Paperwork

Today is one of those days where everyone (including the dog) has an appointment this afternoon. So before we resign ourselves to car seats and seat belts and the important going-ons of the day, we thought we'd settle in at the kitchen table, take a deep breath, and have ourselves a scribble.


Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~ Pablo Picasso

Anticipation

I'm not much of a planner. But daydreaming, well, I do that in spades. Lately, I've been garden daydreaming - thinking about colorful blooms, knee pads and dirty fingernails, trips to the yard rather than to the store. I have friends - go-getter friends, friends who make things happen - who have had seeds started for their gardens for weeks. Me? Still daydreaming. I meant to get going on this project over a month go. I did some research. I checked stores for seed cell packs (the plastic trays with domes used to start your seeds indoors). Jason and I had the "our expectations for our garden this year talk." Still, all talk and dreaming and no action.

Then, Friday at my Mom's group, I won a pellet greenhouse kit (a souped up version of the cell pack I was eyeing at the store) for drawing the house and garden closest to the specifications given, with my eyes shut. Just one more thing for which I have to thank my former high school art teacher, the greatly missed Mr. Berry, who made us do a similar exercise in class.

Today, Audrey and I bought a few packages of seeds (tomatoes, green peppers, and parsley) to add to the stash of herb seeds at home. Seeds in hand, pellet greenhouse on counter top, we thought we were finally ready for some action. We thought wrong. We filled the cell pack with the specified 32 ounces of water and waited, and waited, and waited for the pellets to expand. I assumed it would take several hours for them to expand the 1.5-2 inches required. We're still waiting. At 8:15 pm, I let Audrey (who was very excited about planting seeds today) look at the packages and touch the pellets one more time before heading off to pajamas and bed. Looks like we'll be daydreaming for a little while longer...

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 12

Lost and Found and and Proper Nouns:

On Monday, I found lamb resting comfortably in the box that normally houses my dictionary, thesaurus, and synonym books. Audrey likes to put her animals to bed inside various containers she finds around the house. Usually she covers them with something (a lid, book, dishcloth, etc.) to serve as a blanket. Luckily, I found my missing dictionary and its companion books unharmed, scattered across our desk.

Tuesday morning, I heard Audrey in her crib calling out, "Daddy, daddy." Unfortunately, Jason was no where to be found, having already left for work. Not knowing this, Audrey continued her attempts to call her Dad, each attempt more elaborate than the last: "Daddy!" "Daddy are you?" She finally resorted to yelling her version of his full name (swapping out Jason Correy for Daddy Paige since she thinks that everyone's middle name is Paige) as if he was not coming simply because she had not been specific enough and he was merely confused.

Two weeks ago, after Jason returned from his San Diego trip, he realized his watch was missing. It's not a watch Jason picked out for himself, and I don't know that had he been picking out his own watch, he would have selected this one. It was an award, given to the top sales representatives (based on performance and leadership) in the country. Jason won it his first year on the job. He only wears it when he dresses up - and he took it to San Diego. He said he thought he had remembered wearing it somewhere that seemed out of place, with short sleeves instead of a dress shirt. We searched the house. He said, "You know how many times I've almost lost that thing? It's amazing I've kept it this long." I called my parents. They searched their house. He said, "It's just a watch."

And it is. It's just a watch - some metal, gears, and glass. But as we continued to look, I wasn't thinking about the watch. I was thinking about that first year: Jason's first year at his job, a move to a new state, our brand-new marriage. I remember waking up one morning to realize that Jason had not slept, but had spent all night laying in bed strategizing about better ways to run his business. This happened several nights that first year. Often, long days were followed by working nights. At one point, I remember Jason being reminded by his boss to take his vacation days. I also remember the excited call from a hotel room in Chicago as Jason told me he had won this award and two others (and the audio tour that followed as he described every detail of a hotel room that he said he wished I could see). I thought about the trip to Hawaii (also part of the award) - the place I had been saying I had always wanted to go - and pinching ourselves as we ordered room service - ROOM SERVICE! - for an ice cream sundae and french fries. We spent the week meaning to relax, but trying to absorb every part of the island we could (hiking the rainforest, kayaking by sea turtles, me running along the beach) knowing that most likely, we would never make that trip again. So it is just a watch, and maybe a bit more. And as much as Jason tried to put its loss in perspective, I couldn't get it out of my mind.



But, time moved on and Wednesday we had plans to go to the Children's Museum with Jason's mom. During the week, I carry a big bag: a bag that things get thrown into more often than they get taken out. To go to the children's museum, I like to take a small backpack filled only with the essentials. I was grabbing a few items out of the behemoth bag (and talking to Jason on the phone) when I noticed a small glint of gold in the pocket I was rifling through. I gasped. The watch (which Jason had tossed in there unbeknownst to me and then quickly forgotten in his jet-lagged state) had been with me all the time.

The mystery of the watch solved, Audrey enjoyed a day at the Children's Museum with her Grammy. Normally, she is drawn to a few specific areas (the dinosaur exhibit, any exhibit that contains water, the carousel), but this time she found a new area of interest, plastic shapes meant to mimic the artistry of Dale Chihuly's Fireworks of Glass, his largest permanent blown glass sculpture.

Wednesday night, I woke to a sore throat, which sent me out the door Thursday morning en route to the doctor to cut any major sickness off at the knees. Upon seeing the exam table, which looked like some sort of jungle gym equipment from her vantage point, I'm sure, Audrey decided it was her doctor's appointment. When I informed her that it was mama's appointment and that she would not be climbing up on the table, Audrey took matters into her own hands. She introduced herself to the doctor (giving her full name, of course) three times. She also threw out other vital statistics, such as her age, all in an attempt to bogart the exam table. I did let her stop at the nurses' station on the way out to measure her height. She's an inch shy of being three feet tall! Three feet tall! We made it out of the doctor's office with a prescription, but not our sippy cup, which tends to be the item we lose most often.

Today, we made a quick trip to the library. Audrey loves to play with a train set in the children's section. Most days, we have the train set to ourselves, but today we were sharing it with another little boy around Audrey's age. Using their library cards a collateral, kids can check out Thomas the Train sets to use on the library's tracks. Audrey has never seen Thomas the Train, but the little boy she was playing with has. In an attempt to play with her, he scooted one of his trains close to hers and said, "Hi Thomas." She said, "No, I Audrey."

This has been an interesting week. Valuable things were found in places we wouldn't normally think to look. I had been hoping to spend part of this week working on Easter projects or

Fireworks of Glass reflected off the floor of the Children's Museum



planning our garden. But I lost some of that project time and found some unexpected rest when my body declared a vacation day. As I settled onto the couch, Audrey at my feet, feeling a little guilty for letting her watch another movie, I saw these words pop up on the tv screen:

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway. Because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.
- Bee Movie

Things are found in small and unexpected places. Even words of wisdom. Even when you are lying sick on the couch and feel like your swollen ears and tired eyes can't take them in. I hope you find something wonderful this weekend. Or even better, spend it not caring what humans think is impossible.

Birds of a Feather

Scenes from our walk home yesterday.

You know, just your typical yard art. (Which Audrey tried to go introduce herself to). I love the vibrant green head of the first one and the patterned feathers of the second. Of course, my pictures don't do them justice. They were on the move, especially once a friendly two-year-old headed their way. I guess she didn't quite fit the bill.

On Our Windowsill

Fallen pine cones from a recent walk,

A collection of broken sand dollars from Audrey's first trip to the ocean last summer,

Rocks of all seasons.

For the Love of Dogs

Lately, Audrey has been on the outs with our dog, Emmy. Memories of having your tail pulled by an 18-month-old die hard, I suppose. Audrey has tried to overcome the past, offering toys for Em to play with, showering her with unwanted affection, and trying to feed her food from her bowl [a gesture which Em mistook as stealing and got Audrey banned from the laundry room (a.k.a. Emmy's room) for her own safety]. The fact that Em will fall all over herself to drop down by a child, any other child, and expose a warm belly for the scratching does nothing to soften the blow, I'm sure.

So yesterday, I told Audrey that she could show her love to the standoffish one by baking some dog treats. Always eager to help in the kitchen, Audrey donned her green apron and we got down to business. Dumping the ingredients into a big bowl and rolling out the dough were a huge success. However, I did not realize how difficult metal cookie cutters are for a two-year-old to push into thick dough. This, coupled with our current case of Don't-touch-itis, and our project hit a snag. Afraid the dough would dry out before making it to the oven, I went in search of another small cookie cutter, which made the process much smoother and much more exciting for Audrey - TWO cookie cutters to choose from! Of course, the only ones I could find were Halloween shapes,

which is why some of Emmy's current dog treats are shaped like bats. Of course, our little marine biologist claims they are sting rays. Hmm...bats and bones, so very, Spring? Interested in making your own dog treats? Find a slew of free recipes here.

Dinner? (or, Sunflowers, Daisies, and Roses, oh my!)

Jason loves breakfast. It's his favorite meal of the day. It's also the meal he never eats. To remedy this, I've begun serving breakfast for dinner one night a week. One night a week, we whip together our morning favorites and everyone sits down for a late night breakfast that no one has to rush away from - no work deadlines, no play dates, just end of the day dinner.

Last month, after choosing to make pancakes, again, we began reminiscing about waffles. We had owned a waffle maker once, about five years ago before it cracked, rendering it unusable. Somehow, we had managed to go five years without replacing it. Then the talks began - the talks about how great waffles are: light, fluffy, excellent vehicles for transportation of syrup from plate to mouth - perfect in every way, really, except the slight hang-up of needing a waffle maker to make them.


This month, we welcomed a new waffle maker (and the homemade waffle) back into our home. I found a VillaWare Petite Flower Gravity Waffler hiding on a clearance shelf marked over 60% off - that deal coupled with thoughts of Audrey's flour-covered hands and light and fluffy confections got me to the check-out line in a hurry. And yes, those are waffles shaped like sunflowers, daisies, and roses that you saw in the picture (hence, the petite flower part of our lengthy titled-appliance). Our dinner Saturday night was a bouquet of sorts, topped with syrup and a sprinkle of powdered sugar. A little sugar and a leisurely breakfast dinner, well, that's what weekends are all about.

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 11

If Audrey were a hit single set on repeat, this week she'd be called, "Don't touch. Don't touch!" I reach for her as she tries her hand at the monkey bars for the first time: "Don't touch!" Climbing to the tall slide: "Mama, don't touch." Sitting on the big kid swing: "Don't touch!" Trying to dress her when she'd rather attempt it solo: "Don't touch." Wanting to explore the zoo on foot by herself: "Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch" (becoming quieter as she runs farther away, her words carried by the wind). Sometimes, she changes things up with a finger point for emphasis.

On Tuesday, we were visited by dear friends who live in Florida. Turns out, their three-year-old is a lady-killer who Audrey spent the evening showering with hugs and kisses (not that I blame her, it's hard to resist those blond curls and big brown eyes). But we had yet to see her take so instantly to a friend before.

Last night, Audrey tore down the hallway in the dark, right into a baby gate. Upon impact, she bit hard into her lip in two places. The pain, and tears, were instant. I cleaned her up, calmed her down, and sent her on her way, ice cube in hand to numb her broken lip. She came back moments later, crawled into my lap and said, "Mama, Audrey be ok."

Today as I began writing this, she sat beside me singing her own made-up songs and talking quietly to herself about things I couldn't understand. I realized that there are many things I can't touch without her granting me access: her thoughts (some that she desperately wants to share but doesn't yet know how), the connections she feels to others, and the roles she feels a responsibility to play (even if the role is as my comforter). As much as I admire her fiercely independent spirit and her plucky determination, I hope that she does grant me a little time each day to hold her close, squeeze her tight, and touch her heart. And a little bit of access into those thoughts she's having so I can know her better, well, that would be nice, too.

Put on a Hat

In seventh grade, I tried out for the basketball team. A head shorter than most of my classmates and as sturdy as a toothpick, basketball was not a natural fit. My skills with a ball didn't intimidate any more than my size. But the coach, Miss Traub, saw something worth developing. I don't know if she thought I had any abilities as an athlete, or just saw a kid who she could help. Regardless, she gave me a spot on the team sharing a uniform with two other girls so that she wouldn't have to cut any of us and could still keep her roster to the allotted number. I had never heard of a coach doing anything like that before, and I haven't seen another do it since.

As we traveled that winter to and from practice or games, Miss Traub had one requirement: everyone wore a hat. Today, we were halfway to the playground when I felt the wind's chilly sting on my ears and told Audrey she had to wear a hat. I remembered Miss Traub and the groans she endured each time she told us to grab our hats. I found myself dwelling on her as I spotted Audrey on the monkey bars, hoping that that season of basketball had been worth her time, because that one season was worth mine.

Despite Miss Traub's best efforts, I never turned into much of a ball player. But I am grateful that I was given a chance to share a uniform and Miss Traub's time. I hope that Audrey has a Miss Traub to show her that all of us (the most talented and the least) are all worth being told to put on a hat.

For those of you with warm weather, I hope you are out enjoying it. If it's cold where you are, bundle up. Put on a hat.

Watching the Day Go By...

When I was a kid, I spent hours watching - most often perched on the roof of our sandbox (not what my father intended when he built it, I'm sure). I watched whatever was present (birds, leaves, seeds), taking in the sounds and movements around me. I remember summer being a time to not keep time - a time for watching, playing, and soaking the sun in through closed eyelids.

Today, we had one wee hour to spend between the day's events. I set up the hammock and we headed out to the backyard to rest, to watch, to listen. The hammock rocked and we took in one peaceful hour, before story time, dinner, and the storm clouds rolled in.

We hope you get a little time to rest today, catch a glimpse of a good view, and just watch the day go by, if only for a little while.

Signs of Spring and Fall Leftovers

Today we took a St. Patrick's Day walk.

We touched some green,

and saw signs of Spring.

We collected souvenirs of a season past, still fresh with sap.

And when we held our gummy fingers up to our noses, we could smell Christmas.

Finished!

You may have noticed a small section on the right side of my blog entitled, "Now Reading." If you have noticed, you may have also noticed that it has said I'm now reading Travels with Charley since I started the blog (as in, 3 months ago). This morning I finished the last chapter. Why did it take me three months to read a 277-page book? Well, the picture above is my current stack of library books. Audrey and I have been making weekly trips to the library. I can't seem to leave the library empty-handed, regardless of the size of the borrowed stack I know I have waiting for me at home (did I mention that I also bought Travels with Charley from the library for $1?). I think I might have, ahem, a problem.

Despite my many distractions, Steinbeck's Travels with Charley was never put aside for long. The book recounts Steinbeck's expedition across America at the age of fifty-eight to rediscover the land about which he had spent the last twenty-five years writing. His companion on the journey is his French poodle, Charley.

The take-aways from this book are many. I could spend the week writing about the observations that struck me, or the ones that resemble my own from my few travels. But for now, I will mention one that resonates with me this week: the need for rest.

Well into his journey, after reaching New Mexico, Steinbeck writes:

"And I sat in the seat and faced what I had concealed from myself. I was driving myself, pounding out the miles because I was no longer hearing or seeing. I had passed my limit of taking in or, like a man who goes on stuffing in food after he is filled, I felt helpless to assimilate what was fed in through my eyes. Each hill looked like the one just passed. I have felt this way in the Prado in Madrid after looking at a hundred paintings -- the stuffed and helpless inability to see more.

This would be a time to find a sheltered place beside a steam to rest and refurbish."

I have been on whirlwind trips, the ones where you try to squeeze as much in as you can because you know you may never pass by that way again. Once home, I struggle to remember how I spent the days, the memories postcard blurs at best. Had I spent some time resting during those trips, perhaps I would have seen more (or seen less, but experienced more). But, I don't need to be traveling to experience the phenomenon mentioned above. A week of dashing into stores and cramming in too many events can cause me to see a little less than I would like. But often we forget to rest. The art of rest is a lost one. And sometimes, it takes a passage from Steinbeck to remind me of why it is so important. The rest isn't simply for the break, but to regain the ability to see.

This passage came during a busy week (last week). Jason was in San Diego all week for a meeting and Audrey and I had filled some of the days, perhaps a bit too full, to consume some of the hours while he was gone. Today, Audrey and I spent almost three hours at the playground, ignoring the piles of laundry and the grocery list. While there were many bursts of play, there were also quiet moments, sitting side-by-side on the swings listening to the wind find the last of the crunchy fall leaves and not pumping our legs.

Next, I think I will begin The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (on loan from a friend). But first, some rest.

(Oh, and the bookmark in the picture? A gift from my talented friend, Christy).

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 10

This week was an adventure in food, and ahem, food styling.

There was the first sandwich Audrey made all by herself: peanut butter and dried cranberry;

the celery that she thought served her soup much better as a garnish;

and the oranges that she paired up before informing me that they were circles and asking that I take their picture.

But my favorite story of the week starts at the very beginning, on Sunday. Late in the afternoon, Audrey asked to watch one of her favorite movies. I agreed, but could not find the remote and asked for her help in locating it. She couldn't find it, either (later it was uncovered from beneath a sofa cushion), so I resorted to pushing the buttons on the DVD player to get the movie started. She saw the film begin to roll, ran to the couch and began clapping while yelling, "Yea! Mama fix it. Good girl!" I laughed, thinking how blessed I was to be spending what was going to be a crazy week with such a cheerful companion. A little positive reinforcement goes a long way.

I hope you have each had your own cheering section helping you through the week. Have a great weekend!

Things I Will Miss: Day 4

Hearing her say she loves me. Someday, she may be too embarrassed to say it at any time, in any place as she does now. Someday, she may have harsher things to say.

Her constant requests to go outside to play, or dance and spin around the kitchen, or be picked up for the fiftieth time of the day. One day, she will stop asking.

Today, I will hold on to two a little tighter, a little longer, because too quickly it will slip away. I will breathe her in in the morning when she smells of lotion and soap and again in the afternoon when peanut butter and play-doh are stuck in her hair. When she points outside, I will bundle us both up and open the door, whether I want to or not. When we come in, I will leave the pile by the door so I can see her red boots as we dance around the kitchen until she falls asleep, heavy in my tired arms. I will get up again and do it the next day while I still can.

I wish you a day filled with good things to miss. Feel free to share them with me.

Things I Will Miss: Day 3

Having tiny projects on my knitting needles that still turn out too big for Audrey. Someday she will not want to wear anything I make her. She will try desperately to look just like everyone else rather than the perfectly unique person she is.



Her creative way of being in the world and seeing things uniquely. Most likely, once she starts school, they will teach her that it is only snowing and not "raining snow" as she insists it is now. Someday she will try to think like everyone else. (Also, as I'm trying to clean the house, I won't stumble upon empty yogurt containers and bottle caps stacked to make "robots," which somehow makes the cleaning seem a little brighter).

The quick stream of firsts that seem to happen on top of each other. Someday it will be someone else in the car or classroom experiencing these milestones. Someday it will take really big firsts to elicit the same excited response that something simple like her first run through the sprinkler elicits now.

Things I Will Miss: Day 2

The Piles. Yes, that's right. The same piles I typically wish I could make disappear. I can't count the number of times I've thought that somehow my days would be a little easier if I had an organized system that kept the house perpetually clean. But there will come day when the house is organized without kid-centered piles and it will feel a little too big, a little too quiet, and a little too empty. I will miss seeing the footprint of how we spent our day.




The tantrums (even the really ill-timed ones). There will come a time when I wish she would tell me anything, even if it comes in the form of screaming, because I will not be the person she turns to when she is in trouble.

Her incomplete sentences. One day she will speak perfectly and I won't have this constant reminder of her amazing ability to learn so quickly something so complex.

Things I Will Miss...

A little over a month ago, Audrey and I were swaying in the kitchen, she dangled from my neck like a large warm teardrop pendant. We had fallen into a nightly winter habit of turning on her favorite songs and rocking to the beat, our images reflected in the glass of the microwave. Catching our reflection, I reached for the camera and took our dance to the basement where Jason was working. "Can you take a picture?" I asked. "I'm going to miss this."


At times, I catch myself saying something like, "Won't it be great when she talks (walks, stops wearing diapers, can be reasoned with)." But more often, and at an increasing frequency, I find myself storing away images of all the things I will miss about this time and wishing I could slow things down and just keep swaying a little longer. So if you would all kindly oblige me, this week I'm going to focus on a few things I'm going to miss.

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 9

These are the unexpected surprises you get when you ask your two-year-old to set the table: the napkin and silverware artfully placed and a side of stuffed animal.

I was also surprised later that day when Audrey informed me that she wanted to "watch Tiger Woods, TV." I think she's been conspiring with her Dad.

Singing has become Audrey's most common form of artistic expression. On Tuesday, she began singing at the table. When Jason tried to join her she looked at him and said, "Stop singing." When he continued, she said, "Stop singing now." When he still hadn't stopped, she said, "No singing!" I guess she prefers her act solo.

But last night, when we came down from bath time to find Jason practicing his Guitar Hero skills, she jumped behind the drum set and began beating on the drums. When the song was finished she threw her arms up in the air and yelled, "Yea! Like it!" Apparently, Jason doesn't get his own solo act, either.

After reflecting on this week and how much singing and music have played a role in our days, this last story (my favorite of the week) really should not have been that surprising:

Monday, Audrey and I had just returned from the library. While there, we checked out two DVDs. Audrey is allowed to watch DVDs or shows that I've prerecorded for her. I try to keep her TV watching to a minimum, during the time I'm trying to get dinner made before Jason gets home. On this Monday, I was trying to get dinner started and talking on the phone. Audrey was asking for one of the new DVDs, so I obliged. Now, I have to admit, our trips to the library are pretty chaotic. Audrey sees the library as one large labyrinth of sorts, purely for her running pleasure. Our trips go something like this: I dash around as fast as I can (usually with a prepared list of things I've looked up on the online catalogue) trying to grab what books I can while keeping her in the stroller or my arms while she tries to wiggle free and run screaming down the aisles, occasionally ripping books off the shelves. This was the scenario on Monday as I was attempting to find a suitable DVD for Audrey. As she took off running, I grabbed a DVD that had a picture of a cat on the front. I flipped it over to skim the back as I took off after her. I stopped reading when I saw that it was a cartoon from the 1920's, thinking "I'm sure they had tighter censorship then. This should be fine." What, in my frenzied state, I forgot to think was, 1920's, height of the silent movie. I soon remembered, however, after popping "Felix" in for Audrey to watch. I was about to get off the phone to get dinner on the stove when Audrey started screaming from the couch, "Fix it, Mama, fix it!" I guess silent cats with thought bubbles just aren't her thing.

I can't wait to see what surprises she has in store for us next week. We hope your weekend is filled with a few sweet surprises, too.

Can You Find The Circle?

Do you remember this February walk I took with Audrey? Well, I have a confession to make. I had meant to take her to the zoo that day. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those put-together moms with an accurate planner and spare wipes in the car. Had I been one of those moms, I would have checked the Internet before leaving the house and discovered that the zoo is closed on Tuesdays during the winter months. Once at the closed zoo, I had to come up with an alternate plan for the afternoon - quick. I opted for a walk along a path close by and invented a little game unimaginatively called "Can You Find the Circle?" As Audrey and I walked, we searched for circles: those occurring naturally (the bottom side of a pinecone, a hole in some limestone) and manmade versions (a clock face and a "no swimming" sign). At some point, I began taking pictures of the circles we found. This made Audrey even more determined to find circles. Every once in a while, being a non-planner works in my favor. This accidental day turned out to be one of my favorite afternoons that we've spent together. It has inspired many more days filled with circle hunting and picture gathering. We've amassed quite the collection of digitally-captured circles. This morning we sat down with our artwork.





I found a bound book with blank pages that has been hanging around since my childhood. I think I bought it for myself at a gift shop while on some family trip. I'm sure I had some great idea in mind for what that book would become when I bought it, but obviously that idea never came to fruition. Today, we finally gave that book a job. (For those of you interested in a similar project, but unable to find bound books with blank pages, I found a tutorial on how to make them here).

We decided to create a photo journal of the shapes we find. First, I developed mini prints of our circle pictures. I backed them with colored cardstock. Then, Audrey used double-sided tape squares to attach the pictures to the book's pages, ordering them any way she liked.

Of course, we only made a couple of pages before she decided it was time to move on to other things, like running around (who can sit still for long when we're on the cusp of Spring?). But I have a feeling that we'll be back to it soon, adding new pictures, new shapes, and memories of many walks yet to come. Looks like this book just might be destined for something great, after all.

Finally!

Last summer, we grew our first family garden. We started late, in June, after most of our gardening neighbors had already begun to harvest greens and radishes. But, I had this dream of a little raised wooden bed and dreams die hard, especially when an empty yard is involved. Jason jumped on board, turned my sketch of a simple raised bed into a two-tiered Barbie Dream House of a raised bed and helped me build and fill it with what gardening center leftovers we could find. We planted sugar pie pumpkin seeds around the perimeter of the garden. To say they took root would be an understatement. To say they took over, well, that's a little more accurate. We harvested several small pumpkins. In November, I roasted a few, scooped out the baked insides, and pureed them in the food processor. I froze the pureed pumpkin with hopes of making pumpkin pies. Unfortunately, I've yet to find a pumpkin pie recipe that agrees with me. (So if you have a foolproof one - and I mean FOOLPROOF, send it my way). Regardless, no amount of kitchen blunders or lack of culinary pumpkin pie mojo could quell my desire to try out the fruits of our summer labor. So, today, Audrey and I donned our aprons and finally got down to business making some Maple Pumpkin Bread (you'll need to scroll down the hyperlinked page a bit to find the recipe).



I have used this recipe several times using canned pumpkin. It calls for three cups of mashed pumpkin, but I thought I'd give it a try with our pureed sugar pie pumpkin. The results? Well, this recipe and I get along just fine.*




But the best thing about this bread is that it reminds me of the our summer garden and the flowers that opened up every morning on the pumpkin vines. Seeing them from our kitchen window made doing dishes seem a little less like the drudge work it usually feels like. Sadly, in the afternoon they would close up like tight cocoons for the rest of the day. Jason and I often commented on how much we missed seeing them after their morning exhibition. But had they been open all day, would we have given them the attention they deserved (and would I have been drawn to do the dishes early in the morning rather than leaving them all day)? Probably not. Funny how so many things are that way.


*Warning: This recipe make a lot of bread. This has never been a problem in my house, but others may not suffer from our spiced carb addiction. Also, the bread is usually darker (and oranger) than the picture above. My pumpkin puree was a lot lighter than the canned pumpkin I usually use. We also took the bread out a bit early, as in, as soon as I was sure it was baked all the way through. We had to leave to make it to a story time on time. What can I say? Today was a practice in really poor time management, but really great bread.

Sticker Shock

Today, while driving to retrieve the repaired necklace from the jewelry store, we pulled up behind your run-of-the-mill car: a gray four-door, much cleaner than mine, driven by a white-haired man with a penchant for driving the speed limit. In short, not the sort of car that usually gives me pause. But this seemingly average automobile had a not so average bumper sticker. I wish I could have snapped a picture for you, but I'm not one to snap and drive (so you'll have to settle for the picture above, taken much later while stopped at a stop light). The bumper sticker read:

America Bless

God

Bless America

I read the sticker twice. In all the times I've heard the phrase, "God Bless America." I've never once heard anyone say "America Bless God." (Disclaimer: I'm not one to listen to many political speeches, so odds are I missed it if it's been said). I was touched by how simple, yet profound, the statement was. In most of the cases where I have heard "God Bless America," it's prefaced by a list of complaints about things that someone thinks need fixing. Reading the bumper sticker, I thought, why would God want to bless a bunch of complainers who do little to try to bless Him? Religion or personal beliefs aside, I think most people want to live lives filled with blessings. I know regardless of my works, I have and continue to be blessed. But what a great thought to try to honor those blessing by being one who first strives to bless.

I was still thinking about the bumper sticker when we got home. I did a quick online search and found this site about the Dulaan Project. The group's goal is to help keep the homeless in Ulanbaatar, Mongolia warm. I was drawn to the project because it involves knitting. Then, I read that Ulanbaatar is the coldest capital in the world. Then, I checked out the average monthly temperatures in Ulanbaatar. That's when I started laughing at myself for all the complaining I've done about the weather this winter. And, that's when it all came full circle. I think it only fair, as penance for my whining, to make a hat with it's sights set on Mongolia. Of course, when I went to fetch the knitting needles, I realized the ones I need for the only hat I know how to make are attached to Audrey's Easter sweater. So, as soon as I finish the Easter sweater, I'm casting on for a little hat that will hopefully bless a little one (and keep his/her mama from worrying as much next winter) very far away. It won't be much, but I'm taking this one blessing at a time.

In the Slow Lane

With the exception of a day or two when she has not felt well, Audrey gave up naps on Thanksgiving. Every once in a while, she will succumb to a long drive. This weekend, Jason needed to go into work for a little while. Audrey and I piled into the car with him. My plan was to drop Jason off and run some errands. Twenty minutes into our drive, I looked back to find Audrey asleep, lulled by the movement of the car or forced into relaxation due to the car seat straps. She was still asleep when Jason got out of the car and I switched to the driver's seat. I drove to a jewelry store that I've been meaning to visit for months to get a weakened necklace strand fixed. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a firetruck parked at a restaurant across the street, directly across from my windshield. I looked in the backseat. Still asleep.

I can't tell you the number of times I've been in this position and thought, if she's that tired, she'll stay asleep when I pick her up and put her in the stroller. I think it's worked in my favor once. Out of habit, I almost followed suite, gathering my things together to get out of the car. Then I thought, why? I've waited months to come to this jewelry store. Is it going to ruin anything if we don't make it inside today, or if I wait until Audrey wakes up and this is the only errand on the list that gets completed?

I got comfortable in the front seat. I pulled out the bag of knitting supplies that I had brought along (the passenger seat of the car being the place where I get the majority of my knitting done) and a bag of chocolate-covered pretzel that Jason had given me that morning. As I knit another row on Audrey's someday-to-be sweater, I thought about how calming this quiet work was: slow, methodical, productive. Then, I looked out the window. Beyond four lanes of rushing traffic, firefighters were moving between restaurant and truck, between truck and well-dressed managers. Luckily, there was no ambulance on site or customers in the parking lot. As I watched the firefighters clean up, it struck me: that would typically be me. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not comparing myself to the brave ones in the black and yellow-striped jackets, but I often find myself rushing around putting out the small fires of my family: treating the boo-boos and calming the cries. Or, I am the one caught up in the four lanes of traffic, off to get groceries before Toddler Time at the library, seeing the day in increments of time rather than as a series of moments filled with people and environments that come together just this once, for just this moment. But Saturday, I was the bystander. For one hour, I was the one in the jewelry store parking lot, with the sleeping daughter in the backseat and the knitting in my lap. As I munched pretzels and watched those rushing around in front of me, I was struck by what an unexpected gift I had stumbled upon: Audrey asleep, restrained in her car seat and me, restrained by my sleeping child, just watching the day go by.

*Once again, I can't get the line breaks to show up where I want them - sorry this looks like one huge paragraph.