The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

Red Flower Eye

*Out of respect for my friends who are easily freaked out by eyes and eyeballs (Hi Beth J, I’m talking to you), I have posted the picture for this post well below the fold and the text.*

Actually, there’s not much text for this post.

Alex came home from playing the other day and I noticed something on his eye.

Getting Back to His Old Self

This morning when I opened the bedroom door I was greeted by a white and gray cat who meowed cheerfully at me before brushing past my legs to inspect the premises.

I was so surprised I knocked on the bathroom door and hissed at Bill to open the door.  He came out, brushing his teeth, and I pointed delightedly at Scratchy, who was meandering around the laundry baskets.

“He hasn’t done this in so long!”  I said happily.

It’s a good sign.

Sneakers

Like ‘em?

They’re Alex’s.

On my feet.

There’s something terribly wrong with that.

FisherMan

Bill took the kids with him while he dug for clams today.  Julia was content to just float around in the water near where Bill was digging.

Alex fished.

Layering

We were at Alex’s last regular season ball game last night.  It was a 7:30 game, which is a bit late (in my opinion) for elementary school kids to be playing ball, since the games are two hours long and that means a much later bedtime than the usual around here.

It feels even later when the rain starts falling about halfway through…but I digress.

Bill and I sat at a little picnic table just behind first base, where Alex was at the start of the game.  A chain link fence surrounds the field, of course, so we were safe from anything he might not catch.

Two other games had just ended, so the whole area near the snack bar and between the two fields was filled with kids in uniforms, parents, grandparents, coaches, and the players’ siblings, both younger and older.  Everyone milling around, talking, eating hotdogs, rehashing the games, making plans for play dates, and so on.

There was this one little boy, a round-faced, blond-haired, giggly little toddler of maybe two.  He was running across the blacktop, laughing, while his two older sisters and his father or uncle or someone chased after him.  One of them would catch the little boy, swing him up in the air and bring him back to where the rest of the family was, and then he’d take off again, on his sturdy little toddler legs, laughing with glee. 

Bill and I watched that little boy…and we watched Alex at first base.  Alex who is tall, long-limbed, slender, and runs like the wind.  He was constantly in motion, a few steps this way or that, glove ready, eyes on the pitcher, the batter, the shortstop, the coaches, the ball. 

You can see where I’m going.

I said to Bill “I’m having a Sunrise/Sunset moment.”

Our boy is ten now.  Our boy who, years ago, was very much like that blond-headed little running, laughing boy.  Only blonder.  But similar.  Rounder face, pudgy toddler body, with that…deliberate, determined way of walking and running and doing pretty much everything, because it’s still kind of new, kind of awkward. 

At ten, Alex is stretched out and fluid.  He is focused, his body does what he wants it to do automatically.  There is grace.  Not always – he’s still a kid, still has his awkward moments – but a lot of the time.

At one point a kid on the other team hit a dribbling grounder toward the pitcher, who scooped it up and threw it to Alex a bit high.  Alex had to jump to make the catch, and as he landed he was off the base, so he did this little hopping foot-to-foot thing and had his foot on the bag before the runner could make it.  I heard one of the coaches yell “Nice dancing, Alex!” 

And that’s what it is.  A dance.  You have to learn the steps.  And then practice, practice, practice until you no longer have to think “one, two, kick, ball change” or “watch, jump, catch, get back on the base.”  I see other kids, newer to the game, who are still learning the steps.  They do one thing (hopefully it’s catch the ball) and then they hesitate and look while they’re trying to remember the next step.  Meanwhile, of course, a coach or fifty are yelling “THROW TO FIRST!”

It’s not all that long ago that Alex hesitated like that.  In fact, he still has those moments.  They all do.  They’re just kids.

But they’re getting there. 

The top half of the inning ends and Alex is in the dugout with the rest of the kids, waiting for his turn at bat.  While they wait they are restless and loud, yelling out the various baseball chants they have learned along the way.

“We want a single/just a little single

S-I-N-G-L-E/single single SINGLE!

We want a double/just a little double

D-0-U-B-L-E/double double DOUBLE!”

or

“Alex takes the bat/he gives the ball a whack/ if I were you, i’d scoot yer booty back, and back, and back, until you hit the shack!” 

or the one where one kid hollers – drill-seargent-like – the first name of the kid at bat (we’ll call him Joe Baseball) and the rest of the kids have to answer with the last name…

“I say Joe, you say Baseball!  Joe!”

“Baseball!”

“Joe!”

“Baseball!”

“JOE!”

“BASEBALL!”

The boys are loud.  At times it seems like it’s more about seeing who can be loudest than it is about cheering on their teammate.  I think it’s pent-up energy while they wait their turns.

Anyway, last night I was watching them in the dugout – we had a good view from our picnic table – and I noticed that Alex was one of the loud voices leading some of these cheers/chants.  Loud voice, light in his eyes, little grin, one of the guys.

And in that moment I felt a little ripple of something, a little shimmer, a little double vision.  A layering of all the Alexes through the days and weeks and months and years, from pudgy little laughing toddler to sleek and loud ball player. 

This is who he is now, at this moment in time.  He is still – in my eyes – a newborn, a three-month-old, a crawler, a climber, a toddler, a pre-schooler, a kindergartener, and so on.  And he’s always had little friends to play with through the years.

But this is different.

He has teammates.  And he’s played baseball (or t-ball and baseball) for about half his life now, but this year is different.  This year he fits better in his skin, he is comfortable, he is rarely tentative.  He is not new, he is not shy.  He is observant and thoughtful and smart.  He catches criticism and holds it in his glove, examining it without biting his lip to keep his face a mask and the prickly feeling in his eyes at bay.  He takes what he needs from what the coach has thrown to him, and then he throws that ball back into the game as improved technique, or better focus, or holding his elbow up when he’s at bat. 

All this is a wonder to me.  And so…mature.

I know it sounds more dramatic than necessary, but…so be it.  I just…I didn’t play any sports as a kid.  I was very shy and felt very awkward, even though, like Alex now, I could run fast and I was tall.  I had a baseball glove (still have it), and a football…I could throw and catch and hit.  But I was timid and didn’t want to be on a team.

I’m so glad Alex isn’t me. 

I watch this transformation, this blossoming from little tentative rookie to a (relatively) seasoned minor league player who pitches and plays first and third and shortstop interchangeably.  And I am so proud and thrilled when I watch.

And I watch him laughing and shouting and being a part of that team, so comfortable in his position among them, so secure, so relaxed. 

The ten-year-old me I remember just marvels at this ten-year-old son of mine. 

I’m so happy for him. 

I’m so happy that even when he had awful days where he didn’t hit the ball or even swing the bat or catch anything or throw well, and the coach’s words stung, no matter how gently (rookie league, anyway) those constructively critical words were given, and he wouldn’t look at me or Bill because it took all his concentration to be a big boy (because there’s no crying in baseball, as we all know)….I’m so happy that he worked his way through all of that to become the kid he is right now.

~~~

It’s kind of a magical experience, this motherhood thing.

Hurler

My little boy on the mound at a recent game.

Alex is home sick today, so I figured I’d write about him….

MY Boy

About halfway up the stairs I could see the little space between his bedroom door and the hall floor.

Bill said he’d just put the kids to bed, so I expected darkness, but no, that bedroom definitely had a light on.

I opened the door and he rolled quickly to a sitting position, grinning when he saw me.

“How’s the book?”  I asked.

School Play

When my nephew was very little – two or three, I think – one of his favorite stories was “Jack and the Beanstalk.”  I remember reading it to him over.  And over and over.  Andoverandoverandoverandover.

“A-den!”

“Again?”

“A-den!!”

A lot.

I kind of grew a bit tired of that one.  And Little Red Riding Hood, too.  And the Three Little Pigs.

Well, this morning I got to revisit those stories, plus a couple more.

“And Next Year I’ll Be TEN!”

He thinks it’s funny to say that.

Probably because I glare at him and tell him to shut up.  And we’re not supposed to tell people to shut up in this house, so I don’t know if he delights in the fact that I actually SAY that or because he knows it is torturous to imagine him in double digits.

Nine. 

Freakin’ NINE, this boy of mine.

Yesterday, he looked like this:

Perpetual Motion

This is as close to holding still as he’ll get sometimes.

That’s MY Boy

Moments ago.

“Mom, you know what I think reading is?  It’s like…television in your head…only…better for you.”

Aqua Boy

The other day Alex participated in a bunch of fun races (not part of a swim meet) for all the kids in swim classes and on the swim team with Envious Swimming.  The kids competed against other kids around the same age/ability level.  Alex was happy because he got “one of each kind” of ribbon.  (Don’t have the actual ribbons yet, but he’ll have four.)

The Fire’s Gone Out

Remember yesterday, the fish with the fungus?

Well, I’m sorry to report that the fungus was too aggressive.  I kept checking on Fire through the day, and the fuzzy white areas kept appearing.  By the end of the school day, he was hanging out at the bottom of the tank, sort of leaning against the side.  He was still breathing, but he wasn’t doing well at all.

Anyway, this morning I will bury Fire in the compost bin where we buried Bluey a few days ago.

It has not been a good week for fish here.  Or for Alex.

Emergency Fish Vet

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know (or might be peripherally aware) that we’ve got a small variety of pets.  Three cats, a lizard, a 55 gallon tank of assorted freshwater little fish, and one betta, or Siamese Fighting Fish.

The betta belongs to Alex, and there have been a succession of bettas over the years….

A Visit with Auntie: Chickens and Haircuts

These are my cute, but rather shaggy children.

Or, rather, these were my cute, but rather shaggy children. 

Well, they still are my children.  And cute.  But the shagginess is no more.

And no, I have no idea why Julia is making that face.  She’s six.  That’s all the explanation I’ve got.

So yesterday, after Natalie and I baked the pound cake, we trekked down to my sister’s house to return Natalie and her share of pound cake, to bring snacks to the chickens, and to tame the crazy hair on my kids’ heads.

As always, it was entertaining.

Face Plant and Sympathy

The other evening, the kids were playing outside, enthusiastically and energetically careening down our backyard mountain.

Alex overshot the sled and slid down on his face.

Scratchy Claws

We decorated the tree last night.

Well, Bill and the kids did that while I rolled out and cut out springerle. 

Guitar Player

Alex is currently about 2/3 of the way through the “30 Day – Can’t Wait to Play – Guitar Challenge,” a little program Bill came up with to reward Alex for practicing every day for thirty days straight.

At the end of the 30 days, he’ll get a little trophy.  Bill’s idea.  I hope he doesn’t plan on giving Alex a trophy every thirty days.  That’s a lot to dust.

As Different As

I'm trying to remember what Alex was like when he went into first grade.  Did he have the same hard time adjusting to the big change from half-day kindergarten to all-day elementary school?  I don't think he did, really.  Or, if he did have any sort of adjustment issues, they manifested themselves differently than they are with his sister.

Maybe I'm remembering wrong.  I probably am.  I know, actually, that there were days he didn't WANT to do his homework, it was TOO HARD, there was TOO MUCH TO DO.  I remember alternately sympathizing and reprimanding, hugging and ignoring frustrated tears.  I do remember, after all.

But still.

Zookeeper Alex

You’ve met my boy.

He loves zoos.  Mainly, he loves animals.  He takes good care of them.

Tri-Envious

 

 
 
Once upon a time I got married, and over the next several years, we had two kids.  A boy, Alex, and a girl, Julia.

We live in "The Ocean State" and so we felt it was important that our children learn to swim at an early age.  After wasting our time and money for a while at one place, we moved our kids to Envious Swimming's "Learn 2 Swim" program, and our kids have become fish. 

Fast, fearless fish.

Earlier this summer, we learned that Envious was organizing their first annual Kids Triathlon.  And we thought - "Hey, cool!"  And then we got busy with working on the house and sort of forgot about it.

And then, a little over a week ago, I was reminded at that week's swim class. 

It's Okay, His Father Said He Could

Well, besides working on the house, of course.

First, there's this:

What is that?

That's (under the branches - that pale thing) a small tree stump.  The tree stump from our cherry tree.

Scary Lumberjack

Carnage on Hoth - Not for the Squeamish!

So my son has turned eight.  He had his actual birthday, and then, over the weekend, he had his birthday party, which included a bunch of his friends, ribs (smoked for 6 hours - oh, they were so good), other food, decent enough weather that they could play outside in the pool, and, of course, a cake.

Last year's theme was Star Wars - specifically, a battle between Yoda and the Emperor in the Senate Rotunda, from Revenge of the Sith.  You can see it (and Julia's cake from last year) here.

This year we continued with the Star Wars theme, but skipped forward a generation to my favorite of the movies, The Empire Strikes Back.  

My Boy

There are five new Star Wars action figures lined up on the coffee table.

"I lined them up in order of episodes.  And if there are two from the same episode, like Anakin and Obi-Wan, I just put them in alphabetical order."

Baseball Snippet

I scribbled this down at the beginning of Alex's ballgame yesterday.  Not sure why, other than the fact that sometimes I have to write stuff down.

Encouragement

The boys on my son's baseball team range far and wide in everything from age, to height, to ability.  Some of the boys have played t-ball prior to this, others haven't.  For some, this is their second or third year in this league, others played t-ball last year and are working their way up the little league ladder.

There are several boys around Alex's height and build.  One in particular, a kid I'll call Tall Boy II, is so similar to Alex that when then they're in uniform, and you see them from a distance, and you don't see the number on the backs of their jerseys, and they're wearing their caps, not helmets, and when the brim of the cap casts their little faces in shadow, and they both have relatively short hair...sometimes it's easy to mistake one for the other for a moment.

Crazy Faces

I feel like for the past couple of days I've spent most of my time running around in circles doing something, only at the end of the days there haven't seemed to be any actual results lying around, you know, like PROOF that I have earned my keep around here.  You know how that is?  Yeah. 

So anyway, I ran around today some, and I must have been running with a purpose (not with scissors), or else, why run?  But I look around and there are still dishes to do and I didn't do laundry because of the threat of a downpour (which did arrive a little while ago, poured down, and has now moved on) (I hang my laundry out on the line), and oh who wants to hear more of this drivel?  No one.  Of course.  Me either.

In Your Face

So, last Saturday, this happened.

And then there came this most recent Saturday.

Alex's game was in the morning, which is nice because then the game is over and we have the rest of the day to do whatever needs doing.  So we got there and Bill and Alex went into the outfield with their gloves so Alex could practice catching fly balls.

Each Saturday morning, before the games start, the Rookie league kids have skills tests - each week a different skill is tested, and at the end of the season the team with the most improved skills wins a prize of some sort.  So this week the skill is catching fly balls with two hands on the glove. 

The Best Medicine

Alex stayed home from school yesterday. 

He said his stomach didn't feel well.  In fact, when I asked what kind of not feeling well it was, he said "I feel like I have The Puking Sickness."  Ah.  Well then.  So I kept him home.

Balls and Strikes

This past Saturday morning I helped my father out photographing a 5K road race sponsored by the hospital in my home town (where I was born, and both my kids), and after that I zipped home in time to see the last half hour or so of Alex's little league game. 

I joined Bill and Julia where they were sitting, and Bill told me Alex was 2 for 2 so far and should be up again soon.  I let Julia take pictures with my camera...told Bill how things went with the race and my picture-taking...and Bill mentioned that he didn't think Alex was wearing his cup.  He'd told Alex to get it, but didn't know if he had.  And he didn't check.

Farmhouse Cheddar Batch #1 and a Bit of Baseball

 
Finally.

I'm making a hard cheese.

Poetry

Family lore has it that my maternal grandfather wrote poetry to my maternal grandmother when they were just eleven years old.

Alex still thinks girls are yucky, but he has written a few poems about other topics, and I thought I'd share two of them.

Fingerstyle

I mentioned in a couple of the last few posts that Alex's reward for finishing one of his guitar books is a sushi dinner.

Last night, while Bill was working, Alex practiced a couple of the Christmas songs he's working on - this is separate from the normal book practice.  Last year Bill arranged a simple version of "Jingle Bells," and this year, Alex is learning "We Three Kings." 

We set up his music stand and chair and footstool in the living room, because Julia was playing on the computer (she'd been waiting a long time for her turn), and this way both kids could do what they wanted/needed to do, and there would be peace and harmony for maybe a whole ten minutes in the house.

Now You See Him, Now You Don't

The Kittens Love Alex

Yes, I still refer to Softie and Scratchy as the kittens. 

Even though they're huge and Blur, the smallest, looks more like a kitten than they do.

Anyway, they love Alex.

Maybe it's because he doesn't grab them roughly. 

Maybe it's because he is patient and kind and doesn't demand anything of them.

Maybe it's because he doesn't lock them in his bedroom.  Or the bathroom.  Or any room.

Cleaning Out the Laptop - Pictures of Alex Kneading Bread Dough

These were taken in April of this year.  I was making what looks like a 4-loaf batch of sweet potato bread (you can see little bits of orange in the dough - that's sweet potato) and I think I remember just wanting to take pictures of Alex at work.  Sometimes it seems like Julia's the one always helping out in the kitchen, or hamming it up in front of the camera, so I wanted to give him equal time.

It's funny, looking at these pictures, I'm thinking, boy, he looks younger.  I mean, he IS about half a year younger than he is now, but also his hair is longer...and the really big difference is the color.  He's got winter hair in these pictures.  But right now, in the present day, his short hair is much lighter, bleached out by the summer sun.

Anyway, no more words are necessary.  Here's my boy.

Best Criticism I Have Ever Received

I made ribs today.

For dinner.

I say I made them today because it was an all-day affair.  I smoked them in the Little Chief smoker along with the last of the brined beef from when I made jerky recently.  (See previous post.)

It WILL Grow Back. It WILL Grow Back. It WILL Grow Back. Right?

Alex came into the kitchen.

"Mom, I've got really good news, and I've got really bad news."

Or something to that effect.

It may have been more like "I've done a really good thing and a really bad thing."

I don't know.

All I heard was "really good" and - more importantly - "really bad."

The Lesson of the Carrots, Continued

You all remember the Lesson of the Carrots, right?  Of course you do.

Well, yesterday Bill asked the kids for some help with the weeding - which he's been doing fairly regularly since the whole carrot incident and its aftermath.  And they haven't been complaining about it, either.  Maybe they're just happy to be permitted to pull stuff out of the dirt.  Who knows.

Alex, in particular, seems to enjoy weeding.  Julia, on the other hand...well, she helps, but if she can finish up early, she will.

And so when she'd had enough (and Bill gave her the okay), she moved on to other pursuits....

A Few Minutes With Alex

 

He's at an age where he sees a camera in my hand and almost instantly becomes a cartoon character instead of the sweet little boy I was going to take pictures of.

But I lucked out today. 

Maybe it was because he was worn out from dirt biking with Bill. 

 

Maybe it was because he was happily eating a piece of blueberry coffee cake I'd just made.

Who knows.

I don't question why.

 

I just take as many pictures as I can before the moment passes.

Getting Out of Dodge

We took the kids to the zoo today. Southwick's Zoo, which used to be known as Southwick's Wild Animal Farm.

My kids sometimes still refer to it as "Southquick's."

Whatever you call it, it's around an hour from our house and we generally go about once a year.

We'd promised the kids this trip as something to look forward to after all the intense work upstairs lately and our self-imposed polyurethane-induced exile.  So this morning, after a quick run to the farmers' market so I could get my goat milk and more rhubarb and honey sticks for the kids...and a few plants for the gardens (flower, not vegetable), we headed north.

The weather was kind of crazy today - overcast, then a tease of sun, then back to gray and ominous.  I was hoping we'd have overcast at the zoo.  It's much more comfortable than baking in the sun.  And that's pretty much what happened.  We wandered around looking at most of the animals, the kids and me taking pictures, in kind of humid but otherwise comfortable sun-free weather.  Rain began to fall toward the end, when we were in the Petting Zoo, which is made up mostly of an assortment of goats, a few funky looking sheep, a couple turkeys, a limping rooster (today, anyway) and, in their own little pen, a beautiful pair of Jersey calves. 

 

Look at that sweet face, will you?

Anyway, back to the weather...the rain fell harder as we race-walked through the parking area to our car and sped away to get something to eat.

I have favorite moments, favorite photos, favorite exhibits, all of which are different each time we go.  The Deer Forest, where you can feed corn kernels to the deer and wander around with them, is always a kind of otherworldly experience, at least for me. 

I guess I'm still a kid enough to think "Hey!  We're hanging out with deer!  With no fence between us and them!"

I also love the tigers.  Last year the two (one white, one orange) were just little cubs.  This year they're bigger, maybe teenagers, at least size-wise.  They're big, but they haven't filled out yet.

This year they were both snoozing, so I didn't really get much of a picture of either one.

Although I did want to climb on in and scratch this guy's chin. 

He reminded me of Scratchy a little.  I mean, come on.  Just look at that adorable little face.

Moving on...

The chimps?  Eh.  They don't do much for me.  And they were too busy discussing their shrinking pensions to care about anything going on around them.

 

The rhinos...well, the kids were looking forward to the rhinos.  Not because the rhinos are particularly exciting.  They don't move much, at least not when we're around, and today they were both sound asleep.

Look at that.  They must have had a really busy morning.  Right before we arrived.

WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!

Just kidding.

But anyway, the kids looked at the rhinos, and Alex took a picture or two, but mostly my children scanned the whole rhino habitat for piles of rhino poop.

Yes.  That's right.  Rhino poop.

The first year we went to Southwick's, which was maybe three years ago, there was a great big fresh steaming pile of rhino poop in the dirt, and Alex was so thrilled about it that I took a carefully composed photograph of it.  And there's a print of it up on the wall in the bedroom, too.  (In the former bedroom...the room the kids WERE sharing but once we get all our stuff moved back upstairs, it will be Bill's and my room.  And all the pictures, including the rhino poop picture, will be removed from the walls and distributed between Alex and Julia.  They'll probably fight over the rhino poop shot.

And today?  Alas, no poop to be found.  Plenty of stench, but no piles.  Ah well.  Win some, lose some.

Back to favorites...

Today, I think my second favorite thing was not even an exhibit - it was all the zillion chipmunks that scurry about. 

They're just so cute.

Oh, and speaking of cute, there was also this adorable baby:

He likes his hay.

I wanted him to look over, but he was just too busy.

Alex was also eager to take a look at the alligator.  Or crocodile.  I always forget.  Hang on, let me check...okay, it'a an alligator.

Most of the time, he's pretty boring, frankly.  He just hangs out there, right up against the inner fence (there are two, an outer and an inner, separated by at least three feet of space.  And usually he's asleep.  Or faking it really well.

But not today.

His beady little too-close-together-so-you-know-he's-up-to-no-good eyes were open and he was angled toward the fence...kind of hoping, I imagine, that a little kid might topple from its parent's shoulders and land on the OTHER side of the inner fence.

He moved his head and Julia jumped back.  She didn't like him at all. 

We left the area, and as we crossed paths with people heading toward the 'gator, Alex gleefully announced to all and sundry that "The alligator's getting ready to ATTACK!"  \

Security escorted us off the premises shortly afterward.

Just kidding.

Anyway, I've been saving my favorite part for last.  The petting zoo.

We paid fifty cents for kernels of corn for Alex and Julia to feed to all the goats.

And there were a LOT of goats.  Different kinds, different sizes.  Plenty of babies.

If Julia could have smuggled the lot of them out under her shirt, she would have.

As it was, we had to remind her of the rules...

One of which was "Do Not Pick Up the Animals!"

Julia, put the goat down.

So she did her best to recruit followers.

And when that didn't work, she tried to work on her herding technique.

You.  Hey, you!

Yeah, I'm talking to you.

Wait!  Come back here!

Well, that didn't work, so she switched tactics.

Okay guys, you can have all the corn you want, but ONLY if you come with me.  So line up in an orderly fashion.

Hey, I said an ORDERLY line. 

Oh, okay.  You can have some corn.

I think Alex would have helped with the smuggling.

At least, he might have.

Had it not been for...the hoof.

See that mama goat? 

She was hungry.  And persistent.

And no matter where Alex went...

Or how many other goats (and sheep) he tried to feed,

 

She kept going back for more.  Several times (I didn't catch any of this with the camera, unfortunately) she was practically climbing up Alex, trying to get the food, and at some point - just once - one of her sharp little front hooves hit him in a rather, um, delicate little area.  Alex was not amused.

He abandoned the goats and focused attention on the turkeys instead.

Julia looked at one of the turkeys for a minute, and then headed back to her goats.

(And may I just pause a moment here and say that I have leg envy?  Look at my child's calves, will you?  Those sculpted little gams?  Why?  Why?  She doesn't work out.  She doesn't think about nutrition.  She just has this perfect little strong body and yes, I'm small and petty, and I don't know where she got such great muscle definition because she sure as hell didn't inherit that from me.)

Sorry.  Momentary lapse.

Anyway, there she goes, striding in her purposeful little manner AWAY from the turkeys.

She swings her hair out off her shoulders and keeps going...

Until she gets to this one.

She's the goat whisperer.

Wait!  Don't go yet! 

I'll just grab this little handle here...

(She didn't really.)

Come here, my little baby.

I will hug him

and squeeze him

and name him George.

Through the Window

This past Sunday I was outside taking pictures of raindrops on flowers and plants - including this one, which I'm particularly pleased with. 

(You can see more of the raindrop pictures over at my little gardening site, if you're interested.)

Anyway, I started in the back yard, and when I came around to the front of the house, Alex and Julia were hamming it up in the big window in our living room.  So I took pictures.

 

I like this little series.  

Just pure silliness.

That's all for now!

My Boy is Seven

My due date was on a Friday, which was also my last day at work before maternity leave.  I joked with coworkers and friends that I'd like the baby to give me the weekend, and then be born on the following Monday, so I wouldn't waste a day of maternity leave just waiting around for him or her to arrive.

And that's exactly what he did.

He weighed a smidge under 8 lbs when he was born.  He was completely perfect.  He's considerably taller now, but he looks just the same.  Or, rather, I still see him the same.  I know I always will. 

I think when we see people, especially loved ones, we don't just see the external stuff.  We have a kind of x-ray vision about them.  We see what they look like, of course, but layered with that, in a sort of other dimension, are ALL the ways we see them, and have seen them, feel them, feel about them, hear them, and so forth. 

They shimmer.

And then they belch loudly and you come out of your reverie. 

Last night he went to bed without a fuss for a change.  Because in the morning, it would be his birthday.

When I drop him off at school, he doesn't want me to kiss him, because "the teenagers" (actually, they're only sixth graders, so they're what, eleven years old?) might see it and make fun of him.  I settle for a high five, because I was terribly shy when I was little and that part of me doesn't want the "teenagers" making fun of him either.  Even if it's only in his mind. 

He is always enthusiastic about foods he likes.  This morning, while he ate a large hunk of strawberry rhubarb pie for breakfast, and sampled one of the mini brownies I made for him to bring to class today, he shook his head and said "Mom, I love your cooking." 

Speaking of brownies and "teenagers," as we pulled up to the school this morning, he suddenly asked why he couldn't put the container of brownies in his backpack.  I'm assuming it's so those pesky "teenagers" wouldn't make fun of him because he was carrying a container of brownies.  I said no, if they went into the backpack they'd fall all around in the container and get messed up.  He didn't say anything.  I handed the container to him through the window of the car after he'd got his backpack on, and as I pulled away, I saw him maneuvering the container - on its side, so all the brownies could spill around inside of it - so it was sort of behind him and hidden a bit under the backpack.  The whole time he was doing this, he had one eye on the "teenagers" where they stood in their teacher-designated spot on the blacktop.  It's a tough world out there.

He was extremely grateful for the Star Wars toys he received this morning.  He said "Thank you" a lot.  He's a nice boy.

He allowed Julia to hold his new Jabba the Hut toy.  A bit later, after breakfast, toothbrushing, and getting dressed, he suggested to Julia that they play with ALL their Star Wars toys combined.  Julia was delighted.  "Mom!  Alex wants to play with our Star Wars toys TOGETHER!"  He's a generous big brother sometimes.

Other times, of course, he wants to play by himself.  Then he has to defend himself from the Wrath of the Little Sister.  Good thing the Force is strong with him.  (I know, I'm blending outer space sagas.)

He loves to draw.  He loves all kinds of animals and bugs and fish and birds...and, of course, dinosaurs.  He is kind, and gentle, and caring, and protective. 

He now wants the colors of his bedroom to be these:  Green for the grass...blue for the sky and the water.  Oh, and orange curtains.  That'll work.

He is a ray of sunshine.

They Spy

 

Julia has underwear on.  I say that so no one is distracted by her appearance.  And if you've been reading me for any great length of time, you wouldn't be distracted anyway.  She does this a lot.  If I had her perfect musculature, I might prefer to go about in my underwear most of the time, too.

Anyway.  this was taken on Saturday, about an hour or so before we went to the Swim Banquet.  I was finishing up in the kitchen and the kids had been playing in the pool moments earlier. 

And I heard them talking, deciding what to do next (it's so peaceful 'round here when they are getting along), and one of them picked out the "I Spy" book to look through.  It's a Christmas one that Alex got probably a couple of years ago.  It never gets put away with the Christmas stuff, though.  They aren't concerned with seasonality.  They just like to find stuff.

And I heard Alex say "Julia, I'll read, and you spy." 

And that's what they did.  I get such a kick out of listening to Alex read.  It's magic.  Really.  This little guy, who used to be a tiny baby YESTERDAY, it seems, has been reading for however long it's been now - seems like an eye blink, but it's much longer, of course.  How did that happen?  It's like he went from triumphing with the easy stuff like his name or "Mom" and "Dad" to taking it upon himself to read with his little sister.

And even nicer, at one point I heard him say "Wow, Julia, you're good at finding things!"  I love it when they say nice, complimentary things to each other. 

That was about when I quietly got my camera and tiptoed to the doorway and snapped a few pictures of them before they realized I was there.

Oh no.  I've been spied.  Back to the kitchen I go.

Poor Boy, Cursed With a Stupid Mother

Yesterday T-ball practice was cancelled because of the rain.

Bill wanted to go out for dinner, and hey, who am I to pass up the opportunity to have someone else cook and clean up after?  The only person uncharacteristically UNenthusiastic was Alex.

Why?

He wanted a tuna sandwich.  Right now.  He was staaaaaaaaaaaaaarving.  And he neeeeeeeeeded a tuna sandwich NOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW or the consequences would be dire.

So I tried to jolly him out of it, but it wasn't working. 

"How about if I have a tuna sandwich and THEN we can go out to eat," he moaned, barely conscious and pale from all the starvation.

Eventually I tried a different approach.  Distraction.

"Alex, what is your favorite vegetable that we grow?"  (Long story - but I'm thinking it would be cool to put in more gardens - a nice long stretch along the side of the yard on the other side of the driveway that we never do anything with except mow, and maybe each kid would want to grow something.)

He thought for a moment (the distraction was working!!) before saying "I think it's between the 'Sparagus and the Peas."

I thought he was forgetting about later-harvested crops, so I said "What about cucumbers?  You really like them!"  (more distraction!  still working!)

And he said, in a world-weary, old-before-his-time, how-did-my-mother-survive-to-adulthood-with-this-lack-of-brain-power voice:

"Mom.  Cucumbers are a fruit."

Botanically, he's right.

The little twerp.

And soon after that, we headed out to the car and off to dinner, all in good moods.

See?  Not so stupid!  My ploy to improve his mood worked!

"You're Scaring Them!"

I'm going to leave the pictures for later - first, the warning, for all my arachnophobic friends:

WARNING - THIS POST CONTAINS (AT THE VERY END, AFTER THE JUMP) PHOTOS OF BABY SPIDERS!!  THEY ARE VERY CUTE, BUT I REALIZE THEY STILL MIGHT BE SCARY TO SOME OF YOU!!  BUT THE STORY ITSELF IS NOT AT ALL SCARY!!!  SO YOU COULD STILL READ THAT AND NOT LOOK AT THE PICTURES!!!!  MAYBE I'LL POST A HARMLESS NON-SPIDER PHOTO FIRST, JUST SO YOU KNOW THE PICTURES ARE COMING (IF YOU'RE VIEWING THIS IN YOUR GOOGLE READER OR SOMETHING) AND AT THAT POINT YOU CAN DEPART!!!!  OKAY???  GOOD!!!!

There.  I did my good deed for the day.  You can thank me later.

About a week ago I was heading out into the back yard one morning, and I don't even know what prompted me to look down between the gate post and one of the fence posts, but I did, and there it was:  a strange clump of something caught in a sloppy looking spider web.

I looked closer and realized it wasn't an "it," it was a "them."  LOTS of them.  Teeny tiny baby garden spiders.  All huddled together for safety and warmth.  (Okay, I am anthropomorphosizing.  It's fun.)

Naturally I scooted back inside to get my camera.  Baby ANYTHING is worth a picture or twenty.

I took some pictures from the rather awkward angle of looking down and through the fence posts...and then I went around to the gate post side to see if the view would be better, and, lo and behold, there were MORE of them!  This batch was hanging around on the side of the gate post that faces the other gate post - which meant I had a perfect up-close-and-annoying view of them. 

There were one or two out of all zillion who had gotten brave and decided to leave the safety of their little groups.  Tiny, tiny little perfectly formed spiders.  I have never seen more adorable arachnids.

I took more pictures, and then I had to run out to the grocery store for something we needed right away.  Before I left, I showed the babies to Alex.

You know how baby geese imprint on the first creature they see, and so if you are hanging around when they hatch, you are, to them, Mommy or Daddy?

Well Alex tends to imprint on baby animals.  He sees them, and immediately becomes their guardian.

I love that boy.

Anyway, I showed him all the tiny babies and he was enthralled.  And practical.

"I want to feed them!  What if they're hungry?"

I told him they didn't need him to feed them - they were born knowing exactly what to do to get food (and besides, I didn't want him dropping enormous bugs into their tiny web and scaring them to death), but he could certainly watch them.

I got in the car and headed out, leaving Alex to tend his new pets.

Later, when I got back, Bill said Alex sat and watched the baby spiders for quite a while and was very protective. 

"He even yelled at me - 'Dad!  You're scaring them!' "  Bill told me.

"What were you doing?"  I asked.

"I was just walking by," he said.

~~~

Applause

The kids were squirmy. 

Alex, at least, looked apologetic about it, like "But I'm only 6-nearly-7!  How do you expect me to sit still on this chair?" 

Julia, true to form, had no apologies.  She just flailed and wiggled and leaned and annoyed her brother and, at one point, while I had her strapped into my lap with my arms, she arched her back so she and I were nearly eyeball to eyeball, only her face was upside down, and, while staring at me, she pulled her lower lip down (or, in this case, up) to her chin.  It was a bizarre sight.  She laughed silently as I sat her upright again and hissed at her to behave.  Sometimes she would twist her little body around and grasp my face, staring intently into my eyes and then turn my head so she could whisper in my ear. 

Have you ever had a five-year-old whisper in your ear?  For one thing, they don't always get the idea that whispering is supposed to be a quiet affair.  For another thing, there is no polite distance left between her lips and my ear.  So the effect is ticklish, slightly spitty, and louder than necessary.  "But Mom, I just have to tell you something...(dramatic pause)...I just love you."  Fine, now be quiet and sit still.

We were at a flute and classical guitar concert in a library on Friday night.  Bill, my husband, was the guitarist.  This is the second (I think) concert we've brought the kids to.  Maybe the third.  I don't think my blood pressure can take too many more of them.

At least this time I was smart enough to sit several rows back, strategically ensuring that taller people would populate the space between the musicians and the wiggly children of one of those musicians. 

Ours were the only children in attendance.  The majority of the audience was made up of older folk, probably long-time members of the community who attended the weekly concert series of their local library faithfully.  They sat straight, and still, and paid attention, and, as far as I could tell, certainly enjoyed the music - and the musicians themselves.

Bill and Barbara have been playing as a duo for about fifteen  years - longer than I've known my husband, in fact.  So long that they communicate easily with an arched brow, a slight nod, or a n0-I-can't-make-eye-contact-now-or-I'll-lose-it chemistry.  Like an old married couple, but minus the bickering.  Or the laundry.

The kids adore Barbara and her husband, too, so bringing the kids to the concert should be a fun, relaxing family-ish affair.  And it is.  Well, except for me during the concert part of it. 

I made the mistake, in my desperate attempt to keep the kids on their best pretty good not throwing things behavior, of telling them at some point that "After this one, there are only 6 more songs."  Six more songs was easier than trying to explain two more pieces of three movements each.  Well anyway, from that point on, every time there was a break in the playing, both kids would turn to me, eyes expectant, and stage-whisper "Is it only three more songs?" or whatever number it was at the time.

Silver-haired heads would turn and smile and chuckle.  I would turn red and smile weakly and pray for lightning to strike me.

Fortunately, though, Bill had introduced the kids (and me) at some point earlier in the concert, so that, I think, cut us some slack with the rest of the attendees.  "Ohhh, it's the guitar player's kids.  Well, you know what they say about the doctor's/policeman's/cobbler's children..."  And that explains it.  Bill also mentioned to the audience that the kids KNEW they needed to behave because if they did, they'd get ice cream after the concert.

Yes, we firmly believe in bribes to elicit good behavior from our children in certain situations.  This was on of them.

"Only one more song?" Alex hissed at me.

"Can we get ice cream now?" when that movement, "Night-club 1960" from Astor Piazzolla's "Tango" was finished. 

"Soon," I said.

The audience clapped, and Bill and Barbara took their bows and made their way back up the aisle toward the door to the rest of the library, where their guitar and flute cases were. 

The clapping continued, and the guy who coordinates and hosts these Friday evening concerts made his way up to the front (there was no stage) to say a few words, thanking everyone for coming, and thanking Bill and Barbara for playing...and then he kind of reached toward Bill and Barbara with one hand, beckoning them forward. 

Horrors.

I heard the word "encore" whispered somewhere.  It hovered in the air near my ear, grinning at me.  It looked a bit like Julia. 

Pleeeease no encore....

I know.  I'm totally selfish.  The encore is a gift.  It's that little extra something, like the free glass of limoncello we used to receive at the tiny Italian restaurant we loved, years ago.  And the encore is a thank you as well.  Thank you for thanking us for playing for you. 

But.  It would mean one more song.  One more period of however many minutes of holding Julia the Octopus in my lap and trying to silence her loud whispers. 

But instead of an encore, Bill and Barbara stood and smiled and bowed again and thanked everyone.  Bill mentioned that the music was on his stand, if anyone cared to look at the wild notes of Michael Daugherty's "Yo Amaba a Lucy" (I Loved Lucy) or any others, and if anyone had any questions about it, feel free to ask.

And when he said "any questions," Alex's hand shot up.  He sat as tall as he could, arm reaching for the ceiling, silent, waiting to be called on. 

I had no idea what Alex was going to say, but if you had asked me, my guess would have been something like "Now can we go out for ice cream?"

Bill was looking elsewhere at that moment, so Barbara brought his attention back around to Alex.

"Yes, Alex?"

And Alex spoke up clearly to say "I just want to say thank you for teaching me how to play guitar."

Gulp.

That's MY boy.

There was a general murmury sound of "aww" at that, and I made sure to soak it all in. 

He is a sensitive, thoughtful boy at times.  I sometimes wonder what great thing I did to deserve him.

And then, of course, Julia stuck her hand up, too.  That wasn't at ALL predictable, was it?

"Yes, Julia?"

The room waited while she thought of something to say..."I just love you."

She is sweet and sincere.  At times.  When she's not a wild, hissing octopus on my lap.

I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve her, too.  Heh, heh.

~~~

(Oh - and in case you were wondering, yes, the kids had their ice cream.  Barbara, who knows the area, brought us to a little ice cream stand not too far from the library.  Julia had a cone of vanilla, Alex had a cone of mint chocolate chip.  The cones - and Bill had ordered the "kiddie cone" size - were ENORMOUS.  They ate as much as they could, but no way could they finish.

And after that, we all went out for dinner.)

Character Day

It's reading week at my son's school and today is Character Day, where they dress up as their favorite storybook character.  And they've asked parents to come in and read to the class.  Alex asked if I would, and so - contrary to my hermit-crab-ish personality, I said yes.  For Alex.  He's picked out "Danny and the Dinosaur."

But today, he's in costume.  A costume I made last night and this morning.

He picked the Grinch.  

He was very anxious to be a character, as his teacher said if they didn't dress up, they'd miss out on all the fun.  When I dropped him off this morning, he pointed out a few kids without costumes and said, shaking his head, "Well, looks like they're going to miss out on all the fun."  This - while he was crouching down in the car, looking around to see if any of his buddies were there and in costume so he wouldn't have to walk across the blacktop alone.  

It figures he picked a character with a green face.  "Mrs. W. said we could even paint our faces!" he told me.  At first I toyed with the idea of just using green food coloring.  I already have it.  Several shades, in fact.  But knowing that food coloring lingers sometimes on the skin, I nixed that idea.

No makeup left from Halloween, either.  So I went to CVS last night and came home with green eyeshadow, green eyeliner, black eyeliner, and green nail polish.

He balked at the nail polish at first - "too girly"- but I pointed out that if his hands were going to be green, his nails should, and the Grinch has green fingernails.  That made it okay.

Last night I had him scrounge up all the green clothes he had.  It wasn't much. A couple of plain green tee shirts, but that was about it.   Anything green pants-wise had dinosaurs on it. 

So I figured I'd dig out some kind of green fabric and put together the lower part of Alex's little grinchy body with that.  As I was digging around, I stood up and turned and there, hanging in my closet, was a green terrycloth robe that I've had for years and never wear.  PERFECT!

I grabbed that and a big fat needle, my good scissors, and green yarn.  Grinch-like, I worked without a pattern or any clear understanding of what I was doing.  His Santa suit came out okay; I figured my grinch suit would be fine.

I put the robe on Alex and cut and stitched...my fingers went numb from my stupid idea of stitching by hand...with a big fat needle...and YARN...but I kept going.  Too late to change plans. 

The only thing I couldn't figure out was the waist.  My son, first of all, is built like a stick.  Sticks don't have hips, in case you hadn't noticed.  So whatever he wears must be snug, since there's nothing for the garment to ride on.  Pants have either elastic waists or zippers and snaps.  I didn't have the time or the parts or the know-how to create either of those for him.  And he isn't strong on tying his shoes, (damn me and all the velcro sneakers I've bought because it made MY life easier!) so I didn't want to stress him out with any sort of drawstring arrangement. 

So I had him wear a pair of green shorts under the grinch pants and just tuck the waist of the grinch fabric into the pants.  I had him go up and down the stairs and move around a bit, just to make sure they'd stay, and they did.  Yay. 

Then it was time to apply the makeup.  (It's this morning now.  I finished the pants this morning, too.)  First I put nail polish on, with the assurance that I'd take it off AS SOON as he got home.  Julia looked on enviously.  I told her after today, she can have it.

Then the face.  I had our copy of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and the DVD so I could refer to them as I applied green and black to my little boy's face. 

It was actually fun.  Until Alex looked in the mirror and didn't think he looked like the Grinch.  Well of course you don't!  You're a little boy and you're SWEET!  But I assured him he looked grinchy, and to come sit back down so I can finish.

I changed the mouth a bit - two minutes before we had to leave the house.  The frowny mouth didn't look right - or Grinchy - so I washed the eyeliner off and turned it into the Grinchy smile.  That looked better, I think.

I ordered the kids into the car and we headed to the school.  Bless Julia, she kept saying how awesome Alex looked.  Whether he believed her or not, it was good for MY ego to hear it.

As we neared the school, we saw other kids who wouldn't miss out on all the fun as they trooped toward the building.  Phew!  But still, like I said earlier, he lingered in the car, nervous about crossing that big lot of older kids to get to where the first graders were lined up. 

I started with coaxing and ran through the gamut of reassuring and encouraging and finally resorted to ordering him out of the car.  At last, he took a breath and took his backpack and was out. 

I watched him make his way across the blacktop, head down, feet hurrying. 

He was nearly with his classmates when it happened.

His grinch pants fell down to his ankles.

I cringed and INSTANTLY realized it would have been smarter to stitch the grinch waistband right to the waistband of his shorts.  DOPE!  I've scarred him for life.  AGAIN!

But he just yanked the grinchy pants up and kept going.

Good boy.

I've got a few pictures after the jump, in case you're interested.

A Cat and His Boy, Guitars and Crayons, Pennies and Quarters

 

I love this picture. 

Alex is always on alert for cute cat photo opportunities.  While I was making dinner he yelled "MOM!  YOU'VE GOTTA SEE THIS!"

I yelled down something dull and stodgy like "I've got my hand in a chicken cavity - I can't go anywhere right now!"

And then Bill somehow quietly yelled to me "He's on the couch with the cat" so I washed off my hands and raced halfway down the stairs to peek.  Sure enough, Alex was on the couch with Scratchy.  So I ran back up to the kitchen, grabbed my camera, and took too pictures before Scratchy, fed up with the flash, departed.

~~~~~