I miss my old blog. And since I still have the url, I'm going to begin using it to show you the de signy/arty stuff I'm doing. Click on the images in the gray box to see more... You can still scroll down to read old pricklygirl posts, but if you're looking for current doings, visit me on blogspot, or become my friend on facebook or twitter...I'm pretty friendly! And if you're interested in my design work, contact me.

Interview with The Artery Magazine.

Photography featured on the site launch of artocratic.

THE ARCHIVES.....

March 11. pricklygirl has moved. After many hints that some of you might like to comment on what I write, I've come around. Some of you are quite persuasive, you know! You'll still be able to read older posts here for awhile, but I'll be moving things to the new site.

March 7. When you were a kid, did you ever have something that you really wanted to happen, and you wanted it so much that it became a physical senstation? (I can think of at least three people -- gentlemen, you know who you are -- that will take that in the most debased way possible. They're my friends.) You know -- that snow day that never arrives, waiting to go to the pool, wanting to eat all your Halloween candy... That thing that you wanted so much you could feel it in your fingers and toes. Well, did you? I'm feeling that way about spring and summer. We can't get past winter too soon. We're getting lots of dreary days with little to no payoff (snow, ice, rain). I'm ready for playing in the backyard and planting flowers. I'm ready for Cheverly Day (it's a special holiday for residents of Cheverly, just because we have such a great town.) I'm ready to get back to the farm and the pool. I'm ready for reading comic books on the hammock. I'm ready for the farmer's market and grilling in the backyard. Any day now...the crocuses are popping and the birds are singing...

March 5.

So I bet you're wondering if Wilco came to my house and ate waffles last week. No. They did not. Sigh. This is as close to Wilco as I will *probably* ever get. We attended both shows at the 9:30 Club. First night, stood in a forest of tall guys doing strange hand gestures and bouncing along -- not necessarily with the beat. Second night we scoped out a good spot on the balcony, the preferred place of old people. (And I bought Tweedy's poetry book -- I bought poetry! At a rock concert!). At the end of last week, I was still plotting schemes to go to Des Moines for another show. Luckily, a nasty sinus/ear infection held me back. That, and knowing that Charles would not handle middle of the night conversations with the girl (or the boy) in the most soothing way. I suspect there would be some harsh words. I'm not saying this in a bad way -- just being realistic. Now I can blame Maggie (and Paul) for my hesitation at doing something completely crazy. Crazy for a 41 year-old woman with two kids and a husband. Jeff Tweedy saw me though. Totally. Next year, they are so coming over for waffles.

February 27. Dear Wilco,

February 13.

February 12. I attended the Barack Obama rally at University of Maryland - College Park yesterday. That is, I attended it with well over 17,000 other people from all walks of life. We braved bitter temperatures and the longest line I've ever waited in -- for anything -- for what felt like a once in a lifetime event. I spoke with several people -- old, young (even a five year-old boy) -- who said the same thing. The media (even so-called "progressive" media) keeps pounding on the idea that Senator Obama is long on idealism and short on actual ideas. Even my dad, whom I tout as a McGovern liberal, has not been swayed (he strongly supports Senator Clinton), voicing this "little real experience and no concrete plans" stuff. It just isn't true. I heard a lot of concrete plans yesterday. I also heard absolute silence from an enormous crowd as they heard real plans. And I heard roars of approval from people hungry for real change in their lives and in our country. As for experience, Senator Obama has a wealth of experience -- more than Senator Clinton. That her campaign keeps floating this is preposterous. In fact, a lot of the information they float and the tactics they use are preposterous. I was a big Bill Clinton supporter during his first campaign...even stood out on cold corners in San Francisco using an ironing board as a table to register voters and campaign for him. That campaign had idealism, too, as I recall. Yes, I'm fired up. Yes, I'm an idealist. But, as Senator Obama said about himself yesterday, I am an idealist who understands the importance of hard work and am willing to do that hard work. Please get the facts. Then get out and vote.

February 9. Thing-a-Day is kicking my ***. I really didn't think that it would be that hard to come up with one measly little thing to make each day during the month of February, but manomanomanoman. O. Man.

February 4. Doesn't Wilco want to visit Cheverly? I'm starting to get a little concerned. I don't think they even know I'm here. Waiting. With vegan cupcakes and other treats (I even made vegan sliders for the SuperBowl. Sliders. In vegan form!)

Actually, it couldn't work -- Colorado grandma and grandpa will be visiting and that would mean my worlds would collide in an uncontrollable way. (Charles thinks this would be a lot of fun, as Colorado grandma and grandpa are old Minnesota/Iowa artsy fartsies.) If you have a mean streak, this might be fun to watch. So if you want to have a good time at my expense, please let the band know about my offer. I'm leaving it up to you. Our relationship is just like Princess Leia and R2D2. I'm spending too much time with the boy.

January 31. Pictoblog. Because I am lazy.

	Paul and Maggie got along on the beach for, oh... 10 minutes. Something about destruction of property. We had to explain to Paul that sand is not personal property...
We took an emergency road trip to Ocean City, MD, and Rehoboth Beach, DE. You know those times when the world crushes in on you? Saturday was one of those days. Charles and I looked at each other, and said "Road Trip!" Two hours later -- pretty fast for us -- we were on our way. We stayed at the Holiday Inn in Ocean City -- 11th floor oceanfront room. And it had cable, which always makes us grateful that we don't, because I would watch CSPAN all the time. We went to a restaurant called "The Dough Roller", whose sole purpose (because it definitely is not providing good food) is to roll their customers of their dough. Do. Not. Eat. There. No!
Finished bowls for Paul's teachers...what to do next? More skulls, I think!	Maggie is at school -- I'm having some Marie Belle Aztec Chocolate in my new favorite cup. Liquid candy bar.
Do. Not. Do. This! No!	Princess Fairy Butterfly is at it again

January 30. I have spent the morning following the antics of "Princess Fairy Butterfly", who likes quesadillas and oranges but has a real aversion to pants. Which seems to be a theme, and something I'm sure we'll explore over the next 12-18 years. At one point, herself suggested the following: "Mommy, you could find out more about me at pbskids.org." Honestly, I'm not sure if she means Maggie the girl or Maggie Princess Fairy Butterfly. I suspect it's the latter.

Paul has taken to presenting a nightly play. Last week, they were all about battles. This week, the theme is Calvin & Hobbes, in human form. Well, human plus...

I've suddenly found that I have more free time than anticipated over the next few months, so I'm taking up a few new projects (Ha! Ha! Ha! What a bad idea, pricklygirl!) including watercolor classes, sewing (I really want to learn how to quilt, mom), more decoupage work and silkscreening. That's in addition to knitting (found a new project today!) and all manner of cooking. I'm sure I can come up with a few more things...I've got to keep busy, you know. In that vein, I've taken the plunge and registered for Thing-a-Day 2. During the month of February, I will create one new thing every day (not to include new children. We're covered there.) You, lucky reader, will read all about it right here.

Finally, I'm reading a charming book -- The Uncommon Reader -- by Alan Bennett. You should buy it. Or do what I did -- visit your local library. And then, you should read that book. Let me know what you think about it.

Today's story comes to you direct from our bathroom (those of you who know us well know that many, many stories come from our bathroom...) Maggie had a much-needed bath (you don't want to know why). After she got out of the tub (under considerable, well-expressed duress), I wrapped her head to toe in a big purple towel. She then proclaimed that she was "Nudie Mary", patted her tummy and said, "and this is Nudie Jesus!" She's not even in parochial school. Yet.

more vegan cupcakes...

more glass decoupage work...

January 17. Still waiting to hear from Wilco...

In the meantime, let me tell you about Paul's trip to school this morning. Paul wore these glasses all morning. On the way to school, he pronounced himself, "NERDBOT" and spoke in a strange voice: "I am nerdbot and I will predict your future. It will be weird. I will rule the world." Actually, this is no surprise. If he had said something like, "Wilco will visit our house soon and partake of the meal of their choice", I would have been a little more surprised, but this? Nah.
no-knead bread	vegan orange cupcakes with chocolate buttercream frosting

Maggie has decided that she's a ballerina. You should see the whole dance. There's a lot of intense face-making (because swans do that) and spinning. It ends with the pose from the record jacket. Actually, I'm pretty sure that my parents could tell some stories about me doing the same thing with the same record...

January 11. An open letter to Wilco. Pathetic, I know.

Do you think it will work?

I was going to post some photos and update the news from Greenleaf, but...I'm so excited!

January 2. Part the Second. In which we learn the following:

* 6:23 in the pm is TIMEFORLUNCHMOMMATIMEGFORLUNCHMOMMATIMEFORLUNCHMOMMATIMEFORLUNCHMOMMA

* Princesses do not wear pants. They only wear jingle bell tutus. And flowers. And sometimes princesses are "with ballet and got pink shiny feathers."

Hold on, we have breaking news from the three and under set: "Mommy, you are not the right lady."

They are going back to school tomorrow.

January 2, 2008. Well. What a holiday season that was...

peanut brittle		mint-chocolate wafers
chocolalte-dipped apricots		Who are these children?
		Decoupage under glass. I made this for my parents.
More decoupage under glass for Erik & Kelly.		For my mother-in-law.
More decoupage under glass...		And for my sister.

School is back in session tomorrow!

December 26. Merry Boxing Day. Or is it Happy Boxing Day? P&M are busy -- he is teaching the girl the finer points of xBox play. I don't think that he realizes that she will get better than him very fast. Just like his dad, who, long ago, said he "needed" an xBox so that he could teach his son. His son knows way more than he does.

Speaking of need... Apparently, I "needed" an iPhone and a 22" monitor. Charles really does know me. I'm not making any promises, but I will *try* not to poo-poo Apple products anymore. There you have it: a New Year's Resolution. Also, we're going mostly vegan. By mostly, I mean we're not going to buy animal products, but we're also not going to eschew them in the wild. After all, who am I to refuse Clagett Farm-rasied beef and raw milk cheese? And thank you to the good soul (who shall remain anonymous because raw milk is contraband in these parts) who shared these delicacies with me just last night. You are a fine -- if a teeny touch crazy -- gentleman.

Are you a Cheverly resident? Not a ChevRes but oh so curious about our town? Visit ChvBlog, the greatest of all Cheverly blogs, at least according to those responsible.

November 16. The boy is taking cues about his future from a little Star Wars toy from Burger King. Apparently, when you turn "Kit" upside down, answers fly out of his...well, you know. "Kit" wants the boy to play xBox. The boy is willing to entrust his future to a small object, but unwilling to trust me to get pus out of his toe. Only a few minutes ago he was screaming, "You just want to kill me and everyone knows it!" Personally, I thought it was a little dramatic, seeing as I hadn't yet actually touched his toe. I caused "child drama". And for that, I am truly sorry. Truly.

I am being informed that "the xBox is good exercise for some parts of your body. Your fingers get a chance to move around and it's good for your muscles and it's good for your eyes and my thing says 'read, read, read' and I can read because I already know how to get to Princess Leia's ship..." Note: the boy needs to stay away from girls' ships. The boy is, he told me, already "five boyfriends" to girls in his class, including an eighth-grader (!) He is already five distinct people. Actually, that explains quite a lot...

Sorry. I got distracted by a torrent of child drama. The past few minutes have been like a very sophisticated ad from the population control people...Don't have children! See how they are! Look what they do! That was almost as good as the time we went to Cactus Cantina with Charles' parents. Maggie threw up all over herself, so I had to donate my t-shirt to double as a smart toddler dress (this has happened more often than I care to admit.) After the projectile vomit had been cleaned up (sort of) and the horrified Saturday night date couples had been given fair warning dramatic evidence of the possible results of any romantic actions they may have been contemplating, my FIL asked for more butter and we all went back to eating, air de vomit floating on the tex-mex breeze. Why was I telling you this story? Huh. I dunno.

November 15. I have recently learned that some people actually read this thing (and learn a lot!), so I guess I have to start updating with a little more frequency. Otherwise, you'll just go read Perez Hilton or find ways to recycle old fleece blankets into rugs. Do not do that. Unless you are a danish artist, no good can come of that. And even then...

My father-in-law died on November 3. He was a good, but a very complicated man. I suspect we'll nenver know just how complicated he was. Two positive things have come from the past few weeks: It's great to be reminded that we live on a web of people who care so much for each other. We have been so grateful to so many friends and family both near and far. The biggest thing that's come from this: the knowledge that family cannot be denied. All eight of my FIL's children came to his memorial service, as well as spouses, children... This is a BIG deal in the family, possibly never done before.

As a big family, we toasted Avery with a bottle of applejack handed down from the early 1860s 1826. It was one of the best things I have ever tasted. Now it is all gone. Sigh.

I promise that the next post will be more cheerful...Paul's class Thanksgiving party is Tuesday and I'm a room mother (!)(!)(!)...what could go wrong?

One last thing...it is **possible** that I shop at IKEA and Target too much. Maggie has been wandering the house, picking things up and asking "DidjoogetthisatKEAorTargetmommmy?TargetorKEA?" I suspect that she thinks that if she talks in a stream, no one (read Paul) can interrupt her. This theory has been proven wrong, but hope springs eternal for the tiny purple flower princess.

November 2. Good Lord. Can it really be that long since I've posted? A lot has happened and I'm not going to even attempt catching up. I will say that I've become *a little* obsessed with Wilco. Which is *a little* embarrassing, since I'm pretty sure Mr. Tweedy, Mr. Stirratt et al are not into that. Once again, the world puts something in my path just to prove I'm a dork. I'm good with that.

Halloween in Cheverly. Paul finally got the costume he really, really, really wanted. A tough year warrants buying your kids' affections. I'm good with that. Anyhow, it had to happen sometime.

Conversely, we have realized that the boy has become WAY too good at xBox. And he's a little obsessed. So we're trying something new (and something that seems like a good parent idea): Paul has to earn his xBox/movie/TV time. How long do you think this will last? Yeah, me too.

Even if I'm not too good about keeping up the blog, I post photos a lot:

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June 28. Well. A week later and what do I have to show for it? Maggie is taking stacks of post-its apart -- one by one. She's hit that tired point where she's too tired to lay down...she'll just need to fall over at some point within the next (judging by the sound she's making) 10 minutes or so. Paul, who had to be nice to about 10 smaller kids today, is exhausted and kind of mean right now. I think he's used up his nice for the day. And why, you might ask, are they so tired? After all, it's summer, isn't it?

Why yes, it is summer. So far we've spent a good portion of it at Maggie's school painting, or I've been working, or... One of these days, we're really going to have breakfast in the backyard and spend the rest of the day at the pool...I just don't know when that might happen. Last summer, my goal was to treat every day as if we were at the beach. That hasn't happened so far, and we need to go get uniforms for the boy. Fall is coming, you know.

	One of the hallways we've been painting at Maggie's nursery school. I am so happy with the progress we've made in just about 18 hours...	We still have a ways to go...this bunny needs eyes, for one thing.
		Paul and Maggie have not been drinking. They are not stoned. They just look that way sometimes...
	Weird dual flower at Clagett Farm.We have a share and go every week...makes me think of Kids in the Hall. I've become the weird lady in the herb garden who takes pictures. And in the wheat field, too. That is wheat, isn't it?

Wow. I'll be darned. Ten minutes on the nose.

June 22. I have no idea where the past nearly two months have gone. Actually, that's not entirely true, as I've been entirely busy. Cheverly Day came and went, my parents visited for three weeks, Paul graduated from Kindergarten, we painted the halls at Weekday nursery (still working on Mother's Day Out), the pool opened (at long last), and I've returned -- inadvertently -- to work as a some-time copyeditor. So.

Dan and Charles have started a blog for their bad ideas, which are legion. And Andrews & Dunham Tea is on the move... As is the Cheverly Hot Noodle Concern.

We went to the Wilco show at Merriweather Post last night. It's on my list of best shows ever. Can't begin to say enough...and I finally got the El Train thing. If they are performing anywhere near you, go. GO!

	She really likes donuts, but only the sprinkly ones. Maggie has a lot of new words for things, including "BlessYou" for boogers (as in "Have a blessyou on my finger, mom."), "Daddy's CapinMerica" for the flag in front of our house, and "the treasure" for the big silver trunk in our living room.		Paul in the hall at Weekday Nursery. An amazing group of people -- including my parents -- worked together to paint the halls at the local preschool. We're working on the halls for the adjoining nursery school now.
	End-of-Year Kindergarten picnic. Notice that they're all sitting in a row with their hands in their laps. They did this voluntarily. And only one argument the whole night -- it was really a girl squabble...they seem to start early.		Mrs. Liston is an amazing teacher. She's beyond dedicated to her students and her school.
	Paul's last day of Kindergarten. I'm fairly certain that the tongue hanging out of his mouth signifies his readiness for 1st grade.		I just love this picture of Mag. Even though it's totally out of focus.

April 26. Once again, I'm supposed to be working. Once again, I'm wasting time. I have two Paul stories for you today:

#1: As I was making lunches on Tuesday (go ahead, call me June Cleaver), NPR had a thing on the discovery of a kryptonite-like substance which was discovered in Serbia. Paul drifted away from his breakfast and into the kitchen to listen. The last thing that Charles said to him before leaving for the day? "You know, since they discovered kryptonite, that probably means that there's a boy somewhere -- maybe even in the United States -- who is really Superman and doesn't even know it yet." You could actually see the gears going into hyperdrive in the boy's head. He talked about it all the way to school, and by the time we arrived, he decided that he's actually probably Superman's brother, but not Superman. I told him that he needed to keep this under wraps until after school, but he countered that "he must tell the children of this discovery." Swear to God.

#2: Wednesday, while Paul was supposed to be eating breakfast, he told me that he had something he needed to discuss. Okay...

April 18. Here's my motherly tale of optimism. Every morning, Maggie teeters out in a drunken toddler kind of way. She is not a morning person. She grunts her way to the table, hoists herself up, and proclaims, "It gon be yum." Doesn't matter what's in front of her, or if there's anything in front of her at all. This is the most optimistic thing I can think of. Doesn't matter what it is, it's going to be great. My girl. The boy is driving me nuts.

April 2. Flickr has a cool new toy...

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March 15. We've had nearly a week of spring-like weather, but tomorrow it comes screeching to a halt. Just knowing that temperatures in the 40s (we're supposed to get up to the 70s today) are less than 24 hours away casts a pall on the whole deal. This photo is circa 1972, Scottsdale, Arizona. That playhouse was on our back porch and I had the best time with it. My dog of the moment, Chips, liked it, too. But then he ATE a palm tree and died. No kidding. He was one of those little weiner dogs and he took down a little palm tree in our back yard. Not too bright. I think our cat, Daisy, arrived soon after. She was dropped in the alley behind our house. My mom, ever the softie, couldn't stand to not bring her in. She was pure white and very cranky and lived a very long life... Other pets: Oscar, the bumbling poodle terrier who lived for about 20 years; Spike, the desert tortoise; assorted hamsters, birds and other cats that didn't last. The last pet I had was Maggie -- a five-week-old kitten we found on the highway a few years ago. Paul wasn't happy with the attention on Maggie (the kitten, not the child) and we had to give her away. But then we had a little girl and named her Maggie, so somehow that worked out. One final thing about Arizona -- when my mom was our brownie troop leader, she had us grow plants. Only when they sprouted, they turned out to be marijuana plants. She didn't know. I totally believe her, but I still wonder where she got those seeds...

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March 13. I'm supposed to be doing five different things right now, but instead...I'm taking stupid quizzes! This was actually pretty interesting. As a way to waste time. And now, for a mom story. If you're reading this and NOT a mom, you may be grossed out. There will be a picture of nasty ear wax. Fair warning. Maggie has a sinus infection and her pediatrician couldn't even see her ear drums because her ears are so waxy. She sent us to an ENT, who took a very long sucking thing, then a very long tweezers and pulled two big gross chunks out of my girl's tiny little ears. Of course I asked the doctor if I could take them home to show my husband. If he was at all horrified, he kept it to himself. My husband -- and the father of my children -- on the other hand, thought it was disgusting. I don't think he even wanted to see the wax! And then, rather than throwing the tissue full of wax out, I folded it up to take to the pediatrician next week. He thought that was crazy, and insinuated that I'm only doing it for a good grade (this is a long-term source of discussion. Yes. I do believe I'm still being graded, even though I completed my master's degree over 10 years ago.) Then I pointed out that I make his lunches with the same purpose, yet he never complains about that. You know, reading this back, this sounds even stupider than it was in real time. On the other hand, yesterday marked our return to the park after a long, cold winter. Paul & Maggie were giddy. Paul found a long stick and turned it into -- shocker -- a gun. Why can't a stick just be a stick? Maggie went down the big-kid tube slide on her own for the very first time. Repeatedly. She also went on the big-kid swings and instinctively understood the concept of pumping her legs. The boy still doesn't get it.

 

	February 9. I'm a fairy! My mom made the best costumes ever. Ever. This is San Francisco, ca.1969. I was so cool. Sadly, this may have been about the last time I was cool. Ah well. Many, many thanks to my friend Jelita, who is moving and donated her sewing machine to me. I actually have my mom's old Singer from the '50s (I think it was actually her mom's), but it is a terrible and dangerous machine. I am scared of it, and so is Charles. When we first moved east (almost 11 years ago), I thought I'd sew something. Hahahahaha. I ended up breaking a needle off in my thumb. It stayed in there for several weeks, and since we were newly married and impoverished, we had no health insurance, which meant a trip to the bathroom with Dr. Charles and his trusty flashlight. We didn't see anything in my hand, but after a few weeks of nausea and pushing pus out of my thumb into a steaming bowl of water, out popped a blackened needle. Gross.
	February 6. Whoa, two days in a row...let's not let this become a regular thing. I was looking through some old photos and came up with a few I had to post. This is also San Francisco, '69 or early '70, I expect. Look at that dress. And that bow. And that...loom? My mom had a gigantic loom that traveled all over the country with us -- San Francisco, Arizona, New York, Colorado -- every move. The rocking chair is in our house now, as are many of my parents' possessions. Paul brought home an envelope from school yesterday -- four quarters inside and "Ice Cream Money for Paul from Melvin" on the outside. I wonder what the conversation was in Melvin's house... It is so cold here -- -10 with windchill and we're all hoping and praying for a snow day tomorrow, even though it would mean no free day, since Paul would be home from kindergarten and Maggie would be home from her pre-preschool program. Still. This winter has been a big zero on the fun weather.
	February 5. Me. San Francisco, October 1969. Yeah. I was three. It was the end of the '60s. In San Francisco. I don't really think there's anything else to say about this. Paul had his first brush with a school tough last week -- a kid (named Melvin) stole his ice cream money. He asked if he could dress up as a superhero when he got home. I'm pretty sure there's a direct correlation between these two events. In other news...Maggie took all the stitches off of four needles, then proceeded to demonstrate alarming dexterity by ripping out most of the stitches (8" on one set, about 5" on the second set). She was quiet too long. Every time she gets in trouble, she responds with "I cryin'." But I have yet to see a tear, and, frankly, she doesn't sound one bit sad. She's terrible. She's two.

January 26. 2008 Yes, it's been a long, long time. The guilt (you know who you are, Sue) finally got to me, so here's a long-overdue post. Maggie has started pre-preschool. She's coasting on charm, since while the guidelines stipulate "potty awareness". In her case that seems to mean that she's aware of the existence of toilets...but that's about it. But she's a legacy of super salesman Paul, so her credits good with the ladies...at least for awhile. We (okay, I'd) been trying to potty train her before she started school, but no luck. And I took a picture and posted it on flickr, but there were something like 200 views on that picture. It had no tags. I don't think I actually have 200 friends. I got creeped out. Other pictures are still posted though...just not Maggie on the pot. Unless you're a REALLY good friend. And you know who you are. It turns out that Paul has no rhythm. No. Rhythm. I don't know how he does it. Like a reverse gift, but you don't want it. Also, the boy can make the worst odors with his behind. I worry about his prospects in high school... I have a friend who works for NPR -- a sound engineer. I've noticed alot of his handiwork recently: Led Zeppelin, that band that did "Rock Me Amadeus"...wow. Every morning, something different gets stuck in my head. So. To sum up (or not). I'm trying to figure out my life and just what I'm doing...or going to do...in the future. No clue. Not one.

Yummy Winter Drinks (it finally got cold) Marie Belle Aztec Chocolate Hediard Teas Kusmi Teas (especially the Anastasia and Troika blends -- very french and perfumey)

 

Bonus picture...Maggie is mad at the playdo. Again. There's a whole lot of stuff posted on flickr, so visit that for a full on Paul & Maggie fix.

 

Fine. Nothing terribly special. I'll give it a B, since I think I need to be a little tougher with my scores. Or I can just enjoy weeks and weeks of A-level coffee drinks. Now this becomes an issue of basic philosophy...am I a glass half-full or a glass half-empty type of person?	Same as the other one. B. I'm looking for that superlative experience.	I made use of that dulce de leche syrup. Pretty yummy. I'm going to have to give this an A, because it was quite soothing and I needed something a little sweet today.
September 15. Sorry, I'm doing multiple days again. Too busy adjusting to kindergarten...it's a lot harder than I thought. Paul is working out the extent of injury necessary to stay home (it's not a broken arm or a sprained ankle, he knows that now.) He's crying in front of school every morning, and the vice principal actually asked me if everything is okay at home (and it is, as far as I know.) He's having nightmares in which a shadow comes to take all of us away (except for him)and we lose our faces. Poor guy. I'm going to need a lot more coffee to make it through this year.

Day 4. I give it a B. It needed honey.	Day 5. The dulce de leche stuff was really tasty and I needed this to make it through playgroup. A+	Day 6. Fine. A solid A.
Day 7. Yummy. A.	September 11. I am too busy to post much right now (who knew kindergarten would mean so much work...for me?), but I've kept up with the great coffee experiment. Next week, I hope to write a lot more. For now you'll just have to look and imagine how good these cups tasted.	Day 8. It's a weird butterfly. A-.

September 6. Day 3: Pursuit of the Perfect Cup. Back in business. Doesn't the froth look like a crab? It's just possible that my coffee is channeling my mood. We finally have sun, but that's after four days of doom and gloom and a husband who has extreme paranoia about our basement. He really needs wives two (Erik) and three (Kelly) to return from Japan. Actually, I really need them to come back too. Charles is a lot for any one wife to handle, and I don't mean that -- necessarily -- in a good way. Back to the coffee. This was okay, but I didn't get enough froth, thus the weird design. It tastes just right though, so I'll have to give it an A-/B+. I got this weird new Hershey's syrup at the store yesterday -- Dulce de Leche...I'm looking ahead to cold weather and a hot version of the vietnamese coffee I drank throughout the summer.

September 5. Day 2: Pursuit of the Perfect Cup. Today was a little bit of a disappointment. It started well enough -- lovely espresso and great aroma. Then I went to get the milk (cue terrible tragedy music)...and THERE WAS ONLY A DROP because I had given it all to Paul and Maggie! What could I have been thinking? Well, I recovered (pretty quickly I might add) and searched for an alternative. What did I find? Chocolate Soy Milk. Okay, okay, I thought. This isn't a disaster. I can make this work. So. I tried frothing a combination of a few drops of whole milk with the chocolate soy. No froth. I think it has something to do with the size of the fat molecules and the addition of the chocolate...I'll check Harold McGee later and get back to you. It really wasn't all bad. The soy has a nice aftertaste (if you like soy, which I do). Not the prettiest cup ever, but not too bad. I give it a B-. Or maybe a C.

September 5. If you don't really care about crafting the ideal perfect coffee beverage, you may want to check back in a month. Or you can always look at cute pictures of Paul & Maggie on flickr.

Now for you foolish pricklygirl stalwarts (All, what? One or two of you?), here's my project for the month (more or less...) The Pursuit of the Perfect Cup Yesterday, I brewed what I consider to be a nearly ideal cappuccino. Look at it -- it's frothy (a little dry), pretty (nice ratio of froth to crema) and it smelled better than I can tell you. Well, this single cup inspired a seven page handwritten essay, and an idea.... Here's what I wrote:

The Perfect Cup I've found my real calling. No, not being a great (good) mother or wife, or helping other people or my community. My purpose is ultimately narcissistic, and it's just this: to make one perfect coffee beverage each day for one month (September, more or less). No one else benefits...certainly no one else cares (or should anyway.) But to me, the sensual activity of producing that perfect cup is a great quest. Each day will mean a unique cup with a unique personality. And I'll chronicle the whole thing. Day 1: Pursuit of the Perfect Cup. We start with Peet's Italian Roast beans. I'm a Neanderthal and keep them in the freezer...sometimes as much as five pounds of the good stuff. These beans came with me from Colorado on our vacation, so the mere act of opening that lovely brown bag evokes nice memories of sitting in the cafe with my parents and children while drinking a perfect PERFECT cappuccino. Those people are artists. And they know it. Generally, I grind enough coffee for two pots of espresso so that I can be a little lazy on morning two. That said, I find that the grind is finer the second day -- I know. Coffee heresy. Shoot me. I count to 15 as I grind, then flip the grinder upside down for a final five count. My theory is that this action incorporates the finer grinds that have been trapped beneath the blades into the "at-large" coffee population. Two packed tablespoons go into the espresso machine with a little tamp following each. The machine makes all sorts of satisfying clicks as all of its components are locked into place. Now the water. I fill the reservoir from the refrigerated Brita jug -- we don't drink tap water in Gorgeous Prince George's. The reservoir is only filled about 2/3 of the way -- old water is gross water. Carafe in place, I turn the little knob on the front of the machine to the right and wait. And wait. Patiently. Sort of. In the meantime, I get about 1/3 cup of very cold whole milk from the kids' milk stash. It has to be whole milk -- nothing else froths so beautifully. We plow through at least two gallons of milk a week, but I've convinced myself that my daily use amounts to so little that I'm not really contributing to this appalling rate of milk consumption.The milk makes the little stainless pitcher chill immediately and the faint condensation on the exterior is weirdly pleasurable -- it sort of says "you're on the right path" to me. The time has come. The machine is ready to perform its small beautiful miracle. I turn the knob all the way to the right, to the happy little espresso picture. Before the first drop hits the pot, I'm greeted with the intense aroma of hot coffee. The best smell. And its accompanied by a sound that always makes my heart race just a beat -- CLUNK WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Mmmmmm. I watch as the first hot, brown, foamy drops hit. Soon the stream starts to fill the carafe, the top becoming a foaming blanket pf crema which protects the rich brown liquor beneath. I wait until the foam meets the lip of the carafe -- a very full pot (and about 5 servings of espresso, if the marks on the pot are correct.) I flip the knob back to its water processing position and wait for more hot water to be ready. The machine makes a little click -- it's time to froth milk. I turn the knob all the way to the left, to the little steam icon. As I put the pitcher of cold milk under the nozzle, I turn the valve on top of the machine -- but not too far or the milk will boil. This part of the process must be precise -- you must hear the right sounds and use your intuition to know when to take the next step. Otherwise you get big ungainly bubbles or milk that heats too quickly to later become a good, dry froth. I swirl the pitcher under the nozzle, making sure to move around the edges and uniformly warm the entire pot. As the milk heats, I move the pitcher down so that the nozzle rests just beneath the surface of the milk. The tiny steam bubbles appear as the milk swirls and begins to roll. The best way I can describe what happens next is "pulling the froth". I move the pitcher around while keeping that nozzle just under the milk surface. There's a distinctive high-pitched noise that accompanies this phase. I try to prolong this part to get maximum volume out of the foam. But if you push it too far the milk begins to boil and all is lost. (In fact, I've noticed a bad aftertaste to the milk if it boils.) This is a delicate balance of competing interests. Just before the point where the milk boils, I turn the steam valve down -- the sound lowers to something that sounds like an angry cat growling. Now I move the pitcher farther up on the nozzle -- I'm dragging out some of the froth and stabilizing it. Here again, things can go horribly wrong -- you have to watch for boiling as well as not getting enough steam to dry out part of the froth borne of low steam which creates still more volume. Just before the milk boils, I close off the valve. So much is based on intuition and listening -- this is one of the few gastronomic pursuits that I can think of where taste and smell don't enter the equation. I pour the espresso into a large -- very large -- wide-mouthed cup. It's a big ceramic tulip-shaped one with a mottled gray glaze. As I pour, I examine the designs that the crema makes -- every cup has a unique signature. I reserve a tiny bit of the espresso and get a soup spoon from the drawer. A regular teaspoon will not suffice -- it has to be large enough to get a substantial portion of the foamed milk in a single take. I gently rest the first foam on top of the espresso, then two, three, four additional spoons more. Now the remaining steamed milk is poured into the center, until the cup is nearly full. Finally, the reserved coffee is slipped into the small whole made by the steamed milk. It looks like a pop-art flower. A perfect cup. I give it an A+. The latte can be embellished -- thin ribbons of honey, a dusting of bittersweet chocolate, a sprig of mint. But the concoction just produced is, on its own, ideal. From a handful of beans, some water, and some milk comes an ordinary, yet utterly extraordinary cup.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 29. Paul started kindergarten today. Sigh. He was so cute in his little uniform. Last night, he cried (sobbed) for over an hour because he realized that he wouldn't see his "favorite shows" anymore. Maggie got in the act, too, as sort of a greek chorus of sobs. Paul has been really nervous about starting school (I cannot lie here, we all have been really nervous about this new chapter). But this morning, it was like watching a little student council president in training. He was shaking hands with other kindergarten boys and hugging his "giruhlfriends" and he didn't cry even a little bit (unlike his overly emotional mother.) I am so proud of my little guy. Pictures are on flickr, but here's a shot of Paul making new friends, and one of Maggie waiting for her brother to come home.

After we left Paul at school, I told Charles that the thing that's really bothering me is that Paul is no longer a "young child" now -- he's a school kid. To which Charles (wisely) replied, "Oh come on. He's going to have a superman costume on by 1:00 this afternoon." And Charles was right. Maggie spent the morning asking "Where Paaoooollll?" She is really going to miss their superhero mornings.

When Maggie and I arrived at the end of the day, Paul told me there was really nothing to be worried about and that he had fun after all. So I guess this whole education thing might work out after all...

August 18. We're back......and everyone is alive and (reasonably) well. Truth be told though, on the final day of the drive (nearing Wheeling, WV) I thought I might kill someone in the car. Have you ever felt anger actually bubble up? I could feel it in my eyeballs. I guess it was just one (or fifteen) too many editions of "Wanna see what Superman can do now?" from the back seat.

I'm going to digress, but I'll come back to tales from vacation...if you want to get on with vacation pictures, go to flickr. There are about 300 new pictures (including many new shots of my mom's jewelry and weird raku guys).

I just saw these candles from the IKEA holiday line. I think they're a little disturbing... Look closely...fire is emanating from the angels' mouths (and melting same), which (I think) makes them look weirdly angry. Having said that, of course I'll buy them. Because I really want screaming angry angel candles. I just do.

I get so distracted. Okay, back to vacation. Let's see...Paul spent three weeks in a progressively stinkier Superman costume. I had to hide it a few times just to wash it because the smell was REALLY bad. Maggie used all her little wiles to charm people, then threw curve balls by displaying her temper. Little, tiny melodramatic rages are pretty funny. We got a bunch of old-time radio podcasts, and Paul refined Jack Benny jokes to the point of absolute nonsense. And told them. Over and over and over. Maggie learned to say "fancy", and proceeded to point out many things in my parents' house and proclaim them "fancy". Paul got to steer a boat. By himself.

Me? I got my eyelashes tinted (!) and saw "The Devil Wears Prada" with my sister. And I discovered that we have wildly different taste in movies, based on our reactions to trailers. Basically I like stupid and she likes romantic. Yea, stupid! Also, I made dark chocolate cupcakes with orange oil. Yummy.

Last night I hosted our community craft group. This means providing space, but more important, alcohol and food. Kelly concocted a new tequila drink (or maybe it's old: tequila, Rose's lime juice and a little water over ice). I drank most of a bottle of Red Bicyclette Syrah (quite yummy) and part of a bottle of Bonny Doon Big House White...yum yum yum. I also made lots of food, including this very retro dip (my mom's recipe -- there was a lot of it in the '70s.)

Gotta go -- I'm making hamburger buns for our veggie burgers!

July 24. Holy moley. We're getting ready for a cross-2/3 of the country road trip!I'm driving with Paul and Maggie from Maryland to Colorado for the next three weeks. Woo-hoo! People that I didn't expect to be supportive of this plan (mom+two small children in a car for three days) are surprisingly so -- especially my mother-in-law, whose first reaction was "What if she sprains her ankle?" Yesterday, she said that she wishes that she could go too. Adventure time!

Now back to business. This is my life: Maggie, caught red-handed taking water from the toilet bowl with Paul's tooth brushing cup. There was a lot of (toilet, I assume) water on the bathroom floor, and the front of her shirt and chin were drenched. Draw your own conclusions...I certainly did, so Maggie was sent for a nap (good mothering, eh?) Not five minutes after the nap, Maggie had located a bright blue marker and proceeded to add special decorations to any place on her body not covered by clothing (and some that were.) As my friend Cindy says about her own daughter, "she's abusing the privilege of being two". Except that Maggie isn't even two. Yet.

We went uniform shopping for Paul's entree to the parochial school fray this weekend. I don't know why, but I think I'm more nervous about this whole thing than he is. I'm not ready for kindergarten! What if we get lost? What if we don't know what to do during required Mass, since we don't go to Mass? What if we forget to drink our milk, or get in trouble, or cry? What if we get stuck in the bathroom? What if? What if?!

I've become either a) even lazier than before or b) slightly more technologically savvy, so I'm posting photos to flickr now. New sweater for Paul, new toy for baby Theo (congratulations Neil and Mia!), lots of playgroup and pictures of Charles' band..

Bye for now -- I'll have a lot to say in three weeks. For now, I'm busy explaining to Paul why he might need more than a cape, hat, swimsuit and plastic sword for a three-week trip.

June 25. Our weekend. Phenomenally unexciting...even for us. Unless you are my husband, in which case you receive an american Fender Strat. Receive isn't the right word. The right word would be buy. As in "bye-bye, paid-off credit card". But he's happy and he sounds really good and he has gigs coming up (with the Cheverly Hot Noodle Concern) so I'm happy. And he keeps reminding me about the very sparkly band now gracing my left hand just above my wedding band. Very sparkly indeed.

I was running through a bunch of old files earlier today and came across this photo of Paul from February 2002 -- he was a little over two. Maggie is about 18 months. I'm just amazed by how similar they look in these shots. Almost the same kid...except that Maggie is into everything and climbs everything. They both go to prove that kids don't need sirens. And Maggie eats like the world's food supply may come to an end at any time, so she's stocking up. Alike. Different. Alike. Different.

June 23. Okay, this time, I'll make no pretense at getting sympathy for the delay in posting. I've been busy. Paul is in soccer camp for the week and I've been ogling the 20-something British soccer players trying to corral kids ages 4 to 16. They've been showing up at our pool too. Paul told Colum ( nice Scottish lad!) that he's a superhero, and that (apparently) somehow appealed to Colum...

Another Paul story...Abby (Paul's babysitter) is also in soccer camp. She's 15, and I think she's enamored of at least one -- possibly several -- of the coaches. Anyhoo, Paul has decided that Abby has been especially nice to him at soccer camp, so her reward should be that she gets to babysit him again. Soon. Frankly, I think that he's a little jealous of Ollie and the coaches...

We have a huge general in our dining room. This was General Scolfield (who fought the good fight.) He was in Charles' bedroom growing up and now he'll terrorize our children as well. He goes with nothing. Notice Maggie is winking and Paul is a superhero, so everything is normal around here.

We found this beautiful female box turtle walking up our street...in the street. She had been hit by a mower at some point and had a damaged front leg. We kept her for about 16 hours, until I couldn't take the smell any more. Now she lives somewhere in the forest that constitutes our backyard. I think she's pretty happy, but I worry that she's going to end up floating in the kiddie pool. This is not an unreasonable worry -- the hamster in Paul's preschool committed suicide by escaping his cage and jumping into the aquarium.

Ever since Paul went to see the Cheverly Young Actors Guild production of Peter Pan, he's had serious aspirations of his own. He makes Maggie (Tinkerbell -- using bunny ears for wings) walk the plank while he does battle with an imaginary Captain Hook while standing on the big metal trunk in our living room. Did I mention that Abby was Wendy?

 

May 31. I am so behind. But gosh darnit, I am excited about the 2006 Worldwide Knit in Public Day! We are trying to get a group to go to the National Arboretum that day...

May 10. Well, here we are again. In that place we agreed to come to. Do your assumptions about people ever get blown out of the water? This is not a big deal but...we think our neighbors (who are too good to be true, and therefore are referred to as the Flanderseseseses) were watching "The Simpsons" tonight. Yep. No big deal -- just not what we would expect. Then again, Tracie recognized a Stones song from Paul's catalog when he was just four. So.

Anyhoo. We've been to Colorado. It was fun. Paul did not want to come back home, and told his teachers he'd be returning to Colorado right away. He's sort of back now...a trip to see the Cheverly Young Actors Guild's production of "Peter Pan" will do that to a little guy. He's deep, deep into fantasy land now. This is saying something. Also, we think he may actually be somewhat coordinated, but more on that another time.

My mom is making amazing jewelry using wire crochet, raku and beading. You can see it (for now) on my flickr page.

 

Maggie and her cousin Katie are fairy princesses. Katie had big, big plans for Maggie, mostly involving Katie carrying Maggie from place to place. But Maggie would have nothing to do with it --on the final night of our trip Maggie actually hauled off and hit poor Katie. I felt so sorry for her! More on the Colorado trip sometime soon...just not right now. (I sound SO much like a mom right now, don't I?)

We've also been to Flower Market at the National Cathedral, which is a scary, awful thing (the festival, not the cathedral). Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Every year I say NEVER AGAIN. Well... NEVER AGAIN.

And there was Cheverly Day, which was awesome. Truth be told, Cheverly Day was sort of rough, since we'd been to the Cheverly Gala the night before. We had our first teenage babysitter (Paul was very excited about having a teenage girl in the house!) One last note about the night before...champagne mixes with nothing. Nothing. Remember that. It'll serve you well.

So we're back. No one (currently) has pneumonia (Maggie right before our Colorado trip) or strep (Paul, also right before our trip). Cheverly Day is over.Paul has taken his kindergarten assessment tests (really.) The school year is winding down and summer is on the horizon. Next week, we'll have been married for 10 years (actually together for 15). Wow.

 

April 7. My goodness. What a busy month. We went to one of the lovely beaches of Delmarva (cold in March!) A whole lot of other stuff happened. Charles attended the World Tea Expo in Las Vegas and won some money, but then lost it. Maggie has pneumonia and Paul keeps coming up with these "sympathetic" illnesses. We're going to Colorado next week. Cheverly Day (and the kids' group marching band) is only a few weeks away. Did I mention that I'm in charge of the band? We're having an instrument-making party tomorrow. Maggie has pneumonia. This doesn't seem like the great moment in parenting I had planned.

Have you seen achewood lately? Chris Olmstead is brilliant, and he's on a roll. I'm so happy Phillippe is back. Read his blog. Good communism today!!!!!!!!!!

Enough chat. You come here for the pictures...

Paul & Carrie (his former paramour) are helping Erik. Erik is like the greatest uncle of all time, because you can see that he's alarmed, but he's still letting Paul try to work his charms. Paul is obviously still smitten, since Carrie actually got him to touch worms and grubs...	Paul's smooth moves...	Maggie is all over the place.	No joke: Paul told me that he was John Lennon playing guitar on Antarctica this morning.
Maggie is SO pleased with herself.	Dance party.	We're at the beach. It's REALLY cold.	Look how busy she looks.
Most of the time she rides backwards.	One of these things is not like the other. He was watching TV and channelling...something.	Dance lessons before the trip to Colorado. Maggie is into outfits.	You know that Simpsons episode when the bad kid says his shirt is chafing him?
More outfit. Busy, busy, busy.	I'm bummed. She's going to be too big for this dress and these tights soon.	This is my new favorite photo of Paul. You can see so much teen angst in that little five-year old face.
I was in charge of the school bake sale last weekend. I made four cakes and three dozen cupcakes. It put me off sugar for...oh...two days.	Felted purse for Logan, who shares her toys.	So thoughtful...so smart.	Well, that's another box of cheerios lost.

 

March 13. How can it be 12 days since I last posted? I thought that I'd been so good lately! This will be a text-only post, since I'm too lazy to post pictures this afternoon...and Paul is done at school in just a few minutes. So if you don't want to know what's on my mind today, go read someone else's much more interesting blog...go ahead now.

Okay. You're still here? You must be interested. Or bored. Either way...

There is, of course, other stuff (I'm really not THAT shallow) but we're off to the park to enjoy the 75-degree plus weather. There was a Calvin & Hobbes cartoon that ended with something like, "If your knees aren't stained with grass every day in the spring, you're doing something wrong." I couldn't agree more.

March 1. Happy first day of meteorological spring...one day late. Our swap from Moki and her fantastically talented kids arrived today -- it was terrific. Thank you, Moki! The experience got me thinking about the nature of community, and how we expand (and contract) that meaning. God, I sound like such a hippy.

Paul did not want to take the cape off. He even took our recycling to the curb wearing it (and black shoes because, apparently, superheroes wear black shoes. Bet you didn't know that either.) I love the way Maggie looks...like she's already scheming for her teen years (or saving cute points up for when she really needs them.) Maggie and I had our first yoga class this morning -- eight mommies and toddlers. Not sure how much yoga we really did, but I do feel more relaxed. Maggie was not really into it. Also, Maggie slept from 5:00pm yesterday until 7:00am today. Now, a calmer, cooler person would just sit back and be really happy that their baby was getting the sleep she so obviously needs. Not me. I go in and check on her every few hours, and wake up worried that she isn't up yet (blood pooling in her brain?! some terrible here-to-fore unknown heart ailment?!) So I go into their room and stand over her crib. Until she wakes up. And then I feel robbed of precious time that I could be doing something. Sometimes I amaze even myself.

February 28. View the latest results of the mini swap. I'm so happy ... my swap partner received her box and seems quite happy about it. I was nervous about the whole thing -- my first swap, what if I wasn't doing it right...come to think of it, this sounds like a first date.

Anyhoo... in other news:

February 24. I have been extra busy lately...getting my mini swap into the mail...(I'll unveil it next week, but we'll have to wait until I know the package has arrived in New Mexico.)

and knitting...

and trying to figure out life...

Plus, we are going to Colorado to visit my family in April, and I'd like to NOT be the cow I am right now. You never know when you'll run into someone from high school and leave them with the thought, "geez,,,what happened to her?" On the other hand, I am extremely averse to photos of myself, but I've been inspired by the every Tuesday self -photographers, so this is what I did. And I have to say...it could have been SO much worse.

So, at nearly 40, I have to say that things aren't all bad. But I still want a hot fudge sundae. And that line about whatever it is that you want not tasting as good as being thin? That's just a big honking lie. Come on. You know chocolate tastes fantastic. Let's not kid ourselves.

February 13. Snow, snow snow. We got about 12" of the stuff Sunday night and it's beautiful outside. Of course, now it's Monday and our streets are all plowed (because Cheverly has a crack public works team -- we really do), but schools are cancelled here anyway. So Paul is home, which is -- in a way -- good, since he still has not finished his valentines for the class party tomorrow. So there's some work to do here...

February 8. Maggie walks. She walks! She walks! (Okay, I have the walking theme from Amahl & the Night Visitors stuck in my head -- you know, the three kings singing "He walks! He Walks!" just before Amahl goes into the "Look mother, I can dance, I can sing, I can run" bit. You know. -- but perhaps you have something else in yours. For example, Paul had Darth Vader's theme stuck in his little noggin during this event...)

February 2. The stomach virus continues...we are all being quiet because now that daddy has it, the world has changed dramatically. Never before has an illness been so terrible. (For those of you who don't realize it, this post is fairly dripping with sarcasm.) Anyhoo, in the spirit of... I forgot what I was thinking. Here are some pictures I've been meaning to post...

Buche de Noel

I have been doing a lot of baking this winter...we have sort of a corridor of birthdays September through January.

Paul's birthday cake

Maggie's birthday cake

And of course, Christmas cookies...

Paul is deeply into superheroes...Superman, Batman, Spiderman... Then he makes up his own. So far, we have WASPman and Goldman. And when superheroes clean, well...

Batman's alter-ego, Dysonman

Somehow, Darth Vader qualifies as a superhero in our house. And I'd have the same expression as Maggie does if Darth approached me during breakfast. That girl puts up with a lot...

I have nothing to add here...

 

They spend a lot of time doing...well, I really have no idea.

Well, I guess this about says it all.

 

January 30. Our house has been beset by stomach viruses -- not the nice sleep-all-day kind...the vomit until you can vomit no more kind. Nasty, nasty, nasty.

I have a new "Paul Classic" story. We are looking at a parochial school for kindergarten next year, and attended the open house this weekend. Paul was very shy -- not his normal little engaging self. We were in one of the kindergarten rooms with the more formidable of the two teachers, and Paul was playing down by Maggie's stroller as we listened to the curriculum and philosophy of this school. All of the sudden, Paul got up, looked the teacher (who, incidentally is also a vice principal) square in the eye and said, "We've got to go on a beer run." So...what do you think our chances are?

January 28. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm just a giant hosebag. I already know that, so you don't need to remind me.Okay? Okay. Anyway, you don't visit this blog for timely posts -- that would be...well...stupid. In honor of my inability to get it together more than every few months on this thing, I'm just going to put up a bunch of photos today with the accompanying weird tales of Paul (that's what you're really here for anyway.)

By the way, Pancake Mountain -- for those of you in the DC area -- is fantastic.

Paul is Batman...and Spiderman...and Superman...and someone called Goldman (he was cut by gold coins and his superpower seems to be squinting his eyes...amazing! We were interviewed for an NPR piece about kids who refuse to wear coats...Paul had caught the producer's interest because of his assertion of muddled superhero status if he covered his true nature. I am not making this up. Unfortunately, the piece had to be taped on the one day that Paul could in fact manage to put on a coat...and zip it. Your secret is NOT safe Batman...or Superman... or whoever you are.

They are just too much. Maggie thinks pretty much everything Paul says is comic gold, which is good, since it's also frequently pretty much unintelligible. Maggie says "awllllll..."

Halloween in Cheverly...actually, with the exception of the pumpkin patch, this could be pretty much any day around here...

Paul and Maggie protest the war. I'm so proud!

Recent knitting projects...

Random...the last shot is from Paul's 5th birthday -- we tried to make it sort of rock concert backstage themed. The kids had swag and backstage passes and instruments...

The story of Paul's first love. Paul made an 8-panel comic strip for a girl in his class. He worked really hard on it. She shot him down. But she still wants to marry him and she's going to be the prince. Then she drew a comic for him. Things have since cooled...

Look at all those muscles...oh wait. Look at all those ribs!

June 17. We've made it through the first week of summer break (relatively) unscathed. Well, no one died anyway. Sure, there was yelling. Lots of yelling. And after another traumatic shower (following a dirt fest at the playground), Paul said, "I think we just need to try to be nicer to each other mom. We need to get along." Where's my bad mom award?! In his favor, I think his grandfather Avery may be right -- that kid has a future as a diplomat, which makes me the John Bolton figure in this scenario. I am having a hard time seeing people. I don't mean literally -- no sudden blindness here. What I mean is that it's really difficult for me to get out and see friends. Somehow we're always busy (even when we're not actually doing anything.) And when I finally do get some free time, the last thing I want to do is talk to people. I want to sit alone and knit. Or stare into space. The important thing is very little human interaction. This happens at home, too, so it isn't just a wariness of the world outside our home (which I willl admit to.) It's hard to make friends understand this: It's not you. It's me.
Cheverly Day was awesome. Maggie was a big hit in her Rolling Stones gear. Something I don't understand...my parents think this is a terrible onesie. "Why would you ever put a sweet baby in something like that?" What? It's not like she has a tattoo (yet). Then again, these are people who would not let me get my ears pierced until I was 16. Sixteen. Something about God and holes in my head. Really.	Our young friend Nick was using Paul to attract high school girls (he's 12, so this is a pretty good strategy.) He's a great guy...and he wants to babysit. He told Charles that he's "legal to sit now", is taking CPR, and "Paul would have a crapload of fun." A crapload of fun...how can we resist? Really though, if any kid is going to babysit for my kid, Nick is the go-to guy.	Maggie sleeps better than Paul. She also drools alot more than Paul. And she has an oral fixation, which I've heard is more pronounced in girls than in boys. Why is that?

June 3. Paul's nursery school for next year had an open house on Wednesday night. He was quite nervous, but it turned out great, since he has already snowed his new teachers. This is especially good, since his charms seem to have worn a little thin with his current teachers. How, you may ask, did he do it this time? A desire to chat with said teacher? No...that's so...last year. By telling the teacher that he's interested in her while looking soulfully into her eyes? Nope. Again, so last year. No kids, he's advanced. This year, he reels them in by explaining primary and secondary colors, as well as shades. Apparently this is pay dirt in four-year-old teacher wooing. It shows creativity, passing interest in science...the basics. After Paul worked his magic, the new teacher then went to tell the other new teacher of Paul's abilities with color. Don't you wish you could influence people so easily? I do. Here's an example of my lack of influence from this morning: Me: Paul, drink the orange juice. It's good for your body and your brain. Paul: No, thanks. It's not my cup of tea. I want to watch a movie. A STAR WARS movie. Me: We'll discuss it AFTER you finish your juice. [note: thinking this will distract him] Paul: Am I Darth Vader? Amen't ["aren't" and "am" combined, I think] I a good Darth Vader? Me: Honey, Darth Vader is not a good guy. You don't want to be Darth Vader. I don't want Darth Vader in the house. I want a nice little boy who DRINKS HIS JUICE. [By this time, we'd been doing this for an hour.] Paul: Mom, I love you. You are the greatest mom I ever knew. Can I please watch RETURN OF THE JEDI now? I will be very brave of that movie and then you will be proud of me. Oh, for God's sake. Fine. It's a rainy day, and if a movie will keep Paul from disturbing Maggie's nap by practicing light saber moves in the bedroom, then I'm all for it. I think this is called "situational parenting". On a lighter note, Cheverly Day is only one week away!

 

May 23. I have a new theory about kids. I think that newborn babies are very much like adults who have had too much pot. As they become toddlers, preschoolers and so on, they become progressively less stoned. Then, as you age, you become more and more stoned again. I'm not sure quite when peak awareness (non-stoned state) occurs.
Look at Paul and Maggie -- happy as can be... What is going on in their wee brains? Honestly, most of the time, I don't think much actual thought takes place. Sure, there's lots of development occurring, but actual reasoned thought? Maybe for Paul, but Maggie is just sailing along -- stoned.
	This was Mother's Day -- we went hiking at the Patuxent Wildlife Refuge, which is beautiful. Incidentally, it's also where President Bush was enjoying his bike ride while other people were in charge of the country during the recent scare in DC -- my husband called to tell me that there were fighter jets flying REALLY low downtown (he works about a block from the White House). Comforting to know that we ALL knew more about what was going on than the supposed leader of the free world that morning, isn't it?
		My first felting project -- boy, was that easy! I'm working on a cardigan for Maggie, gearing up for a skull and crossbones sweater for Paul.

 

March 8 . Word of warning to all about-to-be second-time moms: this is what happens when you breast feed. I should have known, because Paul was very quiet for about 15 minutes. Very quiet. Which usually means nefarious doings are afoot. But my guard was down (I'm tired.) And now I have a boy with distinctive markings. And I was just thinking how much progress we'd made in the past 10 weeks ... Now he's practicing to be a "bad Jedi Knight". We are printing out page after page of Star Wars action figures so Paul can draw all over them -- they are all in battles with sad-faced guys. What do you suppose this all means?
		To top it all off, Maggie has developed a real farting problem...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 1 . How did the kids ever survive school today? There's like -- oh, two inches -- of VERY DANGEROUS SNOW on the ground in the DC metro area. Schools were closed yesterday because there was a possibility of snow. Poor, stupid kids. Okay, if Paul started out a conversation that way, I'd have made him go back to his room and start the whole day over. But I have an excuse. I haven't had my coffee yet. My Peets stash only arrived this afternoon. All four pounds of it. I'd like to think it'll last for a while, but it won't. There's breast milk in the same shelf -- all the important beverages..		I am hooked on Starbucks' Chantico. It's chocolate ganache in drink form. The only real problem (besides the twitchy side effects) is that it has the fat content of a Big Mac. Not that it's a problem per se... if you want that sort of thing. My wildest fantasy currently consists of me sitting and knitting at Starbucks drinking Chantico after Chantico, the iPod playing (why is there so much '80s music on there?!) and no little voices. Ah, you crazy dreamer, you.
	Paul has been making some funny pictures lately. The latest: nervous Paul with Maggie looking like a happy bumblebee that may sting him. He told me the little boy looks anxious. Come to think of it, a lot of his drawings have characters that look anxious, or are too nervous to do whatever activity it is he's included for them.

 

February 22. Long weekends turn out not to be a good thing for our family. It's just a little too much time together, that's all. I start getting irritated that my husband seems to think that sleeping late is some sort of birth right, and he gets irritated that I devise a lot of projects that involve his immediate participation. Also, ever since Maggie was born -- before then even -- I haven't felt able to complete anything. My life is not my own. This makes me crazy. And, possibly, just a teeny bit cranky. Okay, I admit it. I am really cranky most of the time these days. There. I said it. Funny, I don't feel any better.

February 18. Maggie is not sleeping. Every afternoon, I plan to make dinner, clean the house...you know. And every afternoon, Maggie has an overwhelming need to be held. All afternoon long. Okay, okay, I know I'll miss these days sometime, but right now it's just hard. By the end of the week, between a four-year old and an eight-week old, I have no mind, no nothing. I am goo.

February 16. We are four. Maggie was born (three weeks early) at the end of December, and life has been a whirlwind ever since. I confess, I forgot what having a baby is like. And having a baby and a four-year old...well. Luckily, Paul is deeply into Star Wars (it's possible that he knows more about Star Wars than any other four-year old in the universe. Really.) I'm listening to Al Franken on AirAmerica Radio. The station has finally made it into the Washington, DC region and I am hooked. Of course, it doesn't help that our local NPR affiliate is in the middle of a pledge drive (I think they're ALWAYS in the middle of a pledge drive...) Not much knitting going on, though I have finished a sweater for Paul, and a hat for Maggie. I'm working on some shoes for her, but size 2 needles are evil. My friend Kelly is an amazing knitter -- she makes lovely, lovely things, and I make these sort of lumbering garments. Then again, Kelly is a yoga teacher and I'm a big, lumbering, recently pregnant mom. It all just figures... my hormones are still a little tricky...

September 28 . You would think I was a very, very busy person. But I'm not. The fact is, I'm a lazy poster. Too easy to find 11 other projects that need my immediate attention: knitting (three projects in progress right now), the website I design for parents in my town, learning the ins and outs of large-scale baking (we want to open a tea shop), taking care of Paul (oh yeah, Paul), and 24 weeks of pregnancy (my mother-in-law couldn't describe me this way any more: "You don't look pregnant...perhaps a little fatter than you might want to appear..." This was only a three weeks ago.) When I write it all down, I don't sound so lazy, but honestly I am. Potty training (Paul's) has progressed -- no more hiding quietly in his room when he needs to poop. Now it's just his song ("plop, plop, fozz, fizz, oh what a relief it is!"), a "There mommy, now wasn't that easy? How proud are you of me?" and we're off to the next big thing. Which, these days is... "HOW DOES THE BABY GET OUT OF YOU?" Now, he's not quite four yet, and my Minnesota roots seem to come out of the shadows when this is whispered in my (very asleep) ear early, early in the morning. More than once. He really wants to know. Really. Now.

 

August 26. I feel like a drug pusher. Paul (he of "Diapers Forever!" fame) has finally acquiesced to potty training (after all, the other kids are doing it). So far I've plied him with m&ms, toys, books, cookies... A typical conversation: Me: Paul, do you need to use the potty? Paul: No. Me: Do you want an m&m? Paul: Give me an m&m now. Me: Well...boys who use the potty get m&ms...do you want to be one of those boys? Paul: Give me an m&m. Now. Me: Okay, I'll give you one. But then you have to use the potty if you want any more. Paul: Give me another m&m now. You are the best mommy I ever knew. Okay, so maybe I don't have much of a career as a drug pusher, and maybe my pressure tactics aren't all they could be... Paul has a new favorite song...Gary Numan's "Cars". Yes. That "Cars". The other night, he and his dad had a dance party: "Cars", "Jam On It" and "Rock Lobster"...it was really something. Probably a good thing for Paul's future dating life that I don't have a video camera. I think the photos will be damning enough.

 

August 4. We just got back from a week at the beach, where my husband and his best friends reaffirmed their appreciation of the polish girls who work in the stores in outer Banks, NC (and rum-based pirate drinks). Paul, who apparently also appreciates the polish girls (but not the rum drinks), insists that we are still at the beach and, frankly, I'm a little reluctant to point out that we're home. Some people, when confronted with their own bedroom and toys, might decide that, okay, vacation may be over. But that's not the way the three-year-old mind works. If he says he's at the beach, well, he's at the beach. Duh. The first night, we went to the grocery store to stock up for a few days in the beach house (for some of us, the purpose of the trip was to ogle polish girls). While waiting in line, a man -- no wait, a troll -- entered. He was hairy, short, round, and wearing an absolutely skin-tight t-shirt with "GET ME A BEER PRINCESS" emblazoned across the chest. This completed his ensemble nicely -- too tight, too short green gym shorts, white athletic socks pulled up (natch), and dark shoes. Do you think he did this on a dare? The guys with me were totally oblivious, as two polish girls were scanning and bagging our purchases at that time, and their eyeballs were otherwise occupied. Paul has become smitten with one of our friends, going so far as to tell us that "Kelly is my giruhlfriend". He spent several blissful days at the beach just staring at her -- I worry that he might creep her out, but he is only three, after all, and, apart from the shockingly high-pitched sounds he generates, pretty harmless. I wonder if he'll remember his first crush... While at the beach, I managed to miss my 20th high school reunion, and I'm experiencing surprising mixed emotions about this. It's not like I liked high school (since I spent most of it trying to escape), but I am a little curious about what happened to those people. My sister attended her 10th reunion a few years ago, and said that it was pretty satisfying. The popular kids had pretty much peaked in high school, and the geeky kids really blossomed. Then again, she was a popular kid, so I don't really know how seriously to take her. Since I was such a geek, she may have just been trying to make me feel better. Did you know that there's an international sauna competition? From what I gather, the object is to outlast the other competitors in a steamy box. This comes from the same country that brings us an international karaoke competition. The place? Finland. Oh, those crazy, crazy finns...

July 15. Yes. I admit it. I have been lazy in posting lately. But it's summer. So sue me. Paul is not a fan (so he tells me) of bugs. Or heat. Or, frequently, "outside". He is a fan of discussions ("Mommy, how did they make this car? Why did they make this car?"), girls ("girulhs"), Elvis (vis-a-vis Elvis' method for smooching girls), Speed Racer, and, in a new and disturbing development, appendage transplantation ("Mommy, is your foot hurt? I will cut it off and give you a new foot. Is that better?") I am trying to imagine what lies ahead for this boy...

June 2. It's been sort of busy around here. Between contemplating town infrastructure, renditions of "Iron Man", and gathering treasures (otherwise known as rocks), Paul has been busy, busy, busy.

Top those adventures off with morning sickness and exhaustion (mine, not Paul's). That's right, Paul will be a cool older brother. Or the weird older brother, depending on how you look at it.

My current favorite site is fussy. Make sure to read the cuss column. Healthy. Incidentally, I knit Paul another hat — the brown one in the first picture. I'm really trying to break away from hats, but they're so satisfying to make, and they don't take much yarn. and I don't have to deal with those pesky purl stitches...

May 18. Paul has learned to play parts of "Iron Man", which he does -- over and over -- on the ukulele and drums. At all hours of the day and night. The thing is, he only sings the first line, then plays a little bit of...um...accompaniment, then sings "nobody wants him". That's all he understands in the song. I suppose I might be a bit concerned that, at age three, a major musical influence seems to be Black Sabbath-era Ozzy Osborne. Nah, I'm not that concerned...one month it's the Beatles (Yellow Submarine), then the Rolling Stones (Get Off My Cloud), then the Donnas (the whole catalog.) He also likes Ligetti and Mahler, so I guess we're okay. And the Meat Puppets. Artists he's not crazy about: Flock of Seagulls, U2. Or Donizetti. In fact, he's really not into opera at all. We're in the middle of the invasion of the 17-year brood X cicada. They are swarming in our backyard and cover the trees, garbage cans, you name it. In the morning, there are cicadas covering our car tires. I know they're harmless and all, but they give me the heebeejeebees. I keep reading articles about recovering from fear/loathing of insects, but I choose not to ignore my long-held convictions on this. I don't want to celebrate their life cycle. I don't want to play with them. I don't want to teach my child about the beauty and variance of life...at least not this way. These bugs are gross. They are too dumb to avoid flying into people (I've been dive bombed more than once.) Yuck.