I've recently become aware of a number of things that seem to have gotten lost in translation between us and our daughter Eva. I'm not sure if this is something related to her age, or just something she's especially talented at...
I noticed the first one a few weeks ago, when we were reading one of our favorite children's books. It's called No No Yes Yes, and is basically a cartoon baby that, on the left side of the page, does something that is a "no no" thing. On each corresponding right side of the page, the baby is doing the more appropriate "yes, yes" version of whatever behavior is being addressed. So, for instance, on the "no no" page the baby might be dumping his food on his head, while on the "yes yes" page the baby is happily eating his food with a spoon.
This book was very effective with Daniel; so much so that we would only have to say "What does No No Yes Yes say about picking your nose?" and he'd be off to get a tissue. Leslie Patricelli, you are a brilliant author and you deserve every penny you make off this book that contains only two words. I wish I'd have thought of it first.
The thing is, Eva does not seem as taken with the book, and it doesn't seem to have the same kind of sway with her behaviors. The other night, we were reading it, and I was, as usual, pointing to a picture and saying, "What is the baby doing here? Oh no, no! He's eating the dog's food!..." A few pages in, I noticed that Eva was saying things like "No No putting toys in potty. Here, No No going pee on potty. No no running from Daddy. Here, No No holding Daddy's hand." So it seems that Eva is under the impression that the baby's name is No No, and that he just does all kinds of random behaviors. No wonder this book is not effective as a to do/not to do guide to childhood.
Tonight, now, we were reading her Jesus Loves Me book, wherein some well-intentioned sadist crafted 10 or so extra verses of the song with some corresponding cartoon children depicting the lyrics. I have nothing against the song Jesus Loves Me per se, but after sing-songing the tune a dozen times in a row it really starts to lose its charm. About verse 6 or so, the children are outside playing ("Jesus loves me as I play, Outside inside every day...") and one kid has fallen and lost a shoe in the process. Both of our kids have always pointed this out during every reading, but tonight Eva informed me that "Look, Mommy! Jesus lost shoe!" As we went on, she commented that "Jesus has blue pajamas!" and "Jesus has big-boy bed!"
And so, it seems that Eva has identified the illustration character with the slingshot in his pocket as Jesus, and sees this very long song as a kind of "day in the life" portrait. You know, he's just hanging out, doing the usual Jesus stuff like going to preschool, playing legos, raking leaves in the yard, taking a bubble bath...
It kind of makes me wonder what her interpretation is of the rest of the things we tell her in a day.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Kyle, Me, and the WSOP
"Let's shuffle up and deal!!"
Despite the advent of the school year, I always look forward to August because it means one of my favorite television indulgences: poker (the World Series of Poker Main Event, to be exact). I don't know why I love it so; I just do. I am a terrible poker player myself, because I value my own money too much to really take a gamble, and because I tend to get bored with it pretty quickly and start doing sloppy playing. So it makes no sense, then, that I would find watching OTHER people playing poker so fascinating.
Very early in our marriage, Kyle and I stumbled upon this televised poker tournament, and for one reason or another we decided to give it a shot. For those who are not familiar with the WSOP, it really is the mother of all poker events; weeks and weeks of smaller tournaments (which are really too many to watch) culminating in the Main Event, a No-Limit Texas Hold-Em tournament with a $10,000 cash buy-in and (in some years) over 8,000 players. Oh yeah, and the prize for the winner is usually several million dollars, depending on the number of entrants that year. The actual World Series is held from the end of May until mid-July, but the Main Event is televised on ESPN at the rate of two hours per week (one hour usually equaling one-half to one day of play) from August until November. And we are a captive audience; you would think we'd have better things to do.
But there's just something comforting about seeing our favorite players year after year, following their ups and downs, celebrating or bemoaning the unlikely hands that sometimes come up. It's like a little poker soap opera for us- there are players we love, and players we love to hate. We would love to see a professional win, even though the number of amateurs is always a better bet, statistically speaking.
So here's who we're rooting for this year (every year, really) in the WSOP Main Event:
Generally speaking
-Almost any pro who is a quiet, tight player (someone who doesn't bluff super-often)
-Almost any female player, except those who try to flirt their way to wins
-A humble amateur with a low-paying job and a family to support who won their entry fee in some other tournament
Specifically
-Kyle is always rooting for Phil Ivey.
-I am always rooting for Howard Lederer (the first episode we ever saw followed him through some very good tournament play, and I cannot betray my first poker idol). I will also accept Annie Duke, Howard's sister (I even read her poker book).
-We both like Daniel Negreanu, who is almost creepy in his ability to call what his opponent has and who always knows the odds of his particular hand winning.
Here's who we are NOT rooting for:
Generally speaking
-People who are really loud and disruptive
-Celebrities (except Jason Alexander, who is fun to watch, a good sport, and consistently a good player)
-People who are whiny babies when they lose a hand or who make fun of or bully their opponents
-Guys who just turned 21, and who got all their practice playing online instead of going to class at their (soon to be former) respective colleges
Specifically
-Phil Helmuth and Jamie Gold
So here's to August, and to the WSOP. Maybe one day we'll outgrow it, but this year you'll still find us, two mild-mannered, financially cautious Midwestern homebodies watching everybody in Vegas play for the bracelet and the really big money. What are the odds?
Despite the advent of the school year, I always look forward to August because it means one of my favorite television indulgences: poker (the World Series of Poker Main Event, to be exact). I don't know why I love it so; I just do. I am a terrible poker player myself, because I value my own money too much to really take a gamble, and because I tend to get bored with it pretty quickly and start doing sloppy playing. So it makes no sense, then, that I would find watching OTHER people playing poker so fascinating.
Very early in our marriage, Kyle and I stumbled upon this televised poker tournament, and for one reason or another we decided to give it a shot. For those who are not familiar with the WSOP, it really is the mother of all poker events; weeks and weeks of smaller tournaments (which are really too many to watch) culminating in the Main Event, a No-Limit Texas Hold-Em tournament with a $10,000 cash buy-in and (in some years) over 8,000 players. Oh yeah, and the prize for the winner is usually several million dollars, depending on the number of entrants that year. The actual World Series is held from the end of May until mid-July, but the Main Event is televised on ESPN at the rate of two hours per week (one hour usually equaling one-half to one day of play) from August until November. And we are a captive audience; you would think we'd have better things to do.
But there's just something comforting about seeing our favorite players year after year, following their ups and downs, celebrating or bemoaning the unlikely hands that sometimes come up. It's like a little poker soap opera for us- there are players we love, and players we love to hate. We would love to see a professional win, even though the number of amateurs is always a better bet, statistically speaking.
So here's who we're rooting for this year (every year, really) in the WSOP Main Event:
Generally speaking
-Almost any pro who is a quiet, tight player (someone who doesn't bluff super-often)
-Almost any female player, except those who try to flirt their way to wins
-A humble amateur with a low-paying job and a family to support who won their entry fee in some other tournament
Specifically
-Kyle is always rooting for Phil Ivey.
-I am always rooting for Howard Lederer (the first episode we ever saw followed him through some very good tournament play, and I cannot betray my first poker idol). I will also accept Annie Duke, Howard's sister (I even read her poker book).
-We both like Daniel Negreanu, who is almost creepy in his ability to call what his opponent has and who always knows the odds of his particular hand winning.
Here's who we are NOT rooting for:
Generally speaking
-People who are really loud and disruptive
-Celebrities (except Jason Alexander, who is fun to watch, a good sport, and consistently a good player)
-People who are whiny babies when they lose a hand or who make fun of or bully their opponents
-Guys who just turned 21, and who got all their practice playing online instead of going to class at their (soon to be former) respective colleges
Specifically
-Phil Helmuth and Jamie Gold
So here's to August, and to the WSOP. Maybe one day we'll outgrow it, but this year you'll still find us, two mild-mannered, financially cautious Midwestern homebodies watching everybody in Vegas play for the bracelet and the really big money. What are the odds?
Monday, August 2, 2010
Our Vegetable Adventure
So here it is, folks:
One example of the only kind of meal we're likely to make from our garden this year, considering all we've managed to grow is tomatoes and lettuce. There are still a few living pepper and zucchini plants out there, but they all seem to be really good at producing flowers that fall off before any real vegetable forms, so I'm not holding my breath. I think the kids had fun with the experience of planting, and Eva surprised us all by practically eating her weight in lettuce tonight, so I think we're at least minimally satisfied with the outcome. Still, I'm really hoping this will be a learning year in preparation for some more success next summer.
I had a small row garden here before the kids were born, and got a few good vegetables from it each year, but I never seem to be able to consistently raise anything well. This is probably because I have NO idea what I'm doing, and even less experience, and have tried to teach myself with books. We revived the garden again this year with the square foot gardening method. Despite thinking it was going to be the answer to all my problems, the reality was that many of them were still there: the bunnies gnawing away anything leafy and green, those strange black polka dots that take over the leaves of my tomato plants in July, and my general inability to decipher when and how is best to plant and pick things.
You'd think that with all the resources available on the internet I'd look some things up and figure out solutions to these problems. But for some reason this is just the kind of task I tend to avoid. Maybe it's that I get overwhelmed with all I don't know, or am afraid to look like I don't know what I'm doing. These people who know about gardening, where did they learn? Did they have parents who gardened? Did they have several years of mediocrity before becoming good at it? It's funny that I tackle with gusto things like sorting through health insurance run-arounds or choosing and buying a new car, but totally drag my feet to figure out how to prevent all the roots of my plants from becoming exposed. I do seem to eventually make small amounts of progress here and there, and this year was no exception. For next year I at least have the boxes and soil already prepared, and a big roll of garden cloth ready to block the bunnies' access next spring (thanks to my neighbor's suggestion). We may try planting a few fall crops, but will have to commit to that project fairly soon, so we'll see if I get there in time.
Our backup plan for fresh, locally grown produce, though, is only just beginning. Tomorrow we get our first installment of the vegetable subscription we purchased a month or so ago (basically a CSA where we pay a more successful gardener/farmer a fee up-front and then collect part of his harvest each week). The guy we've purchased from seems to be a nice, kinda chatty older man who refers to his program as “the Vegetable Adventure Plan.” Since he chooses each week what will go into our box, and the box is actually quite large, we will surely have plenty of chances to try some new foods. Our friends Madeline and John have been “adventuring” for the full summer, and thus became very acquainted with the many varieties of lettuce earlier this season. I can only assume from talking to them that it is a good thing I learned some basic canning skills last month, as I understand an event called something like “tomato extravaganza” has been foreshadowed in the weekly flyer that comes with the boxes.
Now, I am a particularly planful cook who hashes out a meal list well in advance, so rolling with whatever is in our box each week will really be a challenge for me. In addition to being more relaxed with the planning, I will probably have to look up some vegetables (like what is purslane, anyway?), and push myself to learn how to chop and cook and serve things I've never seen before. In the end, then, the produce subscription will be much like the garden in that it will make me learn to solve food problems I know very little about in a time-sensitive manner. Because the only thing I hate worse than having to teach myself a new skill is wasting good food...
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Rookie Season
Okay, okay; so it's been a long time since I've posted on this blog. We've had a busy summer, with lots of travel, lots of guests in our house, and (unfortunately) lots of computer problems, all of which I plan to write about eventually. These events have, however, reduced my internet time to only what is necessary to run my class and keep my inbox from overflowing. I have lots of ideas for blog posts in my head, though, and so I've finally decided to get one of them written down.
One thing we've done this summer is introduce Daniel to organized sports. We signed him up for t-ball at the beginning of the summer, and even though he was the one playing I think I also learned a few things. For instance, we showed up to the first game with no lawn chairs or blanket or water bottles or snacks, and quickly learned that we would probably need to invest in all of these things. We learned not to park in the spot closest to the fields unless we would like to wait for the entire parking lot to empty before we can pull out. And I finally started to understand why parents can run into problems getting their entire family to sit at the table together for dinners: six o'clock game times for just one kid really threw off our nightly schedule; I can only imagine trying to work around two or three different kids' sports schedules.
Also, I learned that the term "organized sports" should be applied very loosely to the four-six age range. Daniel's first turn at bat ended with him running straight across the field, toward second base, while all the parents and coaches yelled, "No! Go THAT way!!" Most runners on base forgot to advance to the next base until the runner behind them came up and gave them a tap. There were two fielding styles: the wearing-glove-on-head-facing-the-wrong-way camp, and the fight-other-members-of-your-team-for-every-ball group. There were no outs or scores, and though this was probably a good thing, it removed most of the structure from the activity.
I also learned a lot about expectations adults impose on youth sports. I was surprised to see that many players consistently had both parents, all their siblings, and some aunts, uncles, and grandparents at their games. Daniel's coach seemed really alarmed that Daniel would sometimes want to use the pink Barbie bat, and would run over to take it from him, saying, "Oh no, Pal. You don't want that bat. Try this one (handing him the Hot Wheels bat). This is the POWER bat. This is the one you want." All pretty amusing considering this coach was otherwise fairly hands-off. A kid on one team we played was very competitive and aggressive, sneering at other kids and repeatedly announcing things like how his team was going to "cream" them (a real feat considering the no-score thing). Kyle and I looked at each other, wondering aloud what that kid's parents were like, and what he'd be like by the time he gets to high school.
Let me not, though, exclude myself from this review of parental expectations. See, I enrolled Daniel in t-ball with the expectation that he would get some exercise, have fun, and learn how to play a team sport. Apparently I also had an expectation that he would pay some attention to the game, so I have to admit that I was fairly disappointed to see his lack of focus or enthusiasm during play. He was always excited to go to t-ball, and always said he had fun, but honestly spent nearly all of game time staring off into space and/or sitting down in the field. He almost never ran, neither after hitting nor during one of his very few attempts to field the ball. Frequently he missed the fact that his team had changed from the hitting team to the fielding team or vice versa, until his coach or Kyle or I specifically got his attention and instructed him to go to or come in from the field. In fact, Kyle and I (and the coach) spent a lot of time at games calling to Daniel to "Put your glove on your hand, Buddy!" or "Turn around!" or "Pick up that ball! The one that landed right in front of you!" as he stared off into space.
Daniel was also obsessed with snacks, specifically whether there would be any after the game and if so what they would be. Unfortunately we appeared to have been randomly placed on the only team in the league that did not organize some sort of snack-bringing turns system and therefore rarely had anything after the games. During the last game, Daniel was sauntering from third base to home to end the last "inning" for his team when he stopped dead in his tracks to peer into a bag on the ground that held juice boxes and fruit snacks. No encouraging yells from the coach or parents could break the spell as he stood there, transfixed by the snacks, while the whole game waited for him.
And here's where I come in. On this occasion we had driven five hours back from Nebraska and left all the unpacking undone at home in order to make this game on time. Despite the fact that we had gone out to eat immediately before the game, Daniel had spent most of his time in the field mooching the sunflower seeds the coach had in his pocket instead of playing the game. I was so frustrated when Daniel stopped running the bases that I got up and loudly chastised him in front of the whole field while roughly dragging him to home base by his arm. Nothing like ending the season with a bang, right? Now I could have imagined it, but it did seem like some other parents were averting their eyes from me on the way out of that game, probably because I had acted like a total LUNATIC over four year-old t-ball.
And this is uncomfortable to admit about myself, that I am more competitive or aggressive than I'd like to be, and that this extends to the kids' behavior as well. I'm not saying that I expected Daniel to whack home runs and make double plays at every game, but I did expect that he would care enough to try and to pay attention and listen to the coach. It was frustrating and embarrassing to me some days to have the kid who didn't DO anything. And I don't think that this will be the last time Daniel and I will struggle with this as he continues through childhood. His temperament is just slow-to-warm up and very cautious, something that I've had to work to be patient with. On the one hand, I appreciate and respect this about him, and know that when he's older I'll be able to give him more independence, knowing he will not do things that are reckless. But on the other hand, I worry so much that his fears and hesitancy will cause him to miss out on great experiences or to have problems relating socially to other kids.
I thought of this again today when Daniel was riding his bike, another activity that we introduced this summer. For the most part he is perfectly content to ride in little circles, over and over, on our small driveway. After little crashes he needs to be coaxed or even bribed to get back on the bike rather than give it up "until he's five." Last week I was so excited when he asked to leave the driveway and go around the block, only to cringe as he forgot how to brake and wiped out in the first 50 feet, bumping his head and putting a nice deep scratch all down the driver's side of our neighbors' car.
Since this incident, Daniel has once again refused to leave the driveway, but today I was overcome with the sense that if I didn't make him go back out there he would never want to. So I asked him, then begged him, and then forced him to sit on the bike and walked him, screaming bloody murder, out into the street. Even writing that now makes me feel kind of like a jerk. But as I avoided our neighbors' questioning looks and pushed the bike down the street, I noticed that Daniel had started pedaling. And then he stopped screaming and followed my instructions to practice braking. Then he started smiling and even laughed when I said, "See? You're doing it!" And though there's no excuse for dragging him to home base at t-ball I wonder if sometimes looking like a totally deranged, aggressive parent will be necessary to get Daniel past whatever is holding him back.
The challenge for me is trying to figure out the difference between a constructive push and a destructive airing of my own frustration. And I wonder if all kids and all parents go through this kind of thing on the way to learning how to play baseball or ride a bike. I don't ever want to encourage Daniel to abandon his sensitivity or sweetness, but I also don't want him to lack courage. And though I am enjoying Daniel leaving babyhood and becoming a full-blown kid, I sometimes think of all the challenges ahead of us as parents and feel like I'm the one who is totally out of my league.
One thing we've done this summer is introduce Daniel to organized sports. We signed him up for t-ball at the beginning of the summer, and even though he was the one playing I think I also learned a few things. For instance, we showed up to the first game with no lawn chairs or blanket or water bottles or snacks, and quickly learned that we would probably need to invest in all of these things. We learned not to park in the spot closest to the fields unless we would like to wait for the entire parking lot to empty before we can pull out. And I finally started to understand why parents can run into problems getting their entire family to sit at the table together for dinners: six o'clock game times for just one kid really threw off our nightly schedule; I can only imagine trying to work around two or three different kids' sports schedules.
Also, I learned that the term "organized sports" should be applied very loosely to the four-six age range. Daniel's first turn at bat ended with him running straight across the field, toward second base, while all the parents and coaches yelled, "No! Go THAT way!!" Most runners on base forgot to advance to the next base until the runner behind them came up and gave them a tap. There were two fielding styles: the wearing-glove-on-head-facing-the-wrong-way camp, and the fight-other-members-of-your-team-for-every-ball group. There were no outs or scores, and though this was probably a good thing, it removed most of the structure from the activity.
I also learned a lot about expectations adults impose on youth sports. I was surprised to see that many players consistently had both parents, all their siblings, and some aunts, uncles, and grandparents at their games. Daniel's coach seemed really alarmed that Daniel would sometimes want to use the pink Barbie bat, and would run over to take it from him, saying, "Oh no, Pal. You don't want that bat. Try this one (handing him the Hot Wheels bat). This is the POWER bat. This is the one you want." All pretty amusing considering this coach was otherwise fairly hands-off. A kid on one team we played was very competitive and aggressive, sneering at other kids and repeatedly announcing things like how his team was going to "cream" them (a real feat considering the no-score thing). Kyle and I looked at each other, wondering aloud what that kid's parents were like, and what he'd be like by the time he gets to high school.
Let me not, though, exclude myself from this review of parental expectations. See, I enrolled Daniel in t-ball with the expectation that he would get some exercise, have fun, and learn how to play a team sport. Apparently I also had an expectation that he would pay some attention to the game, so I have to admit that I was fairly disappointed to see his lack of focus or enthusiasm during play. He was always excited to go to t-ball, and always said he had fun, but honestly spent nearly all of game time staring off into space and/or sitting down in the field. He almost never ran, neither after hitting nor during one of his very few attempts to field the ball. Frequently he missed the fact that his team had changed from the hitting team to the fielding team or vice versa, until his coach or Kyle or I specifically got his attention and instructed him to go to or come in from the field. In fact, Kyle and I (and the coach) spent a lot of time at games calling to Daniel to "Put your glove on your hand, Buddy!" or "Turn around!" or "Pick up that ball! The one that landed right in front of you!" as he stared off into space.
Daniel was also obsessed with snacks, specifically whether there would be any after the game and if so what they would be. Unfortunately we appeared to have been randomly placed on the only team in the league that did not organize some sort of snack-bringing turns system and therefore rarely had anything after the games. During the last game, Daniel was sauntering from third base to home to end the last "inning" for his team when he stopped dead in his tracks to peer into a bag on the ground that held juice boxes and fruit snacks. No encouraging yells from the coach or parents could break the spell as he stood there, transfixed by the snacks, while the whole game waited for him.
And here's where I come in. On this occasion we had driven five hours back from Nebraska and left all the unpacking undone at home in order to make this game on time. Despite the fact that we had gone out to eat immediately before the game, Daniel had spent most of his time in the field mooching the sunflower seeds the coach had in his pocket instead of playing the game. I was so frustrated when Daniel stopped running the bases that I got up and loudly chastised him in front of the whole field while roughly dragging him to home base by his arm. Nothing like ending the season with a bang, right? Now I could have imagined it, but it did seem like some other parents were averting their eyes from me on the way out of that game, probably because I had acted like a total LUNATIC over four year-old t-ball.
And this is uncomfortable to admit about myself, that I am more competitive or aggressive than I'd like to be, and that this extends to the kids' behavior as well. I'm not saying that I expected Daniel to whack home runs and make double plays at every game, but I did expect that he would care enough to try and to pay attention and listen to the coach. It was frustrating and embarrassing to me some days to have the kid who didn't DO anything. And I don't think that this will be the last time Daniel and I will struggle with this as he continues through childhood. His temperament is just slow-to-warm up and very cautious, something that I've had to work to be patient with. On the one hand, I appreciate and respect this about him, and know that when he's older I'll be able to give him more independence, knowing he will not do things that are reckless. But on the other hand, I worry so much that his fears and hesitancy will cause him to miss out on great experiences or to have problems relating socially to other kids.
I thought of this again today when Daniel was riding his bike, another activity that we introduced this summer. For the most part he is perfectly content to ride in little circles, over and over, on our small driveway. After little crashes he needs to be coaxed or even bribed to get back on the bike rather than give it up "until he's five." Last week I was so excited when he asked to leave the driveway and go around the block, only to cringe as he forgot how to brake and wiped out in the first 50 feet, bumping his head and putting a nice deep scratch all down the driver's side of our neighbors' car.
Since this incident, Daniel has once again refused to leave the driveway, but today I was overcome with the sense that if I didn't make him go back out there he would never want to. So I asked him, then begged him, and then forced him to sit on the bike and walked him, screaming bloody murder, out into the street. Even writing that now makes me feel kind of like a jerk. But as I avoided our neighbors' questioning looks and pushed the bike down the street, I noticed that Daniel had started pedaling. And then he stopped screaming and followed my instructions to practice braking. Then he started smiling and even laughed when I said, "See? You're doing it!" And though there's no excuse for dragging him to home base at t-ball I wonder if sometimes looking like a totally deranged, aggressive parent will be necessary to get Daniel past whatever is holding him back.
The challenge for me is trying to figure out the difference between a constructive push and a destructive airing of my own frustration. And I wonder if all kids and all parents go through this kind of thing on the way to learning how to play baseball or ride a bike. I don't ever want to encourage Daniel to abandon his sensitivity or sweetness, but I also don't want him to lack courage. And though I am enjoying Daniel leaving babyhood and becoming a full-blown kid, I sometimes think of all the challenges ahead of us as parents and feel like I'm the one who is totally out of my league.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Our Blueberry Haul
This morning we went to opening weekend at a blueberry farm just outside town. The kids were able to stay focused for a reasonable amount of time despite the warm weather conditions, and we came home with almost 7 pounds of blueberries (two big bags like the one pictured above)! Actually, let me rephrase that: we checked out with almost 7 pounds of blueberries. Quite a number of them were consumed in the car on the way home...
This is just one more perk of living in a rural area. When I was a kid I don't think I actually knew where blueberries came from (trees? plants?), much less had a chance to pick and eat them right off the bushes. And boy are they delicious this way; I can hardly blame the kids for wanting to eat them by the handful. In fact, I am planning a blueberry cobbler for dessert tonight and blueberry muffins for Father's Day breakfast tomorrow. I'm wondering if it is possible to actually turn into a blueberry, like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ("I have a blueberry for a daughter!"). Gosh, let's hope not.
Today was a good indulgence of my recent Michael Pollan "know where your food comes from" kick. We're thinking about buying some grass-fed beef this fall from some friends who have a small farm and herd. I wonder if the kids will be as excited to eat burgers when they've actually previously met Bessie the Cow (actually, this family names all their cows Lord of the Rings names, so it would probably be more like Gimli the Cow or something). I can't imagine that going over as well as the berries. Then again, it's hard to imagine anything going over as well as the berries. I guess we'll see...
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Joy Joy Joy!
Today was a great day, and what I would like to consider the official start to the Sterup family summer. It started off early in the morning; as I was leaving to go jogging the dogs just looked so excited and hopeful to see me putting on my shoes that I couldn't resist letting them come along. And though my run in general was less than refreshing (it's HOT, even early in the morning, and I am SLOW, just now getting back to exercise after being sick), the sight of Barney and Bailey excitedly trotting down the street with their ears back and their tails wagging really made my morning.
We had homemade cherry almond scones leftover from the weekend (they'd been frozen, we weren't eating stale pastries), then Kyle emptied the dishwasher while I was in the shower (least favorite chore: completed for the day). After Kyle went in to work the kids and I went to the doctor to have Eva's leg looked at, and Dr. Bailey pronounced her healed enough to REMOVE HER CAST!!!
The saw was VERY loud, and Eva screamed bloody murder the whole time they cut the cast off. But Daniel was very sweet, standing with his hands over his ears in the furthest possible corner from us, yelling "It's okay, Eva! Don't cry! It's okay!" over and over. And the whole thing was very quick; we were out of the office in 20 minutes, and made it to the library program I had assumed we'd have to miss.
We had a great time at the library. The weather was good, so they held the show in a nice shady area outside instead of cramming us all into the building. At last week's event the librarian had billed this as a mime act, but there was a distinct absence of white grease paint and quite a bit of talking. It was very funny, though, with lots of juggling and magic tricks. Both the kids won super-cool stuff in the door prize drawing, and I wasn't fined for returning a book a day late, which is kind of like a prize for me.
After that we had a picnic in the park and played on the playground to celebrate Eva's two-legged freedom. When we got home the kids collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, for some glorious simultaneous naps. I saw an e-mail for a sale on children's clothing, but after a few minutes I realized there is really nothing we need. And THAT is a good feeling.
So energized was I by our fantastic morning that this afternoon I cleaned our bathrooms, sorted laundry, and swept, mopped, and vacuumed all our floors. We used gift certificates the kids earned through the summer reading program to go out for pizza for dinner, and then all went to Daniel's t-ball game. He actually fielded the ball twice, which he has never done before in a game, and he was so thrilled that he'd actually touched the ball.
I am surprised at what a relief it is to have Eva's cast off, for her to be able to run in the mud or go to the pool or take a bath. I'm glad to be over being sick, and to have some energy. The weather forecast had predicted rain for today, so the sunshine we got feels like something sneaky we got away with. We are getting used to Kyle's and my more relaxed summer schedules, and the local blueberry farm opens for picking tomorrow. Today just seems like the first day of the rest of our summer, and it was a really good one.
At some point during the day while we were in the car, Daniel just started saying "Joy, joy, joy!" over and over in a sing-song kind of way in the back seat. As I sit here tonight, belly full of pizza, in our clean, air-conditioned house with my healthy family all sleeping peacefully, all I have to say is:
My thoughts exactly.
We had homemade cherry almond scones leftover from the weekend (they'd been frozen, we weren't eating stale pastries), then Kyle emptied the dishwasher while I was in the shower (least favorite chore: completed for the day). After Kyle went in to work the kids and I went to the doctor to have Eva's leg looked at, and Dr. Bailey pronounced her healed enough to REMOVE HER CAST!!!
The saw was VERY loud, and Eva screamed bloody murder the whole time they cut the cast off. But Daniel was very sweet, standing with his hands over his ears in the furthest possible corner from us, yelling "It's okay, Eva! Don't cry! It's okay!" over and over. And the whole thing was very quick; we were out of the office in 20 minutes, and made it to the library program I had assumed we'd have to miss.
We had a great time at the library. The weather was good, so they held the show in a nice shady area outside instead of cramming us all into the building. At last week's event the librarian had billed this as a mime act, but there was a distinct absence of white grease paint and quite a bit of talking. It was very funny, though, with lots of juggling and magic tricks. Both the kids won super-cool stuff in the door prize drawing, and I wasn't fined for returning a book a day late, which is kind of like a prize for me.
After that we had a picnic in the park and played on the playground to celebrate Eva's two-legged freedom. When we got home the kids collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, for some glorious simultaneous naps. I saw an e-mail for a sale on children's clothing, but after a few minutes I realized there is really nothing we need. And THAT is a good feeling.
So energized was I by our fantastic morning that this afternoon I cleaned our bathrooms, sorted laundry, and swept, mopped, and vacuumed all our floors. We used gift certificates the kids earned through the summer reading program to go out for pizza for dinner, and then all went to Daniel's t-ball game. He actually fielded the ball twice, which he has never done before in a game, and he was so thrilled that he'd actually touched the ball.
I am surprised at what a relief it is to have Eva's cast off, for her to be able to run in the mud or go to the pool or take a bath. I'm glad to be over being sick, and to have some energy. The weather forecast had predicted rain for today, so the sunshine we got feels like something sneaky we got away with. We are getting used to Kyle's and my more relaxed summer schedules, and the local blueberry farm opens for picking tomorrow. Today just seems like the first day of the rest of our summer, and it was a really good one.
At some point during the day while we were in the car, Daniel just started saying "Joy, joy, joy!" over and over in a sing-song kind of way in the back seat. As I sit here tonight, belly full of pizza, in our clean, air-conditioned house with my healthy family all sleeping peacefully, all I have to say is:
My thoughts exactly.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
C is for Coyly Threatening Your Mother
Today the kids and I finally got around to making the cutout cookies I'd planned on baking before I got sick a couple of weeks ago. It was rainy here today, so it was the perfect thing to keep the kids occupied. Eva and I made the dough this morning while Daniel was playing at a friend's house, then after lunch Daniel and I rolled out and cut out all the cookies while Eva napped. By the time Kyle got home from school we'd just finished baking and we all frosted them together (This really is an all-day thing; this recipe makes about 12 dozen cutout cookies. If they weren't amazingly delicious we'd never make them). Everybody had fun with the sprinkles, and when we were done we each had one cookie. Happy day, right?
Before we'd even eaten our "one cookie each," Daniel started working on me about being allowed a second one after dinner. I put him off with the classic parental "We'll see...," but really I knew I'd end up giving him one. After all, he's a four-year-old who spent the entire afternoon focused on this project; I thought he kind of deserved a second. So eventually we settled on one extra cookie to anyone who ate a good dinner. I should have seen it coming, what with all the dough-eating, the licking of dripped frosting, the sampling of sprinkles. Nobody ate dinner. Well, nobody under the age of 30, anyway.
I made a meal the kids like, we gave lots of warnings, we encouraged and cajoled and gave them way past the end of the meal until I'd cleaned up the kitchen, but still no dice. So we calmly announced there were no cookies and started bath time. And you would think these kids had never seen a consequence before in their lives. Eva spent her first 30 minutes in bed tonight wailing "YES COOOOKIEEEE!," while Daniel came to the kitchen to "help" me put the cookies into containers to be given away or frozen. Our conversation went something like this:
"You know, I am feeling very angry to you right now."
"Oh yeah, Bud?"
"Yeah. You know just now when I asked you for a cookie for dessert and you said 'NO!!' (scrunching his face and yelling wickedly); that made me really mad. Do you REALLY want me to be angry to you?"
"Well, actually I was willing to give you a cookie if you ate your dinner. You're the one who decided not to eat. Maybe you should be angry with yourself."
Silence, thinking... Now very calmly, in a kind of menacing tone...
"You know, tomorrow, we will go somewhere and I will see someone and I will tell them that you did not give me ANY dessert, and they will say 'YOUR MOMMY DID NOT GIVE YOU ANY DESSERT?!?!,' and I will say, "Yes."
End of conversation.
Well, let's hope we don't run into any law enforcement officers or DFS workers tomorrow. Maybe they'll let me off the hook if I give them a cookie. :)
Before we'd even eaten our "one cookie each," Daniel started working on me about being allowed a second one after dinner. I put him off with the classic parental "We'll see...," but really I knew I'd end up giving him one. After all, he's a four-year-old who spent the entire afternoon focused on this project; I thought he kind of deserved a second. So eventually we settled on one extra cookie to anyone who ate a good dinner. I should have seen it coming, what with all the dough-eating, the licking of dripped frosting, the sampling of sprinkles. Nobody ate dinner. Well, nobody under the age of 30, anyway.
I made a meal the kids like, we gave lots of warnings, we encouraged and cajoled and gave them way past the end of the meal until I'd cleaned up the kitchen, but still no dice. So we calmly announced there were no cookies and started bath time. And you would think these kids had never seen a consequence before in their lives. Eva spent her first 30 minutes in bed tonight wailing "YES COOOOKIEEEE!," while Daniel came to the kitchen to "help" me put the cookies into containers to be given away or frozen. Our conversation went something like this:
"You know, I am feeling very angry to you right now."
"Oh yeah, Bud?"
"Yeah. You know just now when I asked you for a cookie for dessert and you said 'NO!!' (scrunching his face and yelling wickedly); that made me really mad. Do you REALLY want me to be angry to you?"
"Well, actually I was willing to give you a cookie if you ate your dinner. You're the one who decided not to eat. Maybe you should be angry with yourself."
Silence, thinking... Now very calmly, in a kind of menacing tone...
"You know, tomorrow, we will go somewhere and I will see someone and I will tell them that you did not give me ANY dessert, and they will say 'YOUR MOMMY DID NOT GIVE YOU ANY DESSERT?!?!,' and I will say, "Yes."
End of conversation.
Well, let's hope we don't run into any law enforcement officers or DFS workers tomorrow. Maybe they'll let me off the hook if I give them a cookie. :)
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