are we even following the agenda?"

ARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

No wonder, as the officers will tell you themselves, that the first meeting is the longest and best attended . . . . AND NO ONE COMES TO ANY OTHER MEETINGS.

Ponyo Noodles

There is a scene in Ponyo where the mom comforts the children, wet from the storm, with bowls of instant noodles.

It's Sis and Bud's new favorite dish, "Ponyo noodles," they call it (it's also one of their favorite movies). And that being a Japanese animated film, of course, I use ramen. And just like the mom in the film, I let it soak for 3 minutes in the boiling water and add special ingredients. I always slowly stir in a beaten egg (a la Chinese egg drop soup, another of their favorites) and also various vegetables like frozen corn (which also serves to cool those burning hot noodles) or chopped broccoli, inspired by the way Mama Hungry ate instant noodles as a child, meaning you always add whatever you have on hand to it (because, mind you, this is in no way an original recipe. And actually not how the mom in the film makes it). The kids have even added torn pieces of deli ham! Because Ponyo loved ham . . . . I use more water and less of the salty spice packet than called for, but the kids hardly notice as they slurp up their favorite lunch.

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Ponyo Noodles

1 packet of instant Japanese noodles (though, we like the Korean ones too! And in a pinch, vermicelli and a cube of chicken bouillon suffices, but then you have to boil the pasta according to directions!)

1 egg, beaten

2 1/2-3 cups water

vegetables of your choosing (corn, peas, mixed, broccoli, even a Chinese stir fry mix, whatever your kid will eat)

Boil water as directed. If using raw vegetables, place in water from the beginning. Otherwise, add frozen vegetables at the end. When water has reached rolling boil, slowly pour egg in and whisk vigorously. Then add noodles (break them up in the package carefully for easier eating) and spice packet (as much as you want). Soak for 3 minutes. Add frozen veggies, which will immediately cook and simultaneously cool the soup. Feel free to add other additions--cooked chicken, edamame, wontons/dumplings (if frozen, add at beginning and boil with water), deli ham! Enjoy!

Mommy Hungry

A New Spice

I love Russian Spice Tea (or is it "spiced"?), you know the totally American concoction featuring Tang, instant iced tea powder, lemonade powder, sugar, ground cloves, and cinnamon. I can smell it, taste it, even see the funky brown-orange color of the powder and the sludge of undissolved spices in an emptied cup, even though it's been years since I've had some.

And I'm craving it. Except without all those highly processed ingredients.

So, I've begun an experiment: real, natural, non-instant, Russian Spice Tea. Totally unlike but very similar to the one Mom used to make.

Thus far I have:

2 cups water

2 bags Constant Comment tea (wish I had one Lemon Zinger or Lemon Lift)

1 cinnamon stick

5 cloves

1 tablespoon sugar

Combine, bring to boil, remove from heat, steep.

. . . and it tastes nothing like it whatsoever. I'll have to keep trying. Maybe lemon and orange zest? Orange juice? More of the spices? Ground instead of whole? Black tea? Honey instead of sugar? More sugar?

Is this even based on a real Russian tea? If so, I haven't found it yet . . . . but I'm going to keep trying.

Until then, the "real" recipe is below.

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Russian Spice Tea

1 cup instant tea (lemon-flavored, optional)

1 cup powdered lemonade

1 cup Tang

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves

If pre-sweetened ingredients are used, no additional sugar is needed. If not, add 1 cup sugar. Store in sealed container. Use a few teaspoons per cup of boiling water. Adjust to taste.

Gommie Hungry

Radical Horticultural Hospitality

In my walks outside, that is before I sprained my ankle, I have been contemplating grass, specifically my yard. Which is not, mind you, predominantly grass: there is clover, dandelion, ivy, wild violet, some varieties (at least two) of grass, and lots of other green stuff. And I realized what you could call it, besides Green, sustainable, environmentally-friendly: hospitable. Yep, we welcome anything that will grow in our yard with open arms (heavens, we don't even kick out fallen leaves or branches!). Anything, that is, that can make do with the soil that is there and the rain that falls. Which might negate the hospitable part, actually, since we don't feed or water or comfort anything much, unless conditions (read "July 2010") really are unbearable. Call it tough love, then. I know I could embrace the whole organic landscaping thing and use natural fertilizers, etc., but, frankly, these days, I have more things to concern myself with than the yard. Besides, I think I like the idea of "anything goes" in the garden. And the squirrels, mourning doves, bumblebees, butterflies, worms, roly polies, even snakes, seem to like it, as do the kids.

Though, I don't think I'd put out the welcome mat for poison ivy . . . .

Adventures in Cooking Our CSA Share: Sharing the Bounty

Since we aren't doing much cooking around here--thanks be to all of our friends who have brought delicious meals--we are woefully behind in enjoying our CSA box. But it does not go to waste. Mama has found a friend at her office who will not only pick up the box but will take many of the vegetables. And pay us part of the share for the privilege! It's working very well. And Mama made a tasty "kitchen sink" vegetable soup which is perfect for this chilly (mid 50s), damp fall weather. Now if I can just make a loaf of no-knead bread . . . .

46 and Counting

A happy 46th wedding anniversary to my parents today!

. . . a marriage that inspires me not just in length but in love.

Paying the Toll

Bud had set up a toll in the living room.

"Your name is the password," he informed me.

"Jamie," I said.

"No, your real name."

"Mommy."

And he let me through.

Caution is Blowing in the Wind

Yep, throwing aside rationality and doctor's advice, I went out tonight to dinner with a bunch of my playgroup friends. I tried not to sit or stand for too long so I looked like some kind of odd jack-in-the-box, but it didn't hurt either way so . . . yippee! It was great to see everyone and to celebrate the coming of a new baby into our midst in just a week or so.

And those cupcakes were awesome, Mama Teacher!

This Is Getting Ridiculous

Yesterday, while the kids were at kung fu, the fire alarm suddenly went off.

False alarm. No problem.

But the loud noise made me jump (we have a system and it screeches like a banshee).

And I twisted my ankle.

After 24 hours of ice, elevation, and my existing regimen of meds, I went this morning and had it checked. The xray reveals no damage to the bone.

It's just sprained.

For which I am grateful.

And I'm wearing an air cast and not supposed to stand on it.

After working so hard to get to the point where I could stand when I wanted to.

At least it's not a bad sprain, I hope, because I can stand and walk around without hurting too much.

It'll just be awhile before I can do my 45-minute walk again.

If it isn't one thing, it's another.

Sigh.

Thank You: Going, Going, Almost Gone

Well, Mommy Goose, the food you brought didn't last very long. We all loved it. The kids had two helpings each--the first bona fide casserole Sis has ever eaten! That is a minor miracle. And I loved all the crunchy, cheesy topping that went so well with broccoli (and a faux chicken patty). But the cake, oh, that vanilla cake. Well, suffice it to say, we skipped the salad for tonight! (Though, we're going to need it, too, after tonight!) It was all delicious and much appreciated, as was your too-short (though always enjoyable) visit. Tell Goose that next time y'all can come for longer and we'll go outside.

The Day the Lights Went Out in CT

We didn't actually realize we didn't have power until we went upstairs to watch a little midday tv, something to calm the end-of-week crazies. And then the brand new tv wouldn't work, nor the light on the DVD or cable box.

So Sis and Bud started running around flipping switches. It wasn't just a breaker; the whole house was out. The rain and wind had stopped. We hadn't noticed any transformers blow, heard any trees fall, and if we'd just continued playing airplane flight and then Mommy-is-Queen-with-her-own-spies downstairs, we would never have known.

Not frightened, they were intrigued, as I recall being when we would lose power during storms in Texas. And so we ventured outside to take a survey of whom else had lost power. Bud called this "my serious work" and went from house to house looking for clues that there was power or not. But no tvs were on, no lamps visible; he counted at least 9 dark houses. Our neighbors were gathering outside but no one knew anything. There was talk of the last outtage that lasted six hours, of not opening fridges so food would keep, of hoping the local pizza place had power, of wondering if the weather would hold for grilling. Kids were excited, grownups too, even. Something novel, something different.

And as quickly as it started it was over. Bud saw a lit doorway sconce; could it be solar? But then there was another, and then a garage light on. A neighbor told us the power had just returned. Bud and Sis were downcast . . . and yet hopeful. Even then they then ran to our house and checked all the switches. Even though each light came on, they still wondered if all the power was back. And even though I suggested we could pretend we didn't have electricity, and then even though we started to watch the show we had tried to begin less than an hour earlier, it just wasn't as much fun.

And I remembered clearly that brief sadness when storms would clear, lights would come on, and the temporary suspension of the everyday would end and normal would resume.

I'm BACK!!!!!

Today is a big day for me: I DROVE!!!!

That's right. I got into the car and took myself somewhere!!!!! All by myself.

Even though it was pouring rain.

Even though it still bothers me to sit for any real length of time.

But how could I miss a good book sale?

So I drove to school, spent the morning with the kids, bought myself a cookbook (of course), and then got a chai on the way home.

It was just like old times.

But totally different because it all seemed so new after so long.

Now, let's just see if I can still move tomorrow!

But for today, I'm so happy that I actually burst into tears when I got home successfully!

Thank You: Closer to Fine

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

Indigo Girls, "Closer to Fine"

Mama has played that song for me for more than 16 years, and I think I only now really get it. Maybe it's because I am turning 40. Maybe it's having children. Maybe it's having a spiritual practice. Maybe it's just that I'm not a lyrics person. But last night, watching an Indigo Girls' concert on DVD (on our new, gigantic 32" tv--our 15 year old 15" with picture tube tv just couldn't keep up with technology anymore!) and hearing that song, and really listening to it, I got it. I don't know what I used to think it meant, though it was always one of my favorites. But now I know.

It's questions without answers, different paths on the same journey, a desire to seek and search and know. Except I now believe you can't know. And by not seeking, not believing I can know, I am enjoying the journey more.

At least, that's what it means to me now. Who knows what I will think 16 years from now.

Thanks, Mama, for sharing the music of the Indigo Girls (and the journey) with me all these years: "I took us for better and I took us for worse/And don't you ever forget it."

Thank You: They Liked It!

My kids inhaled last night's dinner, a chicken and broccoli pasta. Not just liked, as they have the others, but gorged themselves on something like 2 lbs of pasta! And they looked for the broccoli . . . to eat it!

And so of course I wrote the friend who brought it, desperately needing to add this one to my repertoire. Because it made us all happy.

She obliged, and so I quote:

I am so glad to hear that the you like the dinner, especially the kids. It is actually a very easy dinner. The chicken was the Perdue short cuts and the broccoli was frozen....now the meal does not sound very glamorous. The sauce is just a quick Alfredo sauce I make. I do not have an exact recipe for it. I just melt butter (approx 1/2 stick) then add about 2 heaping tablespoons of flour. It is just a simple rue...then I pour in milk (try to keep low calorie). This is where I just eye how much I want and how thick it gets. Once it gets to the consistency I like to add Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper to taste. I really just go on how it tastes to see how much seasoning to add.

I know that is not very exact, but just play with it and you can figure it out.

Miss K

Thank you, Miss K!

(Fund) Raisin' Hell

The kids have been in school, what, three and a bit weeks?

And there have been that many fundraisers.

Flowers.

Walk-a-thon.

Wrapping paper, candles, chocolates.

Maybe four, if you count the book fair that will be coming later this month.

We believe in supporting the school, of course, (which is, remember, a public school and thus already supported by our taxes) but are opting for a flat-out donation instead of junk we don't want. At least that way, the school gets 100% of the money instead of just 40%. Though, Sis has her eyes on the gradated star cookie cutters so we could make a stacked cookie tree. That's actually useful. Otherwise, not so much.

We actually had the kids call family members to ask for money for the walk-a-thon, just so they participate somewhat. Beyond the actual 30 minutes of walking in circles. If they raise a certain sum each, they get a t-shirt. So, that's our goal.

Besides, all the funds go to support arts and supplies, programs and such.

It is, of course, too bad that the school isn't fully supported by public funds, but that's a pipe dream these days, and so we help.

And will probably be helping quite often from the pattern thus far established.

Here We Go A-Waffling

It was a waffle morning here on Sunday. Usually, we're a pancake family, but about two months ago, Mama Teacher got to talking about chocolate-chip waffles. Sis was entranced. And so I made them one afternoon for lunch, using the Trader Joe's multigrain baking mix waffle recipe. Chocolate chips added later.

And so we had them again this weekend. And Bud, an aficionado of both fruit and maple syrup, though usually not together, added them to Sis's chocolate chips and inhaled a fair share of the batch. Mama, Sis, and I stuck with chocolate chips--each one in a little square, slowly and gently melting in the crispy heat of the waffles.

At least that's more fun than pancakes . . . .

Thank You: Touched Beyond Words

This morning I have had quite a surprise and am touched beyond words.

But, as a blogger, that doesn't mean I won't try!

Check this out at Sew And Sow Life.

The internet, and social networking particularly, receive a lot of criticism in the press and I have done my fair share of laughing at some iterations of virtual life on the net. But sometimes it is all very real. I know the creative creator behind Sew and Sow Life only through her blog which I found through a mutual friend. I have been inspired by her posts and her pictures, her choice way with few words compared with my, let's call it this morning, voluptuousness. We've exchanged a few emails but never met in person, though I feel an affinity with her through the ether.

And now this. She posted some fabric. I thought it would make a great apron. And now it is. And she's sending it to me! I'm so surprised and amazed and impressed (with the sewing skill) and touched and humbled. And because it's an apron, I'm excited. I have been out of the kitchen for seven weeks tomorrow and am yearning, aching to get back to it.

And now, when I do, I'll have something pretty to wear. It will be a reminder always of the kindness of strangers, so to speak, even though I think of her more as a friend.

Thank you, Karen.

Meditation Pledge: Sunday Sounds

When I walk, I focus on the sights, sounds, and sensations of being outdoors. I had tried to concentrate on the feeling of walking, to make it a true walking meditation, but I find that walking is so challenging for me--I can feel the way I wobble along, with my muscles and bones just not working in concert to move me along, and know that I've always found walking a challenge. That's not to say it always hurts, though sometimes it does, but that I don't walk smoothly or easily. Not only trained doctors and physical therapists notice it right away, but people have asked me why I limp all my life. Now I know why. And if I concentrate on my movement--the feel of my left foot dragging, my right hip pulling, my upper back tightening, my knees slipping backwards, and the way I can never walk straight and can easily stumble on twigs--I start to get stressful, depressed, self-critical. That is not meditative or mindful.

And so I watch and listen. And today I noticed that walking on a Sunday is so different from my weekday walks, when children are being ferried to school and houses being emptied of inhabitants heading off to work; there are lots of waves and quick hellos, maybe a longer conversation with the few stay-at-homers. But otherwise, the neighborhood is still and quiet. Well, of people. Because there are squirrels scurrying around preparing for winter, water flowing in our creek, wind blowing down the leaves. By myself, I notice these things. And how one day it was so muggy that the air was almost visible, and on another how the wind came in refreshing spurts making it almost cold in the shadows of the trees despite the warmth of the sun. And then there's that tree that is gradually turning a wonderful red, and a yellow tree right behind it now. But also a tree--I'm not sure what it is--with it's almost spring-like pink balls of flowers.

But on Sundays, I don't notice nature as much. I see people in their yards, fewer cars going back and forth, kids wandering looking for other kids to play with, adults doing household chores in the garage, families preparing to go out for the day. There was even a chorus of various dogs singing to one another because they are happy to be out in the yards. And then all these disembodied voices coming from open windows--the sound of a mom yelling at her child to get ready, the theme song of a tv show starting, a couple searching around the house trying to find some lost thing, a general murmur from kitchen windows as the breakfast dishes are cleaned.

I like hearing the neighborhood alive.

But I like being alone too. And I'll miss it this week because it looks like it's going to rain for five days straight.

But, who knows, that'll be something new and I might enjoy walking in the rain. I wonder how that will change the neighborhood?

Our Sympathies

Our friend, Mrs. Director, has had three losses in her family this week. Our love, thoughts, and prayers go out to her and her family during this very sorrowful time.

TWWWWWWWWIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSS IIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNN SSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Read the title thinking "The Muppet Show!")

I have some preliminary observations and experiences with twins in separate classes at school, albeit classes that see each other sometimes, including recess.

• Sis is completely jealous that Bud got homework the second week! And even though she got homework (or "home fun," a non-required packet of activities, usually on the letter of the week) by the third week . . . .
• She is now upset that he's one letter ahead! "He's going to know more things than me!"
• Competition: they have the same teachers for "specials" on the same day, but it's not always the same. This week, the art teacher showed Harold and the Purple Crayon videos (don't get me started) to the class before having them draw what Harold draws (sigh). And what did the kids have to say? One saw 3 videos, one only 2.
• And he got to do the computers first!
• And be line leader!
• But her class has a "pet" monkey and a frog to dress up depending on the weather.
• And she got to be "helper" with the morning meeting.
• And you should see them doing that homework together--looking at the other's worksheets, giving the answers uninvited, wanting to switch assignments.
• But they do like it when they find out they read the same book or played the same game. And trip over each other to talk about it.
• Or find out that one teacher uses bells and the other has hand signs.
• Not so great when one class did something the other didn't, like recess.
• Because recess presents a whole other problem--they simultaneously do and don't want to play together. "She's playing the 'monster' game. She won't swing. And I won't play monster." "He only swings! He should play monster. Because I'm not going to swing."
• But they love waving to each other as they pass in the hall on the way to and from specials.
• And get this: one wants me to come shop during the book fair, the other wants to do it all alone. Guess who!

So, what it boils down to is that twins at school are just like twins at home, jealous and competitive if they aren't the same and different simultaneously. It is challenging enough to accomplish "separate but equal" at home; it's impossible at school.

But there is a good part: listening to them discuss and compare their days, especially when they delight, instead of disagree, in the retelling.

Games We Play

Now that I can stand for long periods of time, we've been playing some new games:

• Revolutionary War: We had been looking at a book on the Met with its Washington Crossing the Delaware and Bud decided he wanted to play. I was in charge of paddling, while Bud looked presidential. "Is this when he was president?" Bud asked. And so I explained all about the war of independence. And how there were battles very near here, with Washington passing nearby on the King's Road several times. "Can we find arrowheads?" he wanted to know. And I explained they used bullets and cannons, which didn't interest him much since swords and bows are his favorite weapons. Which is just fine with me. So we rowed--though he noted it was daylight and not snowing, just like in the picture, which we had read was historically inaccurate--then set up camp under our pine, where Sis, who is our chef, set up a campfire and made chocolate. Then the General discovered that sometimes the foot soldiers weren't fed well so he wanted snack and didn't want to share. He was overruled. We made a map of the area, with the Delaware River and Trenton, NJ, then set up our defenses at our rock wall, where Bud did build a cannon to fire at our redcoat neighbors. He was very happy to learn that Washington was "on our team" and won the war. Just when you think your precocious children have a grasp on the finer points of history, you realize they're just five years old.
• Han Gan: Han Gan was a real painter who lived in China centuries ago and was famous for the realistic horses he created. There is a story book, The Horses of Han Gan, which delights us with its tale of the horse in the painting that came to life but then chose to return to a painting. Bud loves this book, with both the Chinese and artistic themes. And so this afternoon, we played "magic paint brush" with the kids as sibling artists in China who could paint pictures that came to life (Bud drew, Sis painted). But instead of being a warrior requesting a valiant steed for battle, as in the book, I was a Silk Road traveler who would benefit from a magical horse that didn't need food, water, or rest. Then we all road magic horses around.
• Jackson Pollock: We also saw some action painting in that Met book and the kids concluded our outdoor period today with splatter painting all over the deck, the patio door, the deck furniture, each other, and, yes, some paper.
• Wizard Battle: I am a wizard who lives on the deck; they are wizards who live in the little house. Using our stick wands, we hurl spells at each other, like "Ickle, Tickle, You're a Pickle" or "Ala-ka-zam, Ala-ka-bam, I'm going to turn you into a ham." Then after several spells, we become friends.
• Doctor: Yay, my favorite game these days. Sis was my mom and Bud was the doctor, who tested every bit of me, including my sense of smell. "Mom" read a catalog and then filled out a form for the doctor and promised me a book when it was over, though she did think the appointment took too long.
• Escaped Zoo: An old favorite, where the kids--this time as a penguin and a bear--live in a zoo and I'm the keeper. Every night while I sleep, they escape, a la Goodnight Gorilla, and it's my job to round them up. They thought it was hysterical that I kept capturing them right outside their door. Then morning comes, I feed them and give them a check up, visitors come and go, and we start all over.
• Penguins on the Ice Floe: This developed out of the zoo game, as I finally succumbed and decided to lie down on the bed. The bed became an ice floe and I was the mother penguin. Soon my children penguins and all of our cousin and friend stuffed penguins came to join us. While I rested, Bud and Sis Penguin gathered up all the cat toys and decided they were fish for us, so they would throw them off the floe, feed them to us, and then throw them back in the water. Later, they gathered them in socks and determined they could sell the fish packets to other penguins, $1 a fish. They had a blast calculating how much each sock was worth--mine were the most.
• And, just now, Tooth Fairy: I was the kid and my "mom" and "dad" created a room for me, complete with nightstand for my glasses, bookcase, and hat rack (?!). Then, a cat toy stood in for my tooth and the Tooth Fairy gave me a strawberry coin. When I got up, I was fed soup from the cauldron for breakfast and now I'm at school . . . on the computers!

Those, in addition to a lot of drawing, frequent puzzle-piecing, some game-playing, and a bit of reading, are what we do these days. Not bad for not sitting or leaning or lifting.

Mea Culpa

We can't find Sis's library book.

And today is library day.

If you don't bring your book back, you don't get to take a book home.

Of course.

Of course, devastating, stressful, anger-producing, guilt-inducing.

And that's for the parents.

Because we feel it's our fault that we couldn't find that book.

I mean, life is kinda chaotic these days and we're not totally on top of things yet.

Which filters down.

That's the hard part.

We even have a place for library books. But at some point, it didn't get there. Because of Sis? Us? All of the visitors who have kindly helped us straighten the house each day?

Who knows.

And it doesn't really matter right now, at least for that book.

And I think we're all kinda suffering from it today.

Thought for the Day

From Tuck Everlasting, a book by Natalie Babbitt, which I just saw as the 2002 Disney film:

"Don't be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don't have to live forever, you just have to live."

Thank You: Charmed

As in, three's a charm:

• Thank you, Miss S, for the delicious white bean lasagna but especially for the sugar cookies which delighted all the neighbor kids who came to play.
• Thank you, Miss K, for the meal you brought, even though you kept apologizing. The quiche was tasty!
• Thank you, Miss B, even though we haven't even eaten your meal yet--but I love how you used TJ's eggplant rounds to make a pasta dish. And those palmiers look great!

The blessings and treats continue, for which we are very grateful.

A Problem with Being Home Alone

I love to listen to LOUD music.

And so when the kids are gone, I do.

The stuff I can't play when they're here, like Gwen Stefani's unexpurgated "Hollaback Girl."

The problem right now?

I also like to dance.

And I REALLY shouldn't be wiggling my butt these days.

Meditation Pledge: Falling for Fall

As I try to spend more time moving, most of my meditation these days takes the form of walking medtiation--I have had enough of lying down and just can't yet sit. This morning was beautiful, cool at 61F with a breeze wiggling the green leaves in the maples that form a tunnel through which I walk. But there is one tree in our neighborhood that is already turning colors, just a little bit, at the top, where the tree faces east. It's always the first tree, probably because it is the tallest and first to greet the morning light and thus first to realize that the days are growing shorter.

Thank You: IOU

Mama turned to me last night as we were discussing our plans for today, "You know, I did all that stuff when you were hurt. Got your meds, got your food, got you dressed. And I didn't mind. But now, you're making me take the kids to church for the Sunday-school kick-off with community-building activities and get-to-know-you games. For three hours. Now you owe me."

And it's true, I do. And, as she said, probably the most for this last one. Because if there is anything our poor shy and introverted (she's all the way "I" on Myers-Briggs) Mama really doesn't like is forced or contrived sociability.

Thank you, Mama. For all of it.

And I promise, Mama, I walked and meditated while you were gone so I can get back in the pew as soon as possible, which is where I'll be glad to be.

Because I'm an "E."

The Puzzlers

Mama and the kids have started another puzzle. No, not the 100-piecers that Ma and Gong bought them yesterday.

A 500-piecer. Of our favorite "map" of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Luckily, Mama bought a puzzle mat.

'Cos I don't think they're going to finish it before church this morning.

Not Taking a Plunge

I was supposed to be somewhere today that I had wanted to be for months, if not longer: a mother's retreat with Karen Maezen Miller. But healing didn't happen fast enough, though healing I've been doing. And so I have marked today with a walking meditation in the beautiful, crisp, fall morning, stopping and interrupting my meditation to talk to all the neighbors who were similarly enjoying the morning. Ma and Gong are here visiting with the kids, going to kung fu and to lunch, which means great fun for them, a bit of a rest for me. Not a bad day to spend the day, even if it isn't at all what I had planned. But I'm practicing being okay with that and with everything else.

Baby 'R Y'all

Today is Aunt Banana's baby shower, for little Cousin Hungry who should be here around Thanksgiving. It sounds like it's going to be great fun and everyone is excited. Have a great time!

Drama Denoument

The drama that was went nowhere.

School was fine for Sis yesterday and she even rode home with one of the friends in her class.

Said same friend, whose mom I know, even came over for a playdate midday.

Crisis averted.

For now.

Thank You: Stop!

Mama Teacher is tired of my saying thank you all the time. "Stoooop," she declares, as I thank her for:

• organizing meals from our playgroup
• visiting several times when I was stuck in bed
• bringing muffins and cookies and lunch for the family
• checking in via calls and emails
• and, just last night, coming for a playdate, entertaining the kiddos, fetching pizza dinner, and then cleaning the kitchen and straightening the house
• plus, she still says she's going to cook us a dinner

Okay, I'll stop saying thank you.

I'll just start buying presents! ,)

But seriously: thank you, Mama Teacher.

I Love Goodbyes

We have a new family ritual.

Because I am not taking the kids to school in the morning for now, I have the unique experience of saying goodbye to them as they drive away, something that has only happened very rarely in the last 5 years. When I have left them, it's usually with my leaving and their staying, like at home with their favorite Babysitter or at preschool. And that kind of face-to-face leave-taking involves our traditional ET-like finger "beep" with the "honk" response. Don't ask, I don't know.

But now we have a whole hand-waving system. There are, at first, lots of open palm waves that would exhaust any member of the royal family quickly (no "elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist-wrist" here). Then we start waving our "I love you" sign, just as I've always waved goodbye to my Aunt P who taught me sign language. Except the kids sometimes have trouble with that. There are lots of "Hook'em Horns," which is fine because Aunt Banana is an alumna (sorry, no . . . whatever the OU sign is, Uncle Soccer). And today, Bud shot me the bird.

Neighbors must wonder if we're waving goodbye for eternity because this whole scenario lasts for long minutes as they get buckled in, Mama gets settled, and they finally back out and drive away. But I love seeing their smiling faces as they head off to school and their exuberant waves as we say goodbye.

As the Bus Rolls

We've had our first bit of school drama.

Involving Sis and two girls at school.

Apparently, they're all friends. Sis has played with both and even both together, I gather. But yesterday, the other two didn't play with Sis, wouldn't sit with Sis on the bus. And she came home distraught, unable even to say what was wrong. It was over lunch that the hurt and sadness came spilling out.

And then what can you say?

Ask to play. Keep trying. Be friendly to them, even if they aren't to you. It's not you. There are other people to play with. You can be friends with more than one person. We love you. It's going to be okay.

It all sounds so lame. Even to her 5-year old ears.

So I checked in with my teacher friend and another friend with a first-grade girl. The latter said, and I quote, "Girls can be such bitches." (And, heaven help me, that's not what I'm saying these two girls at school are!) She said her daughter went through about 8 months of such friend drama, almost the whole kindergarten year, but that it has lessened somewhat. Mama Teacher, while not quite as colorful, said the same thing: in her first grade classes, inevitably, the girls start having these social issues but it never touches the boys. She recommended talking about how words and actions can hurt and to encourage Sis to tell them that they hurt her feelings when they wouldn't play with her (which Mama Teacher acknowledged is very, very hard for a child--hell, even for adults--to do). If it persists, she suggested to at least alert the teacher who could then be able to step in or redirect or encourage or advise. I hadn't wanted to be that helicoptering but if Sis comes home crying again I might just give the teacher a heads up. Not to force those other girls to play--that is both counter-intuitive and counter-productive--but to guide Sis in coping, to help her perhaps find someone else. Because that was Mama Teacher's last word, though she acknowledged that you can't really say it, and I paraphrase, "If they don't want to be your friend, screw 'em. You don't want to be their friend."

I'm actually friends with one of the moms and wouldn't know how to broach the subject, even if I thought that was a good idea, which I don't. Especially because, no doubt, the tables will be turned soon, if not today, then next week. It's just how such playground things go, if memory serves (though, I also don't remember the pain lasting longer than a day or so--at least until junior high, when it seemed to last forever!). I'm not even convinced that at this age it's personal. They're just trying out roles, learning how to be friends, figuring out what to do.

It's just a really steep learning curve.

Especially when it's your daughter at the bottom.

(Though, I might even bet it's worse if your daughter is at the so-called "top.")

Shirt, Explained

About leaving him home: "I don't have time to sniff him during the day anyway."

Reflecting on leaving him home: "It feels good to be a big girl."

Birth Dad

The little girl turned to Sis and Bud, "Where is your daddy?"

And they just stared at her.

It's not that we haven't discussed their parentage as a family before. Over and over again, we've explained that there was "a nice man who helped us have a baby. But we never met him." And that they have two mommies. And that some kids have two daddies. And some kids live with one parent or even someone else like a grandparent or guardian. But most kids have a mommy and a daddy. And it's all okay.

But that's a pretty long-winded answer for one kindergartener to give another.

Enter Jamie Lee Curtis and her book Tell Me about the Night I was Born, about a girl who likes to hear how her adoptive parents brought her home. And in the back is a picture of the girl's family tree, with her mom and dad on the same line with her birth mom and birth dad.

Birth dad.

That's it. An easier, simpler answer about the anonymous sperm donor whom we only know by number who helped us have the kids. Birth parents are common concepts in adoption circles. And while I usually think of terms like mom or dad as familial and not purely biological concepts, I think it could work. And then the kids can answer any questions about dads with "Yes, I do have a birth dad. But I live with my two moms," or "My Mama and my birth dad are Chinese." All without having to go into sperm. For now.

So, we tried it out on the kids last night when we re-read Curtis's book. And they liked it just fine.

Now to help them cope when other people don't understand or like that answer . . . .

Thank You: Hey, Now, You're A Rock Star!

One of the biggest superstars in my kids' lives came to our house today. No, no, not the Imagination Movers or Chewbacca or Gommie.

Their preschool director.

For two years when they were in preschool, the kids raved about her everyday. Sis was so proud and pleased that they both shared a love of chocolate. Bud loved to tell her stories. And so when they found out that she was coming to help with drop off and lunch, they were beside themselves: they stayed up until almost 9 p.m. talking about what they would do, what they would show her, even trying to guess what she'd be wearing! And Sis, 2 hours passed bedtime, begged to be able to eat chocolate with her.

And so, there she was when the kids got off the bus today. And they could barely talk as they basked in her glory. But that didn't last long as show and tell and "let's play" kicked in. Mrs. Director even got them to talk about their day, details I hadn't heard, about table toys like blocks and Legos which they play with after announcements and then activity centers like the art table that they go to after that. Then they wanted to play school. As if, having just retired, she would want to be teacher. But they think that's the best game in the world--and they've been playing it--even playing you, Mrs. Director--for the last two years! And I know that is in large part thanks to her. I credit her and her school with encouraging their love of learning and inquiry. And for making so much of the academic work fun. That, and--alert, parental vanity--I think they are pretty well-versed in letters and sounds and numbers and counting etc etc etc. And I believe much of that has to do with her.

Mrs. Director also brought goodies--delicious oatmeal apple cookies which we have already polished off completely during snack time!!!! (yep, I'll be emailing her for that recipe tonight!)--and a yummy looking pasta primavera for dinner. And helped with lunch, which they wolfed down in order to have a chocolate bar with her.

That's okay because a visit from your favorite teacher at your house doesn't happen everyday.

Thank you, Mrs. Director.

(Because even though you're retired, that's how we'll think of you first!)

Thank You: Southern Charm from a Yankee Girl

Who could say no to slow cooker macaroni and cheese from Paula Deen? Not me!

So Monday's dinner was a delight--creamy, gooey, cheesy goodness. Perfect because I've been craving those kinds of foods--chocolate mousse, rice pudding, mashed potatoes, anything mushy.

We also had a productive playdate. Because, see, this particular friend and I are hoping to organize a Girl Scout troop--Daisies, that is--for our kindergarteners. Lots of forms and handouts and things to plan, like crafts and field trips. Right down my alley.

And I'm really looking forward to the year.

Almost as much as that mac and cheese!

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Creamy Macaroni and Cheese

2 cups uncooked elbow macaroni (an 8-ounce box isn't quite 2 cups)

4 tablespoons (1/2 stuck) butter, cut into pieces

2 1/2 cups (about 10 ounces) grated sharp Cheddar cheese

3 eggs, beaten

1/2 cup sour cream

1 (10 3/4-ounce) can condensed Cheddar cheese soup

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup whole milk

1/2 teaspoon dry mustard

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

Directions

Boil the macaroni in a 2 quart saucepan in plenty of water until tender, about 7 minutes. Drain. In a medium saucepan, mix butter and cheese. Stir until the cheese melts. In a slow cooker, combine cheese/butter mixture and add the eggs, sour cream, soup, salt, milk, mustard and pepper and stir well. Then add drained macaroni and stir again. Set the slow cooker on low setting and cook for 3 hours, stirring occasionally.

Paula Deen, Food Network

Thank You: Your Turn is Next!

Vegan black bean soup. Banana bread with no nuts. A crusty baguette. Dinner has arrived! And it smells so good that the kiddos took banana bread with them to kung fu class.

All from a woman, who in just a few short weeks, will be on our list to receive meals--she's having a baby! I'll be cooking by then, for her, for sure.

Thanks, Miss J!

Thank You: Fresh Perspectives

One of my playgroup friends came by with dinner on Monday and stay for a playdate. I hadn't seen her in awhile so it was good to catch up, particularly since she'd had a rough summer herself. Familiar with back pain, she brought me a book on the mind-body connection, one that certainly interests me because of my meditation practice; she says it changed her life. And while I really like my doctor, and his own book on back pain (which has a lot on mind-body), I'm glad for new ideas and viewpoints.

And as we always do, talk veered to child-rearing, school and educational choices, Freudian analysis (she's a social worker into psychoanalysis--and I'd always thought she'd be a behaviorialist!), current political events, playgroup gossip (but not about any of you, of course!). I love how her mind works and hearing everything she's thinking of. And because her field is far away from mine, I learn something new each time (yesterday is was all about enmeshed or disentangled--that wasn't the precise word--family relationships).

And she brought some amazing food. Sure, you'd think baked penne would be, well, fairly predictable (which is fine--mine is predictable AND good!) but not this one. It had this bright marinara with real slices of fresh mozzarella cheese, and fresh basil. Changed my whole way of thinking about baked pasta. I'm going to have to try it myself (alas, no recipe because she bought it--but no shame in that, I say. It was delicious! And I can figure out how to combine such fresh, simple ingredients, I think). And crunchy French bread which they oddly insisted calling "croissant." And then there was salad with edible flowers which completely bowled over the kids. As did the white chocolate cheesecake.

Thanks, Miss J! You're the fresh princess of Fairfield.

Thank You: Manna from Debby

There's a woman at church who has twin granddaughters who reads my blog. I hadn't figured she kept up with it daily, just occasionally, maybe when twin stuff appears (ever so infrequently, though I have a post on twins in school kicking about).

But she must. Because today she called, fully briefed on all the goings-on with my back.

And said she'd made me a treat and could she bring it by this afternoon?

Wow.

And what a treat it was! Double. Like with twins. Because not only did she bring this delicious "oatmeal pudding" with sunflower seeds and craisins (recipe to follow when I can get it typed in), but she stayed for a nice visit.

Thanks so much for the visit and the delicious pudding (which is also good with cream!!!! Which I tried first, before the yogurt), Miss D. Both were a much-appreciated delight.

See you in church soon!

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Breakfast Oatmeal Pudding

2 1/4 cup quick cooking oats or 2 3/4 old-fashioned oats, uncooked

3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar

3/4 cup raisins or dried cranberries

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt (optional)

3 1/2 cups skim milk

4 egg whites, lightly beaten, or 1/2 cup egg substitute (or 3 whole eggs)

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 tablespoon vanilla

3/4 cup sunflower seeds or nuts (walnuts, pecans, etc) optional

skim milk or nonfat yogurt and fruit (optional)

Heat oven to 350F. Spray 8" square pan with non-stick cooking spray. In a large bowl combine oats, brown sugar, raisins/cranberries, nuts, cinnamon, and salt. Mix well.

In a medium bowl, combine milk, egg whites, oil and vanilla; mix well. Add to dry ingredients and mix well. Pour into prepared baking dish. Bake in preheated 350F oven for 45-60 minutes or until center is set and firm to the touch.

Cool slightly. Serve with milk or yogurt and fruit, if desired. Store leftover pudding covered in fridge.

Note: To reheat, place single serving in microwave-safe bowl and cook on high for about 30 seconds. Great warmed and then with yogurt on top!

Miss D

Rise Up: Asked And I Did Receive

Remember my post yesterday about how much I missed baking?

Well, a friend of mine who doesn't read this blog and thus didn't even know I'd sent that wish out into the universe, came over today to help with lunch. She mentioned that she wanted to learn how to make no-knead bread and could I teach her someday? No time like the present. So she and Sis did most of the work, while I gave hints and suggestions. And now I have bread dough to bake for dinner!!!!!! Thanks, Miss B!!!!

P.S. Actually, I gave the bread dough away. I think it was enough just to make it.