This Old Home

It's good to be home.

It's almost 11 pm, and the kids, still on Austin time, and late even then, have just gone to bed.

We got home about an hour ago, deeply inhaling the old wooden house smell that our house gets when it's unopened and un-air-conditioned for awhile and listening to the music of the creaking floorboards.

Buddy pulled out and played every single one of his musical instruments, while Sis reorganized her Animal Rescue Center so that it sits near her pet shop. Mama and I went through the mail and dragged in all the luggage. They then took a long bath, playing with every boat they have, and wanted to read more books than Mama and I had energy for. Then Sis arranged all of her critters, and some of Buddy's, so they could meet the new Orcas from SeaWorld.

Yes, it's good to be home.

Home Sweet Home

We're heading home today, a long day of planes, trains, buses, and automobiles.

Plus Hurricane Dolly going into Brownsville.

It's been a crazy trip to Texas--great wedding and time with family and friends but brutal traveling and heat.

More later, once we're kinda settled again, but some topics:

• Refried Beans, or What a Vegetarian Eats in Austin
• Is 105F too Hot for SeaWorld?
• The Pom-Pom Parade
• Two Seamstresses, One Dress, and an Emergency Trip to David's Bridal

Muchas Gracias

As they say in my native land, thank y'all to Miss T and Miss B for keeping me company on an otherwise trying day. With a lost Shirt and then a trip to the pediatrician, it was a long and challenging day. Thanks for getting me through.

Hiatus

I will be offline and incommunicado for at least the next week or so. No worries, it's wedding time! I promise to tell you all about it when we get back.

Hell

We lost Shirt.

I knew it must be in the house, right? I hadn't taken the kids out when I first noticed it was missing. But then I got distracted, we did go out, and Sis noticed we didn't have it. But when we got home we played outside and then friends come over and though Shirt was still nowhere to be found, I wasn't worried.

But then she asked. And we started looking. And I couldn't find it. T, who was visiting, helped look where I couldn't easily--we lifted mattresses, moved couches, literally tore the house apart.

No Shirt.

For those of you not already panic-stricken, I will tell you about Shirt. Shirt was originally just a hand-me-down blue-and-gold striped jersey with long sleeves and a number 45 patch. It's a 12 month shirt, something Buddy wore when he was less than a year old. And at some point, Sis became attached to it. She liked to sniff it (especially along the buttons), to hold it, to sleep with it. Soon, it went everywhere we did. Except we managed to convince her that it was safer in the car when we went out. Now, though, Shirt even goes in with us but we've only had two other close calls with its disappearance. When Shirt needs a bath, Sis is hysterical. She'll watch it spin in the washer and cry. She sniffs it between washer and dryer and sadly waits for it to get dry. Otherwise, Shirt has the amazing ability to calm and soothe and comfort her. She asks for it when she's angry or tired or hurt. She knows to fetch it from wherever she previously abandonned it if she needs to regroup. It's her comfort mechanism, her special lovey. When we momentarily can't find it and then locate it, she does a great big sniff and sometimes a big smiling dance. If you're lucky, she'll occasionally offer to let you smell it too.

Actually, Shirt is a "he." Not sure why, except that he was her brother's. But he's hers now. She even gets posessive when she sees pictures of him wearing it. But she loves to see pictures of Shirt by itself.

Realizing how important Shirt was, we tried to find backups. We googled the label--it was a Wal-Mart store brand. Ugh, would I give money to them even for a back-up shirt? Luckily, I didn't have to solve that moral dilemma--we figured there was no way the shirt would still be there, a few years later. We looked elsewhere and found several close proximities. These became "cousin shirts," as in related and similar to the original, but not. The original became known as "Real Shirt," i.e. not an impostor, cousin shirt.

We've almost lost Shirt twice before--once at church when I had absentmindedly put it on my shoulder and then couldn't find it. We even made an announcement during service to help locate it. I did. In my bag. I must have equally as absentmindedly dropped it in there for safekeeping. Last weekend, birthday weekend, we took it in for dinner and at some point she handed it to me and I stuck it behind me on the chair. We got home for awhile before we realized it hadn't gotten home too. But they'd saved it. And we got it back before Sis really realized it had been missing. Sometimes, she does go a few hours without it.

Like today. And so we looked and looked and looked and all got increasingly nervous. Sis tried to be brave but every now and then she would mournfully cry out, "Real Shirt." J, who was visiting, was trying to help and repeatedly called out, "I found it." He had located a cousin shirt. There are at least 4 of them.

I called the vet to see if we'd accidentally stuffed it in the carriers when we dropped off the cats for "kitty camp." I called the woman who cleans my house and was here this morning to see if she'd come across it. I was in tears as I imagined never finding it again. I would be the mom who lost Shirt. This would be my worst mommy moment yet. See, I remember losing my special lovey. It was a blanket. At some point I got a replacement blanket which I loved as well and my other blanket was put away. But I still remember the day I went looking for the old beloved and was told it was gone. Devastated. Of all things, I did not want to repeat that with Sis. (Iit really is okay, Mom. I forgave you a long time ago. And now, even more, I see how easily these things happen).

T had to leave, her kids were past their naps and exhausted. She had looked everywhere and we couldn't find it. Mama had been called and would come home in an hour if we didn't find it. This was a real family crisis, without being an actual emergency. And as I stood on the porch, unable even to say goodbye without bursting into tears from the stress, I opened up the seat of the airplane scooter.

And there was Shirt.

The Vet and the Athlete

The themes of the last several days, in addition to birthday and food, have been animals and sports. Sis's world revolves around animals, wild and domesticated, while Buddy is obsessed with sports, moving beyond his usual baseball fanaticism to embrace football and soccer too.

As part of their birthday celebration weekend, Mama took Friday off and we went to the zoo to see the special bird show. Sis was so excited to see live scarlet macaws, owls, and especially the singing parrot, who can perfectly imitate "Old MacDonald." Now, Sis imitates the parrot singing, with a funny way of saying "ei-ei-o." If you live in CT, definitely catch the bird show at the zoo; it's worth it. But it was Bud who was brave enough to give the raven a donation. Sis just watched. And Mama and I wore the little rubber bracelets with "Fly Free" on them. We also saw our usual tour--wolves, tigers, rainforest, otters, etc.--but this time the Andean bears were actually awake! I think that's a first in three years of going! Of course, the best part, as usual, was riding the carousel, which Sis did 3 times and Bud did 1. She gets very excited about which animals she rides, choosing the zebra, gorilla, and panda this time. She noticed that the panda was holding something. "Bamboo," Mama explained. She said she thought it was holding a whistle. And it does sorta look like that.

We picked up Goo after a car nap and went straight for lunch at a Tex-Mex place that Sis has now dubbed the "chip restaurant." She loved the crispy tortilla chips and Bud actually liked the spicy salsa. Then she inhaled some chicken fingers while he ate a whole plate of rice and beans, leaving quesadillas untouched. We treated ourselves to ice cream afterwards, receiving balloons for their birthdays. She got chocolate with M&Ms and he got strawberry with mini gummies. Mama got a special Pina Colada ice and I got tamarind ice, which was wonderfully sweet and sour. No one else wanted any so I got the whole thing to myself. We spent the rest of the day playing outside in the playhouse from Gommie and Pop and in the little pool. Buddy insisted on playing pretend baseball, where we pretend to throw the ball and he pretends to bat and then runs the pretend bases in a homerun. At least there are no balls to chase!

The birthday party was all animals. And Sis loved it. Bud had a good time, but it was Sis who was really in her element (which is fine; he liked last year's outside bubble party much more than she did). They both liked having the undivided attention of Goo and our babysitter, who came to help and help celebrate. (this made it so much easier to set up and talk to the people running the birthday). They got to pet bunnies, a guinea pig, a dove, and snakes. Yay, snakes. Sis was probably the most intrigued--I'm not even sure how many of the other kids touched the animals, though I'm assured by the moms that they had a good time--she even lay on the floor face-to-face through the cage with the guinea pig. The staff of the nature center were impressed by her rapport with them. Sis loves animals. She had, coincidentally, received a play vet kit from us for her birthday. And she proceeded to examine all of her stuffies, finding "wrinkly paws," other ills, and just pets who needed checkups. Even when she played explorer with the kit she got (or was it for Buddy? Sometimes the lines get blurred after the fact), she was looking to rescue animals. No wonder she selected Diego, the Animal Rescuer, as her theme for plates and napkins. And the animal cupcakes--with these wonderful photo transfers of various woodland critters (thanks, T!)--were for her.

Buddy had chosen baseball plates and napkins and had "Yankee symbol" cupcakes. He was so excited to see them! He spent the weekend, when we weren't at the zoo or the nature center looking at animals, or eating Tex-Mex, birthday cakes (including one from Junior's from Goo!!), and ice cream, trying to corral us to play sports with him. We played real and pretend baseball. And then we added other sports because he got this Diego sports pack for his birthday complete with little football and soccer ball (plus bat, baseballs, and glove). So he donned his new Yankees shirt, played baseball, and then switched to football, which he played with Mama and Sis at church. He has even got a good spiral on his pretty accurate throws. And he's slept with that football the last three nights! Mama suggested we get him an orange and white football while we're in Texas. I don't think Uncle Soccer would quite approve. Especially because I suggested we should substitute that for the ring pillow! But hopefully, they can play sports together. Buddy has even picked up on his new uncle's favorite sport, having watched some women's soccer (USA vs Brazil) with us. We ran around the living room trying to kick it under the coffee table, shouting "Goal!" everytime we did. He likes the celebration--running around for his homeruns and dancing with his arms up when he catches a pass are an important part of his game. We'll have to look into going to some local games (though, we did record the home run derby for him tonight, too).

So, a vet and an athlete. Not a bad way to spend a third birthday. They've even decided that those are what they want to be for Halloween. It's easier than a jaguar costume!

Give Me that Old-Time Religion

Now were talking about a difficult thing
And your eyes are getting wet
I took us for better and I took us for worse
Dont you ever forget it
Now the steel bars between me and a promise
Suddenly bend with ease
The closer Im bound in love to you
The closer I am to free
So were okayWere fine
Baby Im here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
Im stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
Well look at them together then well take them apart
Adding up the total of a love thats true
Multiply life by the power of two

Indigo Girls, "Power of Two"



The Indigo Girls' music provides the soundtrack of our relationship. Mama was listening to them long ago and introduced me to their folksy, activist music early on, before we were together. We listen to music differently, though, and I liked many of the tunes, while she focused on the lyrics. She once gave me a meaningul compilation tape of songs and I never realized until being told much later that they were all love songs. D'oh.

And "Power of Two" is one of our favorites, even though Miss Science Mama goes a bit nutsy that you can't multiply by the power of two. Not being a math person, that doesnt' really bother me. I like that the love discussed is not just easy and happy, but has tears. The two people support one another against the monsters. They're in it for better and for worse. This is us. The Girls have played this song at every concert we've ever been to: Suffragette Sessions, Honor the Earth, one at the Chicago Theater, at Ravinia (that place we had a picnic; it doesn't start with a "T" as I remembered), at Radio City Music Hall, and now at the Ridgefield Playhouse last Thursday (I might be missing one concert, I can't recall). And, this being the first time we've been to a Girls concert since the babes were born, several of the songs struck a different chord with me, including this one. Because "two" has a new meaning. Everything has a new meaning. The song opens:

Now the parking lot is empty
Everyones gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk Ive packed
A cooler and a 2-day suitcase
Cause theres a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit were singing
And your hands upon my knee

This used to mean our trip to Galena, IL for Mama's birthday years ago, or other trips we took in the Midwest, like our drive all the way around Lake Michigan to see the lighthouses (we saw something like 22 of them). And we'd play the Girls while we drove, and invariably this song would come on and we'd laugh and I'd put my hand on Mama's knee. Now, we drive around Connecticut not to get anywhere specific but the Land of Nod and we don't listen to the Girls because that would keep sleeping kiddos awake. Things have changed.

Going to the concert on Thursday was like attending an old-fashioned tent revival. For lesbians (because both of the Girls are, though not a couple), feminists, political liberals, environmentalists, social activists (though, here in CT, there seemed to be very few people of color--Mama might have been one of the only ones--and there were lots of straight couples. The dykes were the older, more settled type, I guess like us. This isn't NY or Chicago. The only young one I saw was outside singing her heart out with her guitar afterwards). I told Mama later it was like a big UU pep rally (though, there is no actual affiliation there that I know of, but some much of the sentiment is in line with the principles). The songs they chose to play this round were many of their social action songs like "Let it Be Me" ("Let it be me/If the world is night/Shine my life like a light") and "Hammer and a Nail" (I gotta get out of bed/Get a hammer and a nail/Learn how to use my hands/Not just my head), but also many ballads, including "Deconstruction" ("We talked up all night and came to no conclusion/We started a fight that ended in silent confusion"). So there was this wonderful confluence of the personal and the political that spoke to us, had special relevance to us these days. And on the drive home, finishing off the car picnic we purchased at a market on the way (dolmades, cheese--Wensleydale with honey and fig for me, Stilton and cheddar for Mama--and bread, Orangina--ah, memories of London--and buttery shortbread cookies), we had one of those conversations we don't have much these days because of time and frayed nerves. And it was healing and good.

And then the next day, we put the Girls in the CD player at home and Buddy played his new banjo to "Galileo" and Sis did a dance, while wearing her new adventure backpack. The Girls will make a great soundtrack for a childhood, too.

Oh, My

You know that song from The Wizard of Oz movie about "lions and tigers and bears"?

Here's our new family version:

"Strep and colds and E. coli, oh my!"

You decide what is scarier.

Rain Delay

Like Wimbledon's Men's Final, we had been experiencing a frustrating "rain delay" on the potty-training front.

Then a friend taught me this song on the phone today:

Sprinkle, tinkle, little one.
Going potty is such fun.
Wipe and flush and wash your hands.
Don’t forget to pull up your pants.
Sprinkle, tinkle, little one.
Going potty is such fun!

Sprinkle, tinkle, little dear.
Going potty is nothing to fear.
Sit down carefully, you won’t fall in.
When you’re done, you and Mommy will grin.
Sprinkle, tinkle, little dear.
Going potty is nothing to fear.

Just hearing me talking about the potty with my friend, whose potty-trained child sang the first verse of the song to me, seems to have done the trick.

Both kids asked to use the potty. And succeeded!

Let the game . . . continue!

George and I

Though I can't really identify with the premise of the article about super-rich people's problems with therapy, I did relate, in a way, to the following quote:

"Dr. Seth Aidinoff, a NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital psychiatrist who practices on the Upper East Side and also consults for hedge funds and Wall Street firms, illustrated the consequences with the Saturday-afternoon choice faced by 'your typical master of the universe,' who can either play outside with his 7-year-old or stay inside to complete a business deal on the phone.
'The phone call might involve the most important and interesting people in the world, being well compensated for his time, and the chance to handle it with A-plus skill,' Dr. Aidinoff said. 'Whereas playing with his 7-year-old might be sort of boring, or unsatisfying; his son might not fully express his appreciation, or the child could even be in a bad mood. So this person might find himself terrified of spending time with his child because it’s not an activity he can control or succeed at the high level of accomplishment to which he is accustomed.'"

Okay, I'm not a brilliant hedge fund analyst, nor terrified of spending time with my three-year olds, but I do sometimes miss using the skills I honed in grad school. I know I check my email too much, blog more than I should during the day, or read too many articles in the NYTimes, when I would otherwise be playing with the kiddos. I've always seen myself primarily as an academic, though my life is far from that now (and I was never a brilliant intellectual to begin with), and the computer is my intellectual outlet right now. And everytime the babysitter is here, I go read at the Starbucks.

Right now, I'm reading a biography on George Eliot, whom I think I have a lot in common with, superficially (I'm not a brilliant hedge fund analyst nor a superlative author). According to the bio by Kathryn Hughes, which I'm not nearly done with yet, Eliot, or early in her life, Mary Ann Evans, gave up on her appearance. She wasn't particularly attractive, but she went out of her way to avoid clothes, fashion, and the like (though, it sounds like she studiously tried to be unattractive at times). I remember deciding as a younger person that, being on the larger side of life, and not particularly pretty, I just wasn't going to bother. I don't wear make-up, I couldn't care less about clothes, indeed I think fashion trends to be just another way the patriarchy asserts its misogynist control over women (yes, my anti-fashion stance has taken on a righteous feminist tone. Convincing ourselves that somehow fashion and beauty and sex are our feminine power is just another way we've internalized the patriarchy. There are other, more important powers. Think I'm exaggerating? Read this.). I think sometimes it's the gauntlet I throw down: love me, love my frumpy/granola/unfashionable appearance. Mind you, I'm (usually) clean (that's a challenge with kids), but that's my only beauty standard.

Instead, like Eliot, I turned to academic pursuits. Now, she was translating German and publishing by her early 20s, and, as many have noted, had one of the keenest self-taught educations of the 19th century, so I am way behind, but the similar impetus is there (I do have that Ph.D., a route not available to her at the time--I wonder if she would have bothered?). She was challenging and escaping the strictures of Victorian women's roles, even with a rise in educated women of the middle classes, more than I have to face in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. And when she was kept from the activities of the mind, like when she nursed her aging and then dying father for a few years as his sole caretaker and housekeeper, she sank into a depression. Now, I'm not clinically depressed, but I do get peevish when I can't get online or read or have coherent thoughts. And I realized yesterday, though it seems obvious now, that I can only happily handle about 4 hours of active, sustained, engaged, entertaining mommyhood before I need a break to do something un-child related. I can't imagine going for months at a time like Eliot must have (though, I think, to save herself, she was also translating another book while nursing her father).

Then there's the religious crisis of conscience. She was an extremely devout Evangelical Anglican, which focused on good works and plain living. But as a late teen, she went through what she termed the "holy war," and decided to leave the church (a much bigger deal in English society then than in American society now), seeing Jesus as no more than a model human, certainly not divine, and the whole premise of the dogma of the church, i.e. its stance on salvation, as misguided. I, of course, had a short but intense stint in the local Southern Baptist church, and became an atheist, recently turning to Unitarian Universalism. Many of Eliot's friends were Unitarians (the religions were separate then) and I can't quite recall why she didn't embrace what would seem to be a religion fit for her (except it was more Christian then than now). I need to re-read the section on religion and I'm looking forward to more information on her social justice and political stances.

Hughes even identifies one of Eliot's relationships with a woman as being beyond the usual close friendships women had at the time. In her correspondence Eliot compares their relationship to having a husband and uses the erotically-charged language of the Song of Songs. Of course, Eliot was known to fall in love with everyone she met (she apparently had several male lovers and numerous unrequited crushes), but it's interesting that "everyone" includes women.

So, I'm not living with a married man, nor taking a male name, nor experiencing what looks likes waves of depression (would we call her bipolar today?), nor publishing some of the most remarkable novels in the English language, but I feel an affinity with this woman, so far, and can't wait to finish the biography.

Which brings me to a question: if George Eliot were alive today, would she have a blog?

More S'mores

Did you know you can make s'mores in the microwave?

Yep, place a graham cracker on a paper towel in the microwave, add a piece of chocolate and a big marshmallow, then heat for 10-15 seconds, or until marshmallow "puffs up."

It's not quite girl scouting around a campfire but it tastes pretty good (though, I tend to like my marshmallows a little charred).

I bought the ingredients on sale at the grocery yesterday (leftovers from the 4th, I guess) to use for a picnic in the kiddos' new playhouse, an early birthday present from Gommie and Pop.

And today, we made the s'mores and headed outside to the playhouse for our picnic. As usual, Sis ate the crunchy crackers but not the sticky, messy inside (can't get those hands dirty!) and Buddy didn't eat any of the final product. I had one but it's not quite as good as the real thing.

But playing in the playhouse is great. Bud call's it his "Chinese food house" and he serves "gummies, sandwiches, and Chinese food" (which we had a lot of this weekend, since it was the only thing that tempted them to eat. She likes the fried wonton "chips" and he likes the duck sauce, on anything). Then they played "come inside because it's raining." They go out, realize it's raining, then go inside, shut all the doors and windows, and wait. Then they go out again. Ad infinitem. Sometimes I crawl in (the house is "big" at 4 x 4', the largest puffy plastic playhouse on clearance at Toys R Us that we could find) and wait out the rain while eating Chinese food. They love talking on the play phone--something every playhouse must have, I guess--as well as pretending to take books off the shelf decals and, now, roasting marshmallows over the fire decal.

It's a pretty neat house. I don't think they had these when I was a kiddo, but I made do with picnic tables and swingsets and bushes, managing to play wonderful games of Little House on the Prairie and Star Wars. In fact, one of my earliest "pretend" memories (and also earliest tv memories) is of playing Speed Racer, as Trixie, on the blue and white striped (or was it the yellow one??) swingset we had in Dallas. It had this wonderful face-to-face doubleseater and I distinctly remember pretending it was the Mach 5. I guess I really liked that show (and I can still sing the theme, but remember few other details and didn't see the recent movies. Though, it was odd to get the car in a "not crying" meal.).

Anyway, I hope the kiddos have hours of fun playing in the house, in addition to their swingset and our array of bushes. With or without real s'mores.

My ABCs

A is for Austin, where we'll be in a few weeks to celebrate my little sister's wedding. I'm the "maid" of honor, with the kiddos serving as flower girl and ring boy. I haven't said too much about all the plans, hers or ours (long, sentimental post about sis, wedding, and great guy she's marrying after we're back from Texas). But now, with it just days away, we are getting ready in earnest. We all have new haircuts and new clothes in the works, plus new shoes. There are little beds for the kiddos to sleep in and new DVD players for the airplane ride. We have to remember odd things, like door knob proectors so they can't open doors at Aunt Banana's house and monitors so we can hear them if they do. It's hard to believe the wedding is here. How is it July? Which leads to . . .

B is for birthdays. How are the kiddos three years old already? How can time stand still and speed forward swiftly at exactly the same time? Their party is coming up, which also occasions much planning and some stress. We've got the food and the favors and are looking forward to friends and fun. Sis keeps stating that her party is coming up, but then asks, "When is Buddy's birthday party?" Guess it'll be time to split them next year. We're already sorta splitting them. Each child picked decorations. Sis went with Diego plates and napkins, while Bud opted for baseball. We'll alternate them on the table, along with the chocolate animal cupcakes and baseball-themed vanilla cupcakes. Which leads to . . .

C is for cookbook. I'm finalizing our church's cookbook, readying recipes and extra pages to be submitted in time for the books to be back for our festival. It's taking longer than I expected, even with late-night meetings to organize things. I'm excited about it, but also, like with the two above activities, nervous and stressed.

But it's all good.

The Holiday is Almost Over

This is a 3-day weekend I would rather soon forget.

But at least we are beginning to heal.

No one has had fever in 24 hours.

That's about the best I can say.

I can't even think on the fun we were supposed to have nor on all the things we must do this week to get ready for birthday and wedding.

But, all that pales when I think of my friend who will be having major kidney surgery this Friday. Our thoughts are with her and her family.

This Holiday Sucks

We were going to Old Sturbridge Village tomorrow to enjoy the special 4th of July celebrations.

Nope.

We were going to go down to the city to celebrate the babes' birthdays and wish bon voyage to Ma and Gong, as they are leaving for a month in Bangkok next week.

Most likely not.

We were going to church.

Nope.

I think the best we'll do is working in our garden and making some ice cream in our freezer. Not bad, in itself, but not great in comparison to our plans.

Yes, I'm grumpy. So, I'm going to sing our favorite grumpy song (which we sing when Bud gets whiny; he LOVES that) by (the?) Aardvarks:

If you want to be a grump that's okay
But could you be a grumpy kinda further away
It's not that I don't love ya 'cause you know I do
Sometimes I'm grumpy too

If you want to be a nudje that's ok
But could you be nudjey kinda further away
It's not that I don't love ya 'cause you know I do
Sometimes I'm nudjey too

I think I understand
Exactly what it is you're going through
Oh when your oatmeal's lumpy and your socks are all bumpy
What's a poor kid to do?

Update #3

I'm on amoxycilin too.

And Mama has headed to the clinic for her strep screen because she came home with an aching throat.

Lastly, Buddy went to bed with a fever and cough. He'll be next.

What does strike 4 get you?

Update #2

My throat burns and aches and my head hurts.

Mama is coming home so I can run to the local clinic.

I hope I don't have strep too.

But I think it is highly likely.

Update

Sis has strep.

Yep, fever + barking cough = strep throat

So now, strep + amoxycilin + isolation for 24 more hours = at least not contagious

Except to all of us, especially Buddy.

She's fairly miserable and exhausted. I'm trying to distract her--new playdough toys, new Mr/Ms Potato Head, videos we were saving for our flight--but it's not really working.

All our plans for the 3-day weekend are on hold.

Ups and Downs

It's day three of what Mommy Goose is calling the Bounce House Bug. Sis has had a lowgrade fever off and on since Tuesday afternoon, when she and two other little friends (including Goose) became sick. She's got a raspy voice and a seal cough so we're heading to the ped this morning, with promises of a trip to the bookstore and lunch afterwards.

Another little friend is in the throes of potty-training: he's in undies only and, despite some challenges, is doing great. Way to go!

Lastly, yet another little friend is having a big week, his first week of school. While the first day was successful, yesterday and today have been hard for him and his Mama and Daddy. This will be us in the fall, no doubt. So, we're thinking of you, CJ. School is fun!

Picnic Food Has No Calories

We had a picnic today. Not the kind of simple yet charming picnic of the Minimalist's dreams, nor the kind of setting that would go with much of that food.

We walked down to the corner store, bought some juice boxes and candy (regular Skittles for him, chocolate--??--Skittles for her), and proceeded to eat at the picnic table (do you have to sit on the ground for it to be a real picnic? Or does just eating outside qualify?) overlooking a busy street. Of course the big trucks, ambulances with sirens, and constant stream of people in and out of the store were more fascinating to the kiddos than any pretty scenery. Even with the fumes.

Still hungry, they wanted "something else, something yummy, for me" and so they split a ham sandwich on a Portuguese (a local roll) and had some chips. And watched more trucks. I downed a diet snapple and stole some Skittles (the chocolate ones are like Tootsie Rolls with a candy shell. Not gross, just not great).

It's our second picnic trip to the little store and one of several picnics we've had recently, both at home and away. We had a great one with Gommie in the local park and one with friend CJ at his house (but does that count? There were these delicious grilled cheese brought out from the kitchen. I'm sure someone has very strict definitions, but not me). It's starting to grow on me, who usually doesn't like to eat outside where it's hot and there are bugs. Mama likes it even less than I do, so we never do it. I think, in 11 years, that we have picnicked once together that stands out in my memory, at an Indigo Girls concert in Chicago at that famous music park whose name escapes me but might start with a "t." I'm not even sure I remember what we ate but I'm definitely sure we weren't totally prepared with the things we would need to eat outside. I'm trying to think back to picnics of my childhood--my mom had a great big old wooden basket that was ruined by an obnoxious neighborhood boy--but I can't specifically remember the food beyond cold KFC chicken. On boat rides, we didn't usually eat more than sodas and potato chips (which began frozen but defrosted in the summer heat), though for years Dad carried cans of Vienna sausages and, I think, baked beans in his camouflaged aluminum boat. Someone will have to remind me if we picnicked more. I know there were outdoor parties in our yard at home or at the bay--crawfish boils, fish frys (or is it fries?) with hushpuppies, BBQ (where the food isn't ready until the cook is drunk), birthday parties and other such celebrations with the usual potluck food--but I'm thinking of something smaller, more intimate, even more portable, than a party. A picnic isn't (usually, in my mind) that big.

With kids, it seems an obvious choice--no real clean up, an easier continuation of outside activity (instead of leaving to go in and eat and then come back out, which never works), even the tasting of new foods. Today, they tried mayonnaise--what is it, Sis asked. Huh, well, I know it's an emulsion of eggs and oil but that's not what she was really asking. "It's the white stuff you put on sandwiches," I said. She wasn't thrilled; too much like sauce, I think.

I've even started scouting around for picnic accoutrement. For our deck, with its new umbrella and table (well, new to them), I picked ups some protective food tents so that flies and critters wouldn't eat our stuff when we weren't. Now I'm looking for an all-purpose tray and also napkin/plasticware holder. You'd be surprised how hard these are to find, even right before July 4th. I don't think Mama and I will take to dining al fresco without the kiddos, but we might do more of it with them. And maybe, just maybe, we can try some of those wonderful minimalist recipes.

-=-=-=-=-
Philharmonic Salad
On my first trip to Symphony in the Park, someone brought this delicious salad. Mama and I made something similar, sans tomatoes, for New Year’s 2000 and for other important celebrations, served with good crusty bread. We also, before veg-ness, added prosciutto.

basil leaves
tomato
fresh mozzarella cubes
balsamic dressing: oil, balsamic vinegar, French mustard (with lots of seeds—not much of this because consistency of dressing is liquid), garlic

Strawberry Girl (and Boy)*

One berry
Two berry
Pick me a [strawberry]
Hatberry
Shoeberry
In my canoeberry
Under the bridge
And over the dam
Looking for berries
Berries for jam. (Bruce Degen, Jamberry)

We picked strawberries today in the hot summer sun. The kiddos were so excited to have their own little boxes to carry and excitedly ran to the tractor stop. Picking fruit and riding on a tractor pull, what fun! And Mama, oh my! She joined us briefly, mainly because she has to work late tonight and wanted to come.

You could smell the strawberries as we approached the distant field filled with moms and children. They say our modern strawberries are bastard imitations of the very fragrant heirloom varieties--I would love to smell a field of old strawberries if these were the less impressive kind!

And so there we were, running up and down our assigned row looking for strawberries like Easter eggs. I was kneeling in the straw cover looking for the red juicy ones, but Mama and the kids had more luck--and that was the half I saw since I know Bud and Sis ate at least half! We did two rows and finished with about 7 lbs of berries uneaten. They ate more in the car, so I am not sure exactly how many I just washed and put in the fridge for safe-keeping.

We had talked about strawberry pie and strawberry shortcake, and I had thoughts of strawberry freezer jam and strawberry sorbert, on the way home, but they decided they just want them "plain."

But, I think I can freeze or use half and they won't even notice.

**Anybody else read Lois Lenski's book? I don't remember it much except that I loved the illustrations in my copy and liked the story.

-=-=-=-=

Goo’s Redwall Strawberry Cordial
2 lbs. strawberries
1 cup granulated sugar
½ cup powdered sugar
¾ liter of plain seltzer
2 tablespoons water
1 pint heavy cream

Wash and slice strawberries. Heat strawberries on low flame in saucepan with ½ cup sugar and 2 tablespoons of water. When soft and rendering liquid, add the other ½ cup of sugar. Strain strawberries over bowl, saving juice. Crush strawberries until only seeds and fibers left. Add to juice. Cool juice. Add seltzer to strawberry juice to taste. Add cream to cordial to taste and texture. Sweeten with powdered sugar. Refrigerate at least an hour or until chilled. Serve with fresh whipped cream.


Strawberry Sorbet

2 cups water
1 cup sugar
1 quart strawberries, hulled
1 ½ teaspoon lemon juice

In heavy saucepan boil water and sugar for 5 minutes; do not stir. Add strawberries; cook 5 minutes more. Stir in lemon juice. Cool. Puree. Refrigerate until chilled. Pour into ice cream maker and freeze for approximately 25 minutes.