Small perfect things

Things I want to remember about the weekend:

Sounds: the exquisite laughter and glee of the under six set at discovering plastic colored eggs strewn about our friend's back yard; the peepers trilling, bumble bees, bellies fat, new from sleeping in the mud buzzing around beside our picnic blanket; the evening wind rushing up the valley.

Sights: pink hair bows and Easter dresses on our friend's little girls; Bean in his favorite plaid button down, baskets brimming with colored eggs, kids on the swing sets their hair flying back, watermelon smiles, new buds on the trees, the return of the indigo buntings by the pond,

Moments: playing in the sandbox after dinner, playing guitar + laughing with friends up from Boston after dinner; a walk to the pond, barefoot across the squishy grass; looking out the window at Bean and T sitting side by side on a rock eating peanut butter and jelly from jars with spoons (their version of picnic heaven)

Sensations: wearing messy braids, 80 degree sunshine, bare feet on mud; rubbing sunscreen onto little boy cheeks, running hard 3 miles, sunburn (everyone was pink last night).

Food: prosciutto + cantaloupe, grilled lamb + tadziki, coconut cupcakes, iced lattes, Circus Boy, valpolicella, dark chocolate.

A post where I ask the internet parenting advice again

1. At what age is it no longer appropriate to bring your son into the ladies room with you? And if you send him to the boys room himself, how in gods name can you be sure he hasn't touched EVERY SURFACE POSSIBLE? 2. How much sugar does your kid eat daily? Or perhaps better put: what kinds of sweet foods does your kid eat daily? (I've been thinking about this because Bean seems to be sugar sensitive...he's sensitive to everything, so that's not really a surprise...but lately I've been starting to think I'm seeing patterns. Curious about your experiences...)

3. Why do so many mothers stop their children from taking risks--because they are afraid themselves? (Or something?)

EXHIBIT A: Today at the park there was a dad watching a boy and a girl. He let them both climb to the very top of the monkey bars, where they both perched, holding on, happy as clams while other kids rode the zip line thingy below them. Then mom came and dad left. And literally the first words out of her mouth were: "Get down from there right now!" Boy: "Why?" Mom: "Because, you'll fall!" Boy: "How do you know?" Mom: "Because so and so fell, that's why."

ACK. Why do we do this? Why are parents (and possibly particularly mothers) today so different than their counterparts a decade or two ago? What is it about nature, and high places and sharp that seem so terrifying that it's not even worth the supervised risk?

E.B. White in Charlotte's Web wrote about the Fern and Avery swinging out the barn door on the rope swing something like, "All the parents are afraid they'll fall...but they shouldn't be, because children always hold on tighter than adults think they will." (This is NOT a direct quote...If you haven't read Charlotte's Web in a while, you should!) And I tried to remember these words today as Bean spent the entire time climbing across the monkey bars and asking me to lift him up so he could cling to the zip line and fwap from one end of it to the other, his little pale boy belly exposed, his face scrunched up with glee and concentration.

(I'm also loving the Boys Almanac.)

And: Sprout's first time on an outdoor swing today. He couldn't stop giggling. I'm kind of addicted. Seriously cute.

hello, Monday

Beneath the covers when the day first sets in, I’m not quite here, not quite anywhere else either. Hello, Monday. It’s already 6:03 and the night was a slapdash mess of wake ups. The teeth, they keep coming. Arched back wailing at 3:27a.m. for ten stagger-around-the-room minutes, searching for Tylenol, and then again at 5:06, too early and too late for more or better sleep.

I lie awake, face in the pillows, the thudding of my heart reverberates in my head. My breath moves my ribs up and down, up and down, but I am not here, not all of me, not yet.

Under the weight and softness of my stomach my wrist bones, carpals and metacarpals, are crumpled like soft bits of clay and as I flex my fingers, pins-and-needles set in.

Somehow our boys, both of them, are already in bed between us.

This morning I can feel the way I’m sort of pushing around at the outline of myself with my mind. Hello, day. Hello, memory. Hello, this life of mine. I feel myself begin, reluctantly to inhabit my vertebrae, lungs, buttocks, thighs; in the nick of time I roll out of the way. Bean’s at it already: making a pirate ship out of the covers. Sprout, miraculously stays asleep (of course, now after a night of it) and he is perfect, perfect, perfect here beside me. Rosy, tousled. His hair smells sweet like only him.

The day comes fast then: wooden slats of window shades pulled up; snowmelt; shower steam; the fragrant bar of French lemon soap slipping from my still slack-fingered grip; coffee. The boys are both underfoot (vacation until Wednesday) which gives new meaning to the phrase “work from home,” which is what I try valiantly to do, meeting four deadlines, non-stop screen time, CS4, phone calls, 37 emails, everything interrupted by the repetitive cacophony of BOY.

The day is gray, and the is light translucent and dull, but I like the way the thermometer climbs to 38 before 11am, and how on the south facing fields I can see bare patches where the grass pokes up. I’ve been looking at the trees for signs every day now: the buds are swelling with the secret lives of leaves that wait for chlorophyll, for sun.

Inside, the boys and I are barefoot, and I look at them and feel the fragile container of my ribs nearly snap open with the thunk-thunk-thunking of my little hammer dulcimer heart. Bean with his thin arms and messy hair and growing-in-crooked teeth and ski-jump nose, and Sprout, who has been trying to run from the minute he learned to walk and whose gait looks a wee bit like a cross between a high stepping horse and Frankenstein. Some days I hardly have words. I have two sons. I don’t think this wonder ever goes away.

And so without stopping it’s night already. We visit friends after work and arrive home late. The sink is crowded; the cat wants fresh water; the refrigerator needs to be cleaned. Instead I let the boys stay up another minute. Bean and I eat toast with cloudberry jam.  Sprout carries pot lids around the room. Nonstop, there went Monday.

How was your day?

PS--I have a super-duper exciting giveaway for tomorrow, that I can’t wait to share!

PPS--Did you see? I made some pretty Field Guide To Now blog buttons. Please grab one, if you'd like & spread the word. 30% funding tonight is awesome. Who want's to be the one to push it to 3K? Just $35 away...THANK YOU Tahereh! What a great way to start TUESDAY.

5 years.

Five years ago tonight I'd just given birth, and I had no idea, no idea at all, how my life would be changed by the tiny baby with his big eyes looking up at me from a nest of warm cotton cloths on my chest.

All day I kept thinking about it his birth: how I labored for 2 hours; how I was walking through hard contractions on the back deck when the sun rose; how I remember seeing the way the buds on the lilac tree were fat, and how the air smelled like the beginning of spring; how I transferred to the hospital after about 18 hours leaving behind all expectations about home birth or what his birth would be like at all. When I recall either of my son's births, my memory slips into this place that exists somehow out of body; beyond the periphery of pain or thought; to where things are blurred and thundering with the pulse of the moment, but somehow are dislocated, out of time. And so I blinked, and here he is. Five.

This boy with his sandy blond hair and huge green eyes and his thousand questions every single moment of every single day is 5. It's such a heady, stupefying, astounding thing to have a kid and watch him grow up--and writing that I can see how it comes across as the most pathetic of cliches. But really: to watch your child grow up marks time's passing in this utterly absolute way. Five years looks like this.

He's intense, this boy I have. He didn't sleep through the night for the first three years of his life. He's allergic to dust and pollen and grass, and tugs on his shirts and pokes his brother. He is a knower. A thinker. A goofball. (Poop jokes are suddenly hysterical. WHY do boys find bathroom humor so funny? Why?)

He draws pictures of houses and vehicles and robots with wiring intact for doorbells and forklifts and motors. He plans how he'll build things in his head. He talks about math without knowing abstractly that he is. The way numbers relate makes sense intuitively to him. He's non-stop and funny and annoying. He is particular and bright and determined. He doesn't like the spotlight, the center of attention, but he loves to shine and be the best. A birthday questionnaire: Favorite color: green, pink, blue Food: pizza pasta and roll-ups (burritos) from school. I also like granola. Write that please. Favorite fruits: mangoes, and only on occasion I like ants on a log. Dessert: ice cream, peanut butter cookies, chocolate cake, pie and all good stuff. Toy: my Plasma car, my desk, my scissors What you want to be when you grow up: I want to be an astronaut and an airplane driver and I want to build robots that actually work and I want to tell people how to get the titanic up from the bottom of the ocean and I want to be a computer maker. That’s it. Sprout will be the same as me. Favorite thing about Daddy is: that he does stuff with me on my circuit board Favorite thing about Mommy: that we can snuggle and you let me draw on your phone sometimes Favorite thing about your brother: he's a jelly tub. Favorite animal: seal and octopus; NOT dogs. I also like fish and sharks. Favorite time of day: Morning, afternoon, and night. Night is my not good time. Favorite candy: licorice and chocolate. Ice cream bars. Popsicles. Favorite clothing: I don’t know. I really like my red shirt with a pocket up top and my overalls and my goose tag (lapel pin of a loon.) Favorite games: Circuit board. Sledding. Soccer outside. Favorite music: violin and guitar. Stuff you don’t like: The bottoms of asparagus. Taking naps. Tomato. I like broccoli now. What do you wonder about: I wonder about being in college What makes you sad: I’m only sad when I’m hurt.

Today on the way home from school we stopped for a raspberry danish and when he took his first bite the yummy raspberry jelly was a surprise and he said, "Oh mommy, when I bit into this I was just so delighted!"

My boy, through and through. I love him so.

+++ He's also one of the reasons I'm going for this.

Love & LAUNCH!

I did it. Days of mapping out details and collecting information and editing video clips (whoa, no small thing!) and finally, here it is. A Field Guide To Now. It kind of feels like giving birth. A lot like it in fact: the risk, the unknown, the realization that it's all beyond my control even though I'm going to give it every single thing I've got.

It's the first time I've ever taken a leap like this. Plunged with a fluttering heart towards a dream.

Please support this.*

+++ And also: I have two birthday boys this week! Bean's birthday is the 16th and Sprouts four days after. This is the week that has changed my life, twice, momentously. It felt so utterly right to launch this project today. (Still. I'm nervous.)

xoxo!

*Things are tenuous financially, and this would make a huge difference. Please Share this project with everyone you know.

Catching up:

Doing: Whoa, it’s been one heck of a couple of weeks with both kiddos underfoot. Lots of sledding and cookie baking and general revelry. Not enough writing though. Or painting. Or time without the ruckus, giddy, non-stop noise making of two small boys.

Speaking of: Sprout is standing and almost walking. He's thisclose. He's hilarious. He plays hide and seek. He initiates chase games around the house and crawls pell-mell at top speed, then bursts into adorable peels of laughter. I tried to teach him to paint a few days ago--because I did with Bean at around this age, and it was an utter disaster. He ATE the brushes and got so frustrated when I'd take them out of his hand and try to turn them around so the bristles went on the paper. So not his thing.

Bean on the other hand is totally into drawing. He makes airplanes and houses with doorbells wired in to the walls. Tonight he drew a picture of our cat stalking mice. Each mouse had a lovely, loopy, curly tail. I can't really believe that he is almost five and suddenly all cool and adorable: a big+little mashup. Yesterday he said, "When I'm big I'm gonna build robots. I'm going to design one to be a remote control that I control--and then another robot that the first robot controls." He's like that. Totally coming up with the coolest things ever. An engineer in the making.

Reading: it's been haphazard at best this week. Mostly about the end of the world as we know it. Which really is rather unsettling . Though not entirely hopeless. I'm already thinking of what my garden will look like this spring.

Wishing for: a few solid hunks of time I can call MY OWN to get things crossed off the to-do list and sink back into writing and creating and feeling like myself again. Eating: I've perfected pizza dough and a really great bread recipe. I'll share both, but not tonight. Somehow it's bedtime already. Where did the day go?

+++ Wondering tonight: what do you worry about? What are your greatest fears--the big, worst-case-scenario ones...and the little ones that nag and gnaw?

More Snapshots

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."--Annie Dillard

Maple sugar on the first snow of the season... TEETH! Our advent wreath with a little twirly mobile from Germany (a childhood tradition.) Our first gingerbread house attempt this year. Bean cut out the templates and the dough. And mixed everything. Bean was hilarious to watch decorating these. He was so careful with the icing... then DUMPED the sprinkles on. Lots of snowflakes have been cut this year...Bean made this one entirely himself. Bundled up. Getting ready to do our annual holiday photo...

PS: I'm sort of sick and am hating the general anxiety of Sunday night. There is always a to-do list bigger than my brain waiting for Monday. What's on your to-do list this week?

Boys & simple delights

I always pictured this, and yet I could never have imagined how it really is: life with boys. My house is always a ruckus. Things are always flung, spun, twirled, jabbed. Sticks are essential. So are rocks. Forts are made everywhere. The couch is a launch pad. Trees are dangled from. Boxes are magic. They become boats and cars and rocket ships; they are played in and fought over and sawed into with serrated knives.

Each morning I wake up to the full catastrophe delight of little boy energy. Inevitably I get a finger in an eyeball, or an elbow to the ribcage. “Mommy! MOMMY LOOOK!” But by the time I do, Bean has already dragged a giggling Sprout out of my room, down the hall and into his bedroom, where I can hear thumping and banging and more laughter.

Bean is growing tall. He grew 3/4ths of an inch in the past month! Sprout is standing on his own, cruising everywhere, cutting teeth. He is hilarious. He does things purposefully just to make us laugh. He loves to bang on things: pots, cupboards, boxes. He loves music. He loves his big brother, and he beams whenever Bean enters the room. But he’s also a tattle tale—already. He makes this particular fussy sound whenever Bean takes something from him, or even just gets close enough that he might take something from him. He is absolutely, one-hundred-percent a Mama’s boy.

My sweet second son. We’re so smitten for each other, and truthfully, every single day I still kind of wish he’d stay small for a lot longer. I love to snuggle with him. I love the sleepy moments just before I tuck him into his bed at night. I love when he first sees me after I’ve been gone for the morning. I love how he gets such a kick out of everything: standing, eating, sticking his hands in the dirt.

That said, I’m much less of a wimp with him. I want him to sleep through the night now. He’s huge (really: as in, 18-24 month clothing is snug on him. SNUG.) and he has no reason to wake up four times just to tap into a boob for five minutes, although I can’t blame him for trying. It must be nice, little man. Sorry to cut you off. So last night there was more fussing and less sleep as he adjusts to going back to sleep himself. He was indignant at first, but a trooper, and figured out how to find his pacifier & snuggle in and go back to sleep after a couple minutes of fussing. And already it was easier than the night before. By the end of the week I think we’ll be where I want us to be (as in, one or both of us will be getting five or six hours of sleep at a go!)

Aside from the whole sleep deprivation bit, which gets old, I admit, I’ve been having so much fun this month with my boys. All three of them. And even though money is tighter than it’s ever been, it is quite possible that I’m enjoying the holiday season more than I have in years past because it’s been all us, as a unit. Without the pressure to buy things—the holidays become all about shared activity, small rituals, adventures, crafts, and food.

We’ve already made a batch of gingerbread cookie dough; strung oodles of lights; and cut more than our share of snowflakes. Bean loves to do paper crafts. He memorizes the folds easily and delights with cutting each snowflake and then opening it up—each one a glorious surprise of symmetry and pattern. Sprout watches, delighted, trying to eat every paper scrap that falls to the floor.

Each morning we all look forward to the excitement of Bean scurrying out to see what the advent fairy has tucked into a little box for him: a tiny slinky, some balloons, a golden chocolate coin, a small crystal, silly putty, umbrella straws. It’s a lesson for all of us to remember: how much delight comes not from the actual gift, but from the suspense and mystery of each small box. It’s all about the ritual, the gesture of fun, and the small delightful moment of surprise. What are some things you do as a family together this time of year?

When spooks and ghosts and robots are seen...

Bean's Robot costume, in progress:

Two words: foil tape. Love it.

Learning to fly

We make paper airplanes. A fleet of them tossed into space after dinner, twirling, looping, landing on the hardwood, on the couch cushions, on the edges of ledges and windowsills. Our hearts on our sleeves, laughter filling the living room, as the cold autumn night crowds in around at the windows and Sprout chases after each one, newly crawling, hands going fwap, fwap, fwap across the floor. This is my life, I think. These boys, these moments. What does it matter that I’ve missed a deadline I wanted to meet, or that tiredness makes me stupid some mornings? Everything that really matters is in this room tonight. “Here, I’ll show you how fold one,” I say to Bean, not really believing that he’ll be able to follow my lead, and remembering second graders I’ve taught who have burst into tears with frustration, not able to follow the same sequence of folds.

“Really?” he grins. Then he sits on the floor with a stack of paper, his legs folded behind him on the floor like a little frog.

He watches intently, copying every fold.

First a rectangle, then the nose folded in to make opposing triangles, then the whole thing in half, then the wings folded down. Symmetry and sequence matter now. He breath is shallow, intent.

“Let me try it again,” he says after we toss our new planes high and watch them land. Sprout squeals in delight. A candle still flickers on the dinner table. Night is here, making the window glass into mirrors that catch our grins.

I watch him as he makes another, all himself. The entire sequence of steps folded from memory, after only being shown twice. And his plane flies beautifully. It lifts improbably, air pushing up under the flimsy paper and carrying it up to the ceiling before it swoops down, twirling in arbitrary circles before landing at his feet.

His grin is bigger than the room.

My grin is bigger than the room.

This boy, this beautiful boy of mine, teaches me so much. He challenges me at every turn to grow, to become more organized, more intentional, more prepared. He is my mirror, revealing the fragile and haphazard parts of my being that dangle and drag like dropped stitches. Where I am weakest, this is where parenting him forces me to grow the most.

I can’t coast, parenting him. He never gives me the chance to sit back on my laurels and get comfy. He questions everything. He is always pushing me to the edge of my comfort zone. He’s a kid who seems porous to me: the entire environment saturates his little being. He soaks everything up. Watches everything. Asks about everything.

He sees a thing once, and remembers it, classifying it with other similar things: the makes of cars, the inner workings of tractors, street signs, logos, maps. He has a particular obsession with learning new words and he insists on using them again and again until they blend into his daily vocabulary. Words like scenery and astounding, and investigate.

He is never content with the simple answer. He is always full force, full throttle, determined. He is fragile. He is allergic (to dust, grass, pollen, pets.) He is picky. He is persistent. He is easily overwhelmed by sensory stimulation. He exhausts me.

And I’m starting to get it: this boy of mine might be one of the most profound teacher’s I’ll ever know.

Weekly Crushes

It seems like it was just a couple of weeks ago that I was clipping Bean into his ski boot bindings for the first time and sending him down the driveway. Now the first leaves are already golden and orange. Where has the summer gone?

The crickets know that snow is on its way. In the garden, fat pumpkins with girths rounder than Bean's hugs. My Bean, who has started a mixed-aged (Waldorf) kindergarten program, and comes home singing. My Bean who tells us about the enormous imaginary kangaroo that lives upstairs. My Bean, suddenly a big-little kid. Four and a half. Mischief around every turn. He is my favorite forever.

And then my baby boy, my little Sprout, coming up on 7 months old, impossibly. He is a chunk. Pure love. Grins always. He's been surfing the floor the past week or so, trying to crawl. In between attempts he's pleased as peas to sit in the center of a circle of pots and spoons, banging things and grinning. He's always cracking himself up. There are so many times throughout the day where I'll look over at him and feel my heart catch and then expand. He'll be smiling at me, watching me from across the room as I do things in the kitchen or fold laundry or type. He is my little Buddha. My reminder to be right here, now, in this precious, precious moment. He is my favorite always.

Also, some weekly blog crushes to share:

2 or 3 Things, Bliss, Le Love (can't help going here and smiling), listing quirks over at Cupcakes & Cashmere...(a quirk DH pointed out tonight while we rocked it in the basement gym---3 miles in 24:15 minutes---is that I love to watch bull riding. Really.)

Also, these houses (still brooding over treehouse plans, as you can tell.) This gorgeous little party. This amazing installation. It's how my heart feels, sometimes, lately. Overflowing, made of feathers, of air, of fragile things.

What are some of your crushes right now? Share please. Also~ what are you looking forward to this week?

Little Boys

1. Treehouse, 2. Treehouse, 3. MAJ_The Ultimate Tree Fort II *, 4. 2nd February 2007, 5. Tree House, 6. DSC00145

We're building Bean a tree house and we're discovering that it's uncharted territory. DH never had a tree house. I grew up climbing trees with my sisters, and there were certainly a few make-shift tree forts that are scattered throughout my memory, but never a real honest tree house with a ladder and a roof.

Because neither of us have real experience we seem to get sucked into substituting nostalgia in its place, with dire consequences. Having spent most of my childhood with scraped knees and in trees, I picture a helter-skelter little tree nest tucked up in some branches with a few log stairs nailed into a tree trunk. DH's childhood was all about suburb sidewalks and and swimming pools and green lawns, so his image of the perfect tree house includes functional windows and an shingled roof.

Thus far we've settled on a platform built between three trees within eyesight of the kitchen window. Bean wants two stories, and a secret tunnel. I want to use logs from our property. DH wants everything to be built with two-by-sixes and six inch screws. We're a mess.

Really, I'm a mess. I am outnumbered, and this is becoming more and more apparent every day. I have no idea what to do with little boys, I am discovering. They are not like little girls (though apparently this might be my fault.) They like to be LOUD. They like to smash things, and run really fast, and make skid marks with dirt bikes and dangle from tree limbs. They like to make plastic alligators eat the heads off of Lego people, and they like to make sharks attack. They like to have their pancakes in the shape of monster faces, and if you make beets and polenta into a similar design (with the beets for bloody teeth) they will acquiesce and devour them.

Other than that, I have no idea what to do with little boys. Or specifically my little boy. My frog-catching, fearless, stubborn, shy, determined, goofy little boy who loves to use every 'big' word he hears, and who has an opinion about every single thing under the sun.

Take naps for example. What do you do with a little boy who is determined that he is beyond naps, but still desperately needs them? He becomes the monster when he's overtired--which is almost every afternoon. And what about refusing to wear certain articles of clothing? Or arguing about brushing teeth? Or? Basically, help. Mamas of boys, I need a primer, STAT. What are the top five most important things I should know/learn about parenting little boys? Because clearly, I'm in for it.

And also, about that tree house... What's your idea of a perfect tree house? What's essential? What's overkill?

September Crushes

I adore September, and little boys hanging out in tree forts; back-to-school, back to routine. I love the newly sharpened pencils, newly picked apples, earlier bedtimes, scrambled eggs & toast for breakfast, new sneakers, and watching the pumpkins grow fat Hand monsters.

September is perhaps my favorite month of the year, especially here in New England where everything is golden and lingering and lovely.

I kissed my husband for the first time 10 years ago on September 5th, and that continues to be what I consider one of the best decisions I ever made. (Have I mentioned recently how hot he is? Ever so. He's like a good wine: keeps getting better with age).

Bean starts school on Thursday. He's excited. Right now we're in the backyard lolling in the sun. He's lying on a quilt in his new tree fort (a post coming on that soon!) and we're both eating plums and I'm thinking of stacking the final cord of wood, although a run might be on the docket.

Some recent crushes start off your week:

Sunday Suppers~such gorgeous food, I want to lick my screen.

thoughtful friday, oh hello friend, and kate neckel are some new blogs I am loving. And this post. Every bit true. Also this advice. *** What are you browsing, considering & doing today?

Ho-Hum.

Today the rain is falling and I can’t put two and two together to make anything even close to resembling four. I have cold feet and fingers and I keep forgetting things. Out the window and the ornamental crabapple has blossoms on a single branch. Now. At the brink of September, after a summer that for all intents and purposes never came at all. It’s rained almost straight for the past three months. The delicate pink blossoms are almost shocking among all the late summer foliage. Green everywhere.

I cannot see the mountains. Clouds press up close around our little hilltop and I am restless today. I cannot put my finger on what is wrong. I am listless. I should be grateful. I have so much to be thankful for and yet I woke up with the surly ungrateful attitude that there would be nothing to look forward to today, and I am proving myself right by default. The law of attraction. I am annoying myself.

Bean is also annoying me. There. I said it. I hate myself for this—for feeling like my child is someone I don’t want to be around, but I don’t. Uh-uh. Not today. He is one big negotiation after another. Temperamental, every few minutes whining about something or gritting his teeth or intentionally twirling something heavy or sharp through the air at the end of a very thin string.

I am at the end of a very thin string with him. I want patience. I want grace. But today with the rain cold and splattering and perpetual all I’ve been is too close to everyone in the same quarters and all I want is to be somewhere the heck away from here. Of course this matters not at all. When you're someone's mother you can’t just get up and shake off your life for a day. And to be honest, the glumness is so pervasive today I can’t think what I want. I have no idea what would make today sparkle.

It’s like I woke up and tripped over a bucket of gray paint and it’s gotten everywhere, obliterating the possibility of a sunny outlook. Humbug. I am hungry even though I just ate. Again. This is how I am all day long with the whole nursing thing. I am always ravenous. Hum.

Maybe baking will cure things.

What should I bake?

Do you ever feel this way? Grouchy without a single real reason in the world to be so? What do you do then? ** UPDATED: I finally went for a run on the treadmill & made a new record. 3 miles. 23:50 minutes. And after running hard, the world felt more in context, as it often does when I run. Why can I not remember this when I am in the thick of feeling sorry for myself?

91 degrees

We are sweltering. It is official: I hate summer. Well, maybe that is too strong. Oh wait, no it isn't. Not if summer means this. This 91 degrees business. This so hot my brain inside my head feels like a lump of boiled ham bumping about on a plate.

Oh you poor thing, you are thinking. Where I am it's 110. Yeah. Well. And where you are probably has air conditioning.

Sooo. Can you tell I'm a delight today? The whole weekend has been a bit like this. One ill advised idea after another. Yesterday we decided to go camping. Sort of off the cuff. We had initially decided we wouldn't go camping and would just go to spend the day at a lake somewhere, but then DH called some camping place and they had a teeny little cabin available for the night and we thought: cabin + 6 month old + 4 year old might be better than a tent in that same equation. But it wasn't.

It was a cabin at one of those places where people are sandwiched in like sardines. It was by the bathrooms, and didn't have it's own bathroom. And it was surrounded by EIGHTH GRADERS on some vaguely organized youth group camping trip. Really. Dozens and dozens of them listening to music with the refrain "I wanna have sex with you" (I couldn't find out who sings it. It was some very innocent sounding girlie, actually. I did discover that maybe it's not wise to search for that phrase on the Internet.)

Evidently they were not a church group. Also, I was the only one who was noticeably snickering and/or flinching as these lyrics blasted sweetly through the campground which made me feel terribly, depressingly old. I am a prude. Who knew? But wait, it gets worse.

Once we had settled in and unpacked somewhat, we loaded up the running stroller with an ENORMOUS amount of stuff (ninety percent of which we didn't use) to take to the beach across the road because we didn't want to be going back and forth across the relatively busy highway for every little thing...but when we got to the beach, it was PACKED. Again with the whole sardine business. People and their kids and kayaks and fun noodles and towels and umbrellas and dogs on every square inch of sand.

So we schlepped all of our ridiculous stuff through the woods along a very bumpy rooted trail to another beach I'd seen out of the corner of my eye as we drove up, one cove over from the first beach.

Picture us please: it was 90 degrees yesterday and we'd spent the morning packing all kinds of crap and then driving, and all we had had to eat were hot peanut butter sandwiches. We wanted to swim. We were dreaming of leaping into cool lake water and parking our stuff in some nice little secluded corner where Bean could wade, and Sprout could occupy himself on the blanket, and DH and I could finally cool off, sip something refreshing...and blah blah.

Picture the stuffed cooler and the iced tea cooler and the heap of towels. Picture Sprout (who was an angel ALL DAY LONG by the way) stuffed in there too, and Bean running uncontrollably ahead, nearly slipping off the edge of the steep path in his crocs. Picture: huff puff. Swatting mosquitoes in the shade. Snapping at each other. Heave ho. And then picture this: rounding the bend we finally came to a beautiful secluded beach with pristine water and...

... at least three dozen naked old men and a few very brave naked women.

A nude beach. Fantastic.

To be clear I don't really mind nude beaches. I've gone naked more than once on the beach (alright, it was France, but still.) So it's not the naked that bothered me so much. It was just. Well.

"Are you okay with it?" "Yeah I guess so, are you?" DH said scanning the view. "Sure, I mean if it was France...." I let my sentence trail off.

Passing us: an old guy with a saggy paunch wearing a bright blue tank top and NO PANTS. Really, buddy? News flash: Penises, even young ones + a shirt = not that flattering. No. Not at all. Something about the way those bits dangle makes them look compromised and foolish when poking out from under a shirt.

"So, what do you think of that other beach we passed?" I finished.

The other beach was at the other end of the lake. A five minute drive, but DH agreed. It was really too much to wrap our heads around: navigating between naked folks with a bulging stroller and a questionably behaved four year old. We could already imagine his loud proclamations. "WHY ARE THEY NOT WEARING PANTS, MOMMY? WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE THAT MOMMY?" It could go terribly wrong. Just think what we could bump into. See? It's official. I am a prude.

So we pushed the stroller back and shoved the entire thing into the truck and drove to the other beach which was a thin strip of sand between the lake and the road. A road that seemed to be the 'it' place for all the locals to cruise by with their music blaring (when did I become such a grump?) But we were going to have fun, damn it. And also. It was hot.

So we situated ourselves on the only available postage stamp sized piece of sand we could find and attempted to have FUN. Fun was Bean wading out into the lake and trying to kick away from me in his inner tube despite the fact that he can't swim, and ending with me catching him and him just as he was going under and him coming up sobbing. Fun meaning, DH breaking the buckle on my favorite belt trying to use it to open a beer while I was in the water instead of just asking me where the bottle opener was. Fun, as in: sand everywhere. And also the girl next to us was very pregnant and very young and very decidedly chain smoking.

It just about broke my heart, watching her watch us. She had this vapid depressed look on her pale face. Like it was the end of the world. Like we were everything she never wanted to be. Us, with our baby and our Tupperware of watermelon and our umbrella blowing away. Us, with Bean covered in sand and 'accidentally' hurling a toy that nearly took out some unsuspecting sunbathers.

Her boyfriend was blond with lots of tattoos and a soft stomach. He kept taking his shoes off and putting them back on. I heard her say, "I just can't get comfortable," as she took a drag on her cigarette and squirmed about on her towel, her belly round and pale, like she'd swallowed a watermelon. I kept picturing them in the middle of the night with their newborn and it was devastating. And it put things in perspective.

Because really, even though the day proved to be more disaster than not, DH summed it up perfectly when he said, "If I have to have a day like this, I'm so glad you're here to have it with." And really, it wasn't that bad. Sprout was delightful the entire time, and Bean, well, he's a rascal at 4 and a half. He had a lot of sugar and he was thrilled about the bunk beds in the cabin, and let's just say we might have fared better had it not been 90 degrees with Eminem playing and soccer balls flying over our heads.

Still, we managed to salvage the afternoon by going back to the campsite as the sun was setting. We lightened our load significantly, bought some ice cream and then went down to the first beach we'd gone to in the morning and it was much less crowded and the water was pristine. Bean and I swam and the light was golden. DH had fun grilling sausages on the camp stove. We made a fire and roasted marshmallows. We licked our sticky fingers.

And then we drove home.

Because really, after the day we had just had, imagining a night in a tiny cabin with two tiny windows (and no screen on the door) and a double bed with a baby just sounded impossibly horrific when we could be home in our own bed in just over an hour.

Turns out, we're not so much the car camping type. Backpackers first, DH and I both long for seclusion and nature when we camp, and the point of being in a small uncomfortable space (tent) with compromised sanitation is lost when multiple neighbors playing loud music are added to the equation. I have always loved to camp, and it's one of the things I miss the most about summertime now that I have children.

Obviously, backpacking is out of the equation until both boys can tote their own small packs (with their own clothes/sleeping bags), but I would like to believe that car-camping can achieve a similar experience, if done right, in the right place. This apparently means massive research and planning and checking online in advance about things like nude beaches and how people define the phrase "spectacular views."

Also, ziplocs. We forgot ziplocs.

Do you have any tips/advice/stories about camping with kids? I would love to hear your experiences and must-haves lists. Or your condolences. Or anything really. Something. Because I'm still rather traumatized and it has only just now gotten cool enough to commence breathing indoors, and heat and I apparently do not mix well.

Pictures tomorrow. :)

This is what I know today

To be a child means living wonder, without knowing wonder is a concept, an abstraction.

I was a star before I fell down into your tummy, Mommy, Bean tells me. We’re on his bed, the blue Hawaiian print sheets in a rumple, the lights dim, twilight outside.

Everyone dies, he says but we don’t stay dead. We go up to heaven and then we come back down again as a new baby.

Inspired by:

Hi. Wednesday. There was sun today for the first time, literally, in weeks. Tell me this, Internets, is it sunny where you are? And if so, is it often? I'm starting to get itchy feet. Hankering to be somewhere else maybe. Some place with more sun, more... I don't know. If I were foot loose and fancy free I'd be tempted to do this. I've always wanted to write a story about big rig drivers. Cool, right?

Really though: do you love where you live? Tell me about it!

Also today: lots of revising and forward progress. Writing is a crazy making profession for sure. So much terror and doubt is there, every day, waiting in the margins, in the click of the space bar. During breaks today I was inspired by her beautiful aesthetic. And also this breathtaking art.

This super cool journal also caught my eye today. I love when image and story and news and ideas collide. It's how it's like inside my head.

Speaking of things that get inside my head--I loved reading this story in particular because it reminded me somehow very much of The Year of Silence by Kevin Brockmeier in the Best American, which was originally published here. I wish I could find a link for you to read it online--because then you'd see what I mean about these two pieces connecting. This picture in particular, of Sao Paolo stripped of visual pollution is just what I pictured when I imagined a city stripped of sound. It's serene and calming and yet...I like a mess, which is why I liked how Brockmeier's little piece ends immensely.

And finally, because I adore lists and am a total sucker for good food, Travelers Lunchbox delighted me so much today. Particularly this list of all foodie lists. My short list of to die for food off the top of my head: cherry pie, pasta from Mezzaluna, lime gelato in the Piazza della Signoria, affogato, oysters with white wine and garlic butter.

Runners up: root beer floats, hot chocolate from Quebec served in a bowl, majool dates, fresh raspberries, steak frites, unagi sushi, raspberry sorbet, licorice, dark dark chocolate, caramel apples, dry packed scallops, Oh lord, I have started something I cannot stop. What are your top five and your runners up?

A weekend roundup

First off, I very much loved reading about your media habits the past couple of days. I have continued keep a record of what I've been consuming media wise, and I think that it's made me much more conscious and thoughtful about my choices... I've decided to keep the record going over at twitter. It seems like the perfect, if not slightly ironic venue for such things. But before I do, I want to share with you some of my favorite links from the past couple of days:

Firstly, Elizabeth Strout's essay "English Lesson" in the Washington Post this week is fantastic. She is such an amazing writer to me. Her characters are so real, nuanced, subtle. She deserves every ounce of praise for Olive Kitteridge, which was my favorite book I read last year.

Also, I am giddy with the discovery of the Washington Post's Summer Reading Issues from years past. I am sure everyone else on the face of the earth has already devoured these stories, but until now they have somehow escaped me. Delight. I cannot wait to read all of them (I have not yet.)

Also, speaking of the Washington Post, if you don't read Gene Weingarten you should. This piece made me sob when I first read it. This one made me nearly die laughing. Also, because things seem to work this way in my life, his piece this week explores the various glories and follies of tweeting. Ah-hem.

Now, without further ado, some family updates (a.k.a, my camera is fixed people. Prepare yourselves for some seriously photo-heavy posts to come!)

First off, have you met Bob, our rooster? Bob, Internets. Internets, Bob. He is named after this book.

Here is the new batch of girls who have finally figured out how to do the free-range thing, thus saving us more fruitless attempts to catch them whilst thrashing our legs on sharp pine boughs.

And here is newest member of the poultry bunch: the chick that the goose hatched. It's name name is Twitter. Bean named it. I swear he knows nothing of my current media obsessions.

And because I cannot stop staring at my beautiful boys:

Also yesterday, because it was raining and we were bummed because we were supposed to go to this amazing parade to celebrate the umpteen hundred years of our city's existence and instead had to stay home to avoid being drenched and bedraggled, we had a dumpling party instead. The four of us. Fancy frozen drinks for everyone and homemade dumplings using this recipe.

While we were frying up the dumplings we had pandora on, set to a Madonna quick mix (which turned out to be the best movin, groovin, bootie shaking tunes ever!) The storm was right overhead with lots of serious thunderclaps. For dessert we made chocolate pudding with fresh strawberries and watched the Tour together on the couch.

What have you been reading, doing, and eating this weekend?

Media Record Day 2

Started off on media bistro this morning, and found my way here. Again apropos. I like how even here, in the seeming chaos and of the Internet, like attracts like, and patterns emerge.

Later my mother sent me a link to this fascinating review of Winifred Gallagher's Rapt; a book I now very much want to read.

From there the day fragmented into lots of email, a little twitter, and thankfully a lot of writing. (Saw this post, via Twitter, and started wondering is conflict essential to all good fiction?

What do you think? I am very interested in hearing your ideas on this...

Also watched So You Think You Can Dance, which I adore, because as I've said here before: if I could have a talent bestowed upon me, it would be the ability to dance.

It was a roller coaster day though. Storm clouds, indecisive rain, sallow sun, moods getting tossed all around our house. One of those days where everything seemed annoying: Bean's loud sing song voice, the way he is inclined to DASH everywhere lately, Sprout's new inclination to spit up gallons of sour milk without any warning whatsoever, the never ending dampness that has become this summer, and one too many issues with the poultry (the chicks escaped again--and the same hoopla of chasing them around a very sharp pine tree in the rain, in the mud, that occurred two days ago, took place again today.)

It should also be noted, as somewhat of a highlight, that our goose hatched a baby chick today. Chick, as in chicken. Long story. I'm not sure if it will survive. Something in me isn't quite sure she'll know how to mama a baby that small and fluffy (I'll post pictures tomorrow!) but when I checked on her this evening the little chick was tucked in on her back, at the nape of her neck, peeping away. She's still sitting on two other eggs. Here's to seriously hoping she'll figure it out. I've kind of had enough poultry drama for a while.

Honestly it was one of those days where I kind of wished I lived somewhere utterly urban: full of angles and elbows, people wearing black, umbrellas, pointy shoes, bustling bodegas, sharp lines, bright lights. I'd happily settle willingly for anywhere sunny though. Then I could throw a garden party just like this (found via a friend on facebook.)

What were your media moments today?

Sweet things

Things that I loved about today: figs & raw honey, a four mile run (!) and a swim in our neighbor's pond. Oh how I love to swim...and somehow I had forgotten this. I don't know why it's taken me three years to go and jump in, the surface rippling green, bluebirds swooping about. How I love the soft feel of the pond bottom underfoot, the way the water is soft on your skin, the way the bubbles rise up when you kick. Bean and I have gone every day this week. We lie like otters on the little wooden dock, and then we swim.

He doesn't know how to swim yet, but he's becoming more daring: leaping from the bank into the water into my arms. His grins, his chattering teeth, his little muscled torso nearly break my heart. He is so lovely, so beautiful, my son. My firstborn boy, so big now: learning to swim.

On his bike he is a terror. He's been riding without training wheels for months and now he purposely seeks out the washed out, steepest places on the driveway, the bumpiest pot-holes to ride over full tilt. He's a mountain biker in the making: the way he skids to a stop, leaps off his bike, swings back on it, all the while grinning, mud splattering up the back of his shirt, his yellow thunderbolt helmet the perfect statement.

Boys. Even though I imagined boys I couldn't have pictured this. The delight and silliness of little boys. The way they play together makes me nearly swoon with pleasure. Bean seeks out Sprout, he wants to be near him, next to him. He 'reads' him books, acts out entire narratives with matchbox cars, sings endless little songs, lies noes to nose with him. And all the while Sprout grins like he's having lunch with his idol. It's the best, the way my boys are together. I want more than anything for them to stay this way. For them to always be buddies and friends, for Bean to always have Sprout's back. For Sprout to always burst into wide smiles when his brother enters the room. It makes me so happy.

Bean asked if he and Sprout could share a room recently. We have 3 bedrooms, so they wouldn't have to necessarily, and it hadn't really occurred to me to have them share. But now I'm wondering, why not? What are the pros and cons? I always had to share a room with one or the other of my sisters, and while I am sure they hated it (sorry I stole all your clothes, sis!) I adored it. Not always, but most of the time. I loved going to bed and having a sister to whisper with, and waking up in the middle of the night and hearing her breathe. But now as a parent I'm not actually sure how to orchestrate room sharing--with boys who are four years apart. How would bedtimes work?

So. Questions: what were the highlights of your day today? And: yea or nay on the shared-bedroom business?