Wordless Wednesday: ...and looking at 29 tonight before the thaw begins.

(it looked like this about two weeks ago...)

Keeping santa's secrets is hard...

... But there will be much love for Henry on the 25th. In large format.

For the heck of it Friday...

I would trade a pinky toe for nice, long, and simultaneous naps by my kids today. Two hour minimum. Either foot.

------
Sent from my iPhone.

http://hamstocks.blogspot.com/
http://radicalmamalaw.blogspot.com/

Wordless Wednesday: Breakfast for Dinner

Open letter to Parenthood, the TV show

Dear Parenthood,

It creeps me out that you came along just when you did. I don't really like being so emotionally invested in anything on TV, but the aspergers storyline... It's really so close to home. And so good. And so well done. And all the related issues. Yeah.

Seriously, I hate to be that moved by tv, but you got me. Thanks. (note the complete absence of sarcasm here, I mean it.)

Love, v

Henry as photographer. Of mama.

Wordless Wednesday: Chilly nights

Open Letter to Time

An Open Letter to Time (as in the abstract concept of time, and how it applies to daily living, not the magazine about which I could care less)

I understand that you keep plugging along, relentlessly, and that my plea will go unheeded. I know that you have no soul, no feelings, and are therefore incapable of empathy.

But, nevertheless, I beg you to chill out and just pause. I need to breathe, and sleep, and just be still. For a couple of days, not minutes. Please.

The mere fact that this is what's on my mind should tell you something...

(I know that this is a lame letter. I'm too damn tired to think of anything clever. Poo.)

Hugs and kisses, V

Molars and Canines, Any Day Now...

Family Time

You can check out my little family and fun stuff over at The Hamstock Family blog. Serious cuteness.

As If We Needed More Proof that Mel Gibson Is a Creepy Guy

There is so much wrong with this man I don't even know where to begin. Sexist, violent, racist, creepy nut-job megalomaniac. And that is being kind.

As with so much of the recent right-wing insanity that has been running wild, roots in the bizarre and twisted world of the nineteenth century are being exposed.

http://www.slate.com/id/2275306/

For goodness' sake, let whoever reads this affidavit say,"that is, sir, quite an admission of guilt!" If he gets off on the basis of this claim, I'm moving to Australia.

(Oh wait, so might he! Crap.)

Sent from my iPhone

Eyes, love.

Wordless Wednesday: My world, lately

Wordless Wednesday: Henry's view of dinner at Satchel's (a small selection from the larger collection)

Open Letter Weekend

Open Letter to Certain People with "Choose Life" License Plates

Dear Certain People with Choose Life License Plates,

OK, I have some serious beef with a few of you.

First, if you have the "IM4IT" free plate on the front of your car, but can't be bothered to shell out the money for the actual plate on the back of your car, you kind of suck. The whole point is supporting adoption programs that receive the funds, right? So freeloading off the pseudo-official look of the free plate while not giving to that very cause is just lame.

Second, if you have a Choose Life license plate, and are driving around smoking cigarettes -- well, really? Come on.

Third, and most abhorrent, if you are driving around with a Choose Life plate, smoking cigarettes with CHILDREN in the car with you, you really just are beyond reason and I'm about to call DCF on you. Yes you, blue sedan with the baby and the windows up, I'm talking to you.

I'm not trying to butt into your life (even though given your position on choice it seems you have no problem with people butting into others' lives) but smoking in a closed car with your kid in the car is abhorrent. All that said, I really am NOT calling DCF, and really am staying out of your business, so stay out of mine, K?

Peace, V

Wordless Wednesday: For several reasons...

Seriously

Does anyone read this blog? Just wondering. I like it, but one never knows...

Sent from my iPhone

Open Letter to The Dryness Sensor on My Fancy Dryer

Dear Dryness Sensor,

I think we might have different definitions of "more dry," although it seems only to be an issue when whatever is drying is extremely essential to my day and time sensitive. In fact, it seems to arise every time I dry the kids' car seat covers. We are functionally trapped from doing 80% of the things we really must do in a day by the absence of even one car seat, so this business of leaving the covers very damp is just not cool.

I know the labels say line dry, but please. I don't have time for that, nor do I have time for your shenanigans. Don't try to strong arm me on this, it's machine dry or bust. We are potty training, and Toby has been known to puke in the car, so you, my fancy friend, need to get it together and be a workhorse.

I just heard you turn off early again. Damn you sensor! DRY means DRY!!

Sincerely,
Virginia, a momentarily dissatisfied consumer

Sent from my iPhone

Wordless Wednesday: Tony Attwood Workshop

Open Letter to My Good Intentions

Dear all of my good intentions,

If I were able to get you all together, and pull you from my heart and somehow transform you into reality, I would win awards. Like real, genius, serious money grants for awesomeness. Sadly, you all float around for a while, and only every now and again materialize at a time and place when I could, possibly, if I had the energy and the free hands, do something about you.

So let's make a deal, shall we?

You will hang out more. Come along and stick on my brain, at least until I can write you down for later reference.

In return, I will trade off some sleep, some rounds of solitaire on my iPhone, sitting still watching drivel on TV at night or with the boys, and make at least some of you happen. Really really.

I'll get the boys involved, and work on making all of it fun. I'll be perky, even when I really don't want to be. (OK, that last one I can promise once a week, and try for more, but being honest...)

So, good intentions, all I ask is that you don't just do little line sprints through my head when I am in the middle of changing a diaper or falling asleep. It's inconvenient when I am elbow deep in a whole chicken I'm prepping to roast, or driving. Just try to come back, it will be beneficial to everyone, promise.

Hugs and kisses! V

Sent from my iPhone

Wordless Wednesday: Weekend Country

Oh, poor Henry!

Oh, poor Henry!
Originally uploaded by Hamstocks

I know, I missed Open Letter Weekend. I'm getting on it. In the meanwhile, take a gander at the reason I am tired this morning... Henry fell out of bed and managed to bust open his cheek on the way down. Not sure exactly how it happened, but he said he hit his cheek on the bed, not the floor, and that he didn't hit his head on the floor... and that was right when it happened around 1:45am. Poor thing was up half the night, and poor mama was up with him for a goodly chunk of that. He was (and is) fine, just rattled. And I suspect he is going to end up with a black eye. Good thing my little brother had plenty of them around this age so I know they heal, and that kids get them, and that we'll look back fondly. He will look like a very tough letter "A" for Halloween!

So since this happened last night/this morning, it is no excuse for no open letter. But you are getting this for now, so forgive, please please? I'm thinking that the next one needs to be to Facebook, and I have a lot to say, so I may have to come up with something a little lighter in the meanwhile... Hmmmm.

Love and kisses, V

Wordless Wednesday: Kitchen Facelift, Phase 2 Plan

Open Letter Weekend

This open letter may not be of the usual ilk, so bear with me. It's been an exceptionally long week, and long weekend, so I'm not feeling prickly or perky or funny or any of those things that make for a good, fun open letter. I prefer that sort, but tonight you get me as I am, which is this:

And Open Letter to Parents of Neuro Typical Children, and Parents of Children without Major Medical Issues:

I understand. It's a mama law. Where one is standing feels like the clearest place in the world, even when it is difficult. One's own struggle feels like it is the most important, and one's own experience feels like it is somehow both linked to all others and somehow completely unique. I understand the reflex to compare children, to compare experience, to relate the experience that you are hearing from another parent to your own experience as a parent, or to a parent that you know, or the parent you saw on a TV show. I understand.

I beg you to stop.

As the parent of one child with Asperger's Syndrome and hyperlexia, and another who wears contacts and/or glasses due to surgeries in his first few weeks of life to remove congenital cataracts, I plead with you to stop. My struggle with their issues is my own, and I admit that I feel like it's the most important thing in the world. Their struggles (and my own) feel like they are connected to all other children's issues and also unique. Both of these things are true, but we are living a different life that you genuinely can't understand. It's OK. We are OK.

The thing is, it's been a long week. Potty training an almost four year old boy with Asperger's is damn hard. Potty training is never fun, I know. There is SO MUCH poop, why doesn't anyone ever get real about the poop? But here's the thing: even though Henry is very high functioning, it might take years to potty train him. Please, please stop telling me that "you've never seen someone wearing diapers in his dorm room!" because the reality is that there are autistic people who are not toilet trained at sixteen. There is so much neuro-typicality baggage in that one statement that I have heard countless times since Henry turned three, I can hardly unpack all of it. It's time to step back, and just let us work through this one. If your kid is potty trained, I'm so so so glad for you. Please, unless I am asking, don't tell me more.

I sometimes wonder if I am the only mama with an ASD child that feels like the weight of the world makes my connections with other parents far more difficult. I've come across some amazing blogs by mamas of ASD kids recently that have helped me cry, embrace some of the emotional weight I am carrying about, and realize that while isolated in some ways, I'm not alone. My world has shifted, but if you are a mama I love with a neuro-typical child, please understand that I love you to bits and pieces; I just have fewer pieces of myself to hand about right now. I still need you in my life, I still miss you. I'm just juggling so much with therapy and everything else that the thought of trying to explain all of this every time it comes up is, well, overwhelming.

And at the same time, I feel the weight you must when it comes to talking to me. How many times have I thought "How lucky I am to have two beautiful boys, who are doing so well, and who don't have a major medical issue that requires full time nursing care?" or "How lucky I am that my children can move on their own and feed themselves?" I shouldn't feel like my issues are the worst, because I know that they aren't. But, I am every parent. My children are the center of the universe. It's a mama law. It's OK. I understand. I do.

With love and care,
Virginia

Wordless Wednesday: Our Very Long Day

And It's not really going to let up anytime soon...

We're going to see some changes around here...

I realize that I've been terrible about updating both this blog and The Hamstock Family blog. I'm working to rectify this by giving myself some deadlines, and projects, that should function both as inspiration and as motivation.

First, I'll be instituting Wordless Wednesdays. I'm completely stealing this idea from other friends and mama bloggers (like Be Nice to Mama), but I'm stealing it because I love it. Also, I have an iPhone, and I take pictures, so this seems like a reasonable goal that everyone can enjoy.

Second, soon you will get to enjoy Open Letter Weekends. I've gotten lots of lovely feedback on my open letters here, and it's a format I enjoy. I love it for kvetching, and also for finding humor in anger or absurdity. Rather than trying to craft pithy Facebook updates or tweets on the topics I find myself mulling over every week, I'll just hold them for the weekends and send the thoughts put directly.

Over at The Hamstock Family blog, you will get more stories and photos, and I will also be pestering Papa to post as well. It will be more fun that way. I can't promise anything concrete, but I will certainly be trying.

So keep coming back. I'm working on it.

Ouch.

If we've spent any real time together, you likely know that I have had to endure extreme dental work over the years an, ahem, dislike the dentist. I love my dentist, but hate the dentist in the abstract. My teeth are sensitive and a mess, and all the stuff to fix them hurts and is expensive. And it stresses me out.

Recently, I had my first actual toothache. I couldn't shake it. I had to go to the dentist here, not in Vero Beach where I generally see my good lady-dentist who I adore. After Xrays and cleaning and repairs, I still have a toothache and might need a root canal. Awesome. I'm off to see this Gainesville fellow this afternoon, hoping there is some way to make things feel better until I can get myself down south, where I like to open my mouth a tiny bit more. (She gives me Halcion also. This helps.)

Basically, I am complaining because I am stressed out and annoyed at my teeth, and wanting everyone to feel bad for me and bring me treats. Got it? Mwah.

Friday afternoon

Friday afternoon
Originally uploaded by Hamstocks

We were supposed to be running errands. I think Henry had asked me a question about something literally one moment before I took this. There was no rousing him. No grocery store. No Target. Just a drive home.

Henry has pretty well ditched naptime, which is fine. He sleeps at night well, and generally can make it through dinner without a complete meltdown. OK, occasionally he can, but that has more to do with other factors.

I miss the days of coordinated naps. I long for that hour when both boys are sleeping and I get to just be still. Or do the dishes, or something. Now Toby sleeps before Henry gets home from school, and when Henry passes out in the late afternoon, Toby is far from sleep. It keeps us a bit tethered to the house, since you can't run in someplace and leave a kid in the car. Thank goodness for drive through. Mama needs a Diet Coke now and again!

So that's all. Not anything terribly substantial today, just a little blurb about the trials of two who do not coordinate sleep. I'm trying to get my brain back, and find some time to put thoughts down in the computer. Again, with the non-coordinated naps, fining that time is a little bit of a challenge. Keep checking, I promise it will improve.

Mama's got a new bike (in theory)

This is the winner
Originally uploaded by Bret, Virginia, Henry, and Toby

After hemming and hawing and calling around all over the state of Florida to see if anyone, anywhere, had something in stock from the 2010 model year, I had to order a bike. When one orders a bike and knows that the wait will be a few months, that extra $100 for a nicer ride doesn't feel so bad - I mean, if I have to wait, I should get precisely what I want, no?

So here it is, the winner. It's all ordered and should be on it's way to me just as soon as it can be... sometime this winter. I am hoping sooner rather than later as the old Fuji hybrid I pulled out of storage and had fixed up just enough to ride is just awful. Bret notes that this will make the fabulous new bike all the more luxurious when it arrives, but then he is riding a speedy road bike while I am stuck on a clunker puling 100 pounds of kid and trailer. Hmmm.

We will be riding to school tomorrow morning for the first time. The boys and their watermelon helmets are beyond cute. Henry has been wearing his for two days, almost non-stop. I'm hoping the novelty wears off only enough to let him feel like wearing it when we are riding is enough, rather than trying to explain to strangers why your three year old is in a helmet in the grocery store. But I'll take it if it means he'll wear it on the road. I love their brains.

D is for DRUMS!

D is for DRUMS!
Originally uploaded by Bret, Virginia, Henry, and Toby

Henry rocks. It's just that simple.

Soliciting advice

Seriously, I am very much requesting replies here.

This summer we went strawberry and blueberry picking, and kind of went over the top. We have a TON of frozen berries, and I need suggestions for how to use them. Oh, and how exactly to do things, like make a blueberry pie using frozen berries without making soup.

For the record, I did wash all berries before freezing, and the strawberries are cut into quarters and cored (or whatever you call getting out the stem and white bit in the middle). I did NOT lay all berries out on a sheet and freeze and THEN bag - sue me. The blueberries are in 4 cup bags (yes, the amount for a pie, this was purposeful) and the strawberries are not really measured, mainly in gallon bags.

Bring it. I need some room in our freezer. It is not large, and this berry situation is a little nutty. At the same time, I plan to keep some for those long, lean months before the next berry season is upon us, but I want these recipes now so I can plan ahead.

Bring it.

Love.

I like Paul Krugman.

Not just because my husband works for a local government either.

Read this, I say.

Bikes and More.

Recently, we got this amazing bike trailer. Of course, because I don't have a bike I care to ride (meaning, one that fits and has not been sitting unused for more than a year in the elements) it is a really amazing stroller for the moment, but we're working on it.

I am in process of deciding what bike to get. I have my eye on a couple of lovelies: this Felt Cafe Deluxe 8, and this Electra Euro 8D. The Electra won't be available for a couple of months, which is less than fantastic, but it's niiiiice. The Felt is on it's way to a local bike shop so I can test it, and will be here in about a week. I could also build an Electra bike similar to the Euro with a more basic Electra frame that is in stock at another local shop, and throw on fenders and a rack. Or I could go with something entirely different, like a lovely Raliegh step through!

Oh decisions.

One easy decision was picking out helmets for the boys' noggins. How cute are these? One in Henry size and one in Toby size are on the way here now...

Our life in videos for the past few weeks...

Catching up is hard. We've been out of touch for a while, I know. We're on it. Or getting on it. Enjoy the movies!



















You can alsways see more on our YouTube page, which can be found here:
Hamstocks on YouTube

My life these days...

Toby, abstract
Originally uploaded by Bret, Virginia, Henry, and Toby

A blur, but very cool. And filled with blurry children, in many colors. I'll be back soon, I have things to say, promise. Love.

Even baby boys.

I'm not sure if it's the covers, or the location of the shelf-space in which they reside, but my kids seem to have a deep love for bell hooks. Here is Toby, in his favorite reading chair, proving that feminism really is for everybody.



(This doesn't mean that anyone can label her or himself a feminist spouting of whatever they want - Mrs. Palin, ahem, I am casting a sideways glance at you - but it does mean that yes, feminism really is for everybody. Or that it ought to be.)

Operation Psychotic Potty Training Bootcamp to commence in three days...

It's all planned. Bret is taking Toby to Tampa for the day (overnight?) and Henry and I are getting down to the business of potty training in serious form. I'm terrified, both of the exhaustion we will both be feeling (the plan involves nothing but potty talk and lots of running around and practicing running to the potty) and the emotional drain nonstop potty talk will have on my psyche.

Aside: if potty talk is TMI, deal. Skip it. Move on. The title should have tipped you off, really really.

I'm hoping it is the magic bullet. Henry does not fear the potty, and is happy to pee on whatever big or small toilet is available, just not on his own, and definitely not to the exclusion of peeing in a diaper. Poop, well, we just can't even go there yet.

I'm done with having two kids in diapers. Done. I spend hours (OK, sometimes it's not just me - other caregivers are involved too) every day getting way too intimate with bodily functions, especially on the wonderful days when both boys poo like four times.

I'm fully going back to a controversial book written in the seventies for this one. I need to get supplies (anyone know where to get a doll that pees when you give it water?) and make a plan and get snacks and treats and drinks. Oh, and spend the next few days depriving Henry of yummy snacks and drinks to make them tasty.

In addition, we have stuff to DO this weekend, so this really better work in the day they promise. I'm pessimistic. This is not the best way to go into the experiment, so I'm also working on getting myself pumped up. If anyone cates to offer a cash prize as motivation for mama, feel free to make an offer. Like a small chd, I respond positively to rewards.

I'll update, if I'm not too traumatized at the end if the whole thing.

Mama and the boys

Mama and the boys
Originally uploaded by Bret, Virginia, Henry, and Toby

Yup, that's us.

Have you checked us out lately?

I tend to update on the boys over here:
The Hamstock Family

Occasionally, these silly little updates take over my world, explaining the dearth of coherent, adult thoughts recorded here. One day, you'll be sick of my adult ramblings, I swear.

In the meanwhile, enjoy my adorable kids.

Testing, testing, 1-2-3, testing

I'm sending this put from the iPhone, which is kind of exciting. This might mean more posts, but I can't promise anything. Just try it and see...

Seriously, hands are full.

I wish I could formulate something of value. I can't, both because I am stretched obscenely thin and because both boys are vying for attention even now. But I did get that iPhone, so here is some of that video I can shoot and post on the fly... this is great fun. But back to the mama work I do...

Mother's Day

This year, I am trying to find peace and joy in Mother' Day. So instead of trying to get all intellectual or confessional this weekend, I will just paste. Because mamas are connected, because I'm a mama who loves peace, and because I love other mamas who love peace.

Mother's Day Proclamation, 1870, by Julia Ward Howe

Arise, then, women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

And also, Marylynn, I miss you so much.

Open Letter to the Man in a Speedo Doing Yoga in the Sauna at the Gym

Dear Man in a Speedo Doing Yoga at the Gym,

I'm not sure what you were thinking. Let's break it down:

1. There is a HUGE sign on the sauna door that says "This space is for relaxation, not exercise."

2. You are older, quite flabby, and wearing only a Speedo that might have fit you properly thirty pounds ago.

3. The moves you were doing were giving you a wedgie (forward folds), or exposing way too much of your package (backbends).

4. The twists, while relaxing I am sure, threw your sweat all over everyone sitting within three feet of your little space in the front. Where we could not avoid looking at you.

Now, I'm not sure if you were actually just doing your thing or if you were trying to impress people with your flexibility, but I for one was not impressed. I was completely creeped out.

Please do it in the steam room next time. At least there no one can see anything.

Sincerely (and with a shudder),
Virginia

Spring is here. Seriously here.

I shot this video about a month ago. You really need to watch it in HD to see how amazing it was:

The sky was full of Sandhill Cranes for a day and a half. I wish you could hear and see them better, it was amazing. Normally you see a few in the sky, but on this day, the sky was seething. They were headed northwest, off toward the panhandle, so I began to hope that the thaw was on once and for all.

Since all those cranes headed northwest that day, we've had no frost, even though we've had to wear sweaters a few days. I didn't plant anything until a bit after I saw these birds in the sky, but I have not had to run outside with the sheets or fret about tender new shoots. Spring is here, and it is grand.

I'm nosy.

Just an FYI. I love that one can figure out just about anything with the help of Google and an Internet connection. Honestly, how on earth did nosy nellies like me get by in previous decades?

I also love that the very same resources can teach me the meaning of slang, help learn obscure movie and music references, and generally keep me from coming off as unhip most of the time. Even though I totally am.

Internet, I raise my Guinness to you today, just because you are awesome.

No, I'm hip because I know people with style.

I may not look stylish 95% of the time, but I do know people who are incredibly fashionable. I do know when things are stylish and should have a Fashion Police badge, I just can't seem to get it together. An excellent example of "Do as I say not as I do."

My sister-in-law Meredith looks good all the time, and she is also crafty and funny. Best part, she writes The Lovely Owl, and shares her good taste and good humor with everyone.

Get yourself there quick, she is doing a fun give away, but you have to read this post before FRIDAY (that's tomorrow, so scoot!).

Am I not hip since I still want a Kindle? Oh well.

So the iPad has been unveiled. There are commercials and everything. It's pretty cool, but I still think I really want a Kindle.

I suppose that the sexy touchscreen would be fun, and having what is essentially a little laptop would be awesome. The color screen is indeed pretty. But no. I really REALLY want the Kindle.

I have been reading a lot lately. Ok, "a lot" for me given the babes to constantly cuddle. I've also started cleaning out my bookcases, and have discovered that I really don't need to hang on to so many of the paperbacks I have enjoyed over time. Sure, I might read something again someday, but I'm not referencing things, generally not passing them along to others, and not finding better storage. I tend to read, shelf, and eventually donate a LOT of paper.

The concept of digital books, therefore, fits right on into my world beautifully. I love the idea of toting around a smallish device and being able to read books, blogs, papers, whatever. Oh, and I love the samples, the mobile downloads, and the storage. I love that all these books sync with your iPod/iPhone and that you can get classics for free. Love all these things, which are essentially equal on all these devices.

The Kindle has me won, though, and here are the reasons why:

1. I love that screen. When I played with my sister-in-law's Kindle, I was amazed with how easy it was to read that non-lit screen. Sunshine? Sure! Pictures? Great in black and white. It is really cool, really easy on the eyes, and much mote like reading a book than a computer screen. I have not seen the iPad in person, but reading on the iPod touch is a little hard. Oh, and forget about it in the sunshine.

2. Eventually, I am sure I will get an iPhone. My future iPhone will do just about everything the iPad will do, and I won't want to tote around two similar devices. Or pay for monthly service for both, which brings me to...

3. The Kindle's upfront price includes the mobile access to downloads and updates in 3G. I love this. I think spending the $250- $500 is worth it, just to have both the hardware and the connection all at once. Not adding another monthly bill to my life = super-big plus.

Don't get me wrong. I'm an Apple lady. I am writing this on the iPod we got for our two-year-old. I love this thing, which makes me believe that the iPad will be awesome for those who want a "laptop light" to tote around. But I have an iBook. I want a reading machine so I can have fewer silverfish in my life, and read the rest of the three very cool books I have thusfar previewed.

I love that reading is back on my life, and can't wait to get cracking. Now, I just need that Kindle...


Sent from Henry's iPod

Small victory

That dude who walks across my yard every day around 4:30pm, remember him? He took the sidewalk today. I'd like to think it's because I walked outside and fully busted him last week (I just looked puzzled and said, "Um, hello?"), but it's probably because it's raining. No one wants to walk across wet grass/leaves. I have not been stoked about this very cold, very heavy rain all day today, but right now I love it.

Food issues.

I have been reading again, which is awesome. My current book is Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. I've also recently read Food Rules: An Eater's Manual. Between the two, I'm settling in on a new way of looking at food, and hoping it will help bring more love to our table and a little less bulk to my behind.

I think I learned many of the lessons in those pages long ago, but have managed to put many of them aside. Eating "cheap" and "convenient" has, over time, warped my tastebuds and my perceptions of how one should enjoy food, and I am really looking forward to getting back to basics, back to local, back to a more sustainable food life. Lest you think I grew up eating only local and natural, let me clarify: this food business racket had me from the beginning. Those packaged solutions to dilemmas have been around for a long time, and I am definitely in the crowd of those who have been taken (even though I have tried to resist, at least from time to time, on certain points anyway).

Getting back to basics is something I had been working on while I was nursing Toby, since I could eat no soy, and the soy industry has managed to get itself a little piece of about 80% of the processed foods, both organic and conventional. Rather than truly finding a peaceful, process-free zone, however, I craved what I could not have and found the few processed items I could eat, and ate them up like crazy.

This spring it's time for rebirth. We're planting a garden, a really awesome garden, that will hopefully give us many of our veggies. We are making a plan to shop the farmer's markets, and plan food around ingredients rather than buy the ingredients around our meal plans. We will eat local as much as we can, and we will eat in season. We may have to deviate to accommodate Henry's love of fruit, but we will do it as rarely as we can manage. We will eat food, not "edible food-like products," and will make things from scratch.

It will be work, but it will be work that brings life to the house. I can think of nothing better than food prepared with love, so making it a priority will be our new priority.

I'm also giving up coupons. Of course, I will be happy to use them if we happen to find one for something we already use, but there will be none of this shopping-around-the-coupons fr our house anymore. The food industry, together with chemical companies, are a manipulative bunch. The lure of saving a dollar on something I would never otherwise buy has gotten me in the past, and I have a cabinet of cleaners and a pantry with some odd processed food items to prove it. Perhaps one of the best lessons embedded in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is that "cheap food" from industrial sources is a myth. We are paying far more, both in real dollars and in costs to health and community, supporting that low price tag in the store.

I sound a little bit "holier-than-thou" right? OK, more than a little. I know. I'll get back to you after I have tried to convince my 3 year old that fish sticks aren't the best dinner...

Open letter to They Might Be Giants

Dear TMBG,

Your music for kids is great. Henry can't get enough of Here Comes Science right now, and it's pretty amusing to hear him talking about Hydrogen, Helium, Carbon, Nitrogen... you know, all those things on the surface of the sun.

Chances are I would be pulling my hair out in clumps if he were demanding Wee Sing albums on repeat, but your stuff is fun for me too.

I would appreciate a few more CDs, asap.

Even though all three you've made so far are great, we have nearly worn them out listening to them every.single.time. we get into the car. On repeat. Repeat. REPEAT!

No matter how cute and clever and catchy a song may be, it gets old after the 500th time you've played it. In a week.

So please, PLEASE, something new. Consider it a personal favor, from one who loved you way back when you were all about Triangle Man.

Thanks, Virginia

Baking = precision. Or not.

Today is Henry's third birthday, which is awesome. He's adorable, and enjoying everything so far, which included cheesy toast and apples in the living room for breakfast, presents, and a taste of the cupcakes I made for his class.

This taste was a requirement, because I was frankly considering bailing on them altogether and buying something at Publix on the way to school. The baking did not really go my way last night.

The difference between baking and cooking is precision. I used to be really into baking mainly because I loved this attention to detail, nit-picky measurements, clean execution... It was like photography, or cleaning the bathroom. The details matter, and when you do it right, everything looks amazing. There is a sense of accomplishment that is pretty awesome when it all works out, and you get used to scrapping it if it doesn't work out, which can be disappointing, but helps build that high for the good times.

Now I am into cooking, with all of the tweaking and sloppiness that comes along with putting together a flavorful soup or a great roast chicken. Or both, from the same bird. Scrapping together bits of this and that has become fun, and trying to make something out of whatever is lying around the pantry is its own fun challenge. I like recipes, but I also take them with a grain of salt, give or take. I like having people cook at my house, and then stealing the idea of a dish, and making it my own thing. I like that, generally, a minute here or there doesn't make or break dinner, and food is forgiving.

I made these cupcakes from Martha Stewart for Henry today, thinking that they would be a healthier alternative to chocolate buttercream madness. We'll see what the verdict is from the 3 year olds, but I have my doubts. They are glorified muffins. They would be delicious breakfast treats without the icing, which is beyond sweet. Never test a recipe the night before... remember this, self.

So I'm not the Martha Stewart of baking anymore. I'm not the Martha Stewart of anything, although I did make mustaches for the kids and teachers from felt, dowels, and hot glue, and that was something.

I've decided I am more Amy Sedaris. I like entertaining, but not so much precision or fanciness. I like fanciness, but not in an actually-fancy way. Look, just read about it. Her book is like my bible, I use it all. the. time. Seriously. I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence.

So Happy Birthday Henry! Take 2 will be Sunday afternoon, I will make better cupcakes, I promise.

Open Letter to Telephones

Dear telephones,

I hate you.

Sincerely,
Virginia

Where have you been?

I know that one of my resolutions for the "real" New Year was to be better about posting, and I am trying. However, I have to admit that I have been up to other things. Like making the stark (and ugly) wall behind the cabinets in the dining room into a magnetic chalkboard to keep the kids occupied (and near, but out of, the kitchen). Pictures and discussion of this project to come someday soon...

What has been really cool since I got back from my retreat is that I have felt inspired again. I've been reading (finished a whole book and started another, shock-and-surprise!), organizing, and even doing projects. We've rearranged the rooms in the house, creating a playroom, an adult room, a craft space, and a nursery for Toby. I did the chalkboard project from start to finish. I've got several projects in the works, and I am actually finding the time to do them, and to *enjoy* them.

For today, I am taking inventory of these projects that are in the pipeline, the crafty ones I have found online anyway, and thought I would share my these aspirations (and also give myself a great list to reference when I am feeling lost in the shuffle).

Making Felt Play Food. Thanks to Amy S. for passing this great reference along, and making some prototypes to get me inspired! (I found your lost strawberry, by the way. Henry was trying to eat it this morning.)

Learning to Quilt. This picnic blanket looks like an excellent beginner project. And now I hang out with a very clever mama who knows how to properly quilt, so I will be hitting her up for lessons. (Surprise, Meaghan! I forgot to mention that, huh?)

Make this play mail bag. It's awesome.

Make something fun for Toby. This soft counting book is fantastic, and I think Henry might even get into helping Toby learn numbers.

Make my own grocery/gift/tote bags. Very helpful tutorials and patterns can be found here and here. I'm pretty excited, both because these bags will be fairly easy and quick projects I can manage as I get better at sewing AND because they will be very, very cool.

Make something cute for me. I like this little pin jar, and I am going to make it for myself. If it works out, all the seamstresses I know may be getting one as a gift this year. Goodness knows we have plenty of baby food jars around this place!

I have a couple of very *very* cool projects that I am *super* excited about, but I don't want to post about them precisely because they are going to be gifts. That is, they will be gifts if I can get it together before December...

I'm not trying to be judgmental, but...

There are three people that have me completely weirded out. I kind of desperately want to stop them and say, "What the heck?!!" but in two of the three cases, that will definitely never happen, and it's unlikely in the third. So here's my beef:

Case #1: The walking lady

Since I moved to Gainesville almost seven years ago, I constantly see this woman walking around all over town. She is short and slight, always well-dressed in long sleeves, pants, boots, a hat, sunglasses, and a backpack. She is most certainly not homeless. I usually see her on the west side of town, walking around between larger shopping areas. If you are familiar with Gainesville, however, you'll know that walking around the west side of town is unheard of because things are miles and miles apart.

At first I kind of assumed that she had cancer, and was doing a lot of healthy exercising. I have no idea if she DOES have hair, but you can't see it under her hat. She's always kind of smiling, and has a spring in her step, so I always figured she was doing something healthy and positive for herself. Then I started to think that she was anorexic, because she is very, very thin. And when I say I see her walking all the time, I mean all the time. I'd see her at 8am, I'd see her at noon, then run into her again at 5. These sightings are not rare; I'd say I saw her every day when I lived and/or worked out that way, and now see her about every third time I get over there for an errand.

I'm completely nosy, and have no reason to make any of the assumptions about her that I do, but there it is.

Case #2: The walking man

There is a guy who I am a little worried about. Whenever it is above 70 degrees out, I see him walking my neighborhood. He's all dressed in a sweatsuit, hood up, and seems to even be wearing some kind of wrap beneath the sweats (you can see it on his hands to his fingers). When I say "above 70 degrees), I mean middle of the afternoon heat in Gainesville - he's out walking all wrapped up. Again, I suspect anorexia. Or boxing. And again, I want to ask, but never will.

Case #3: Dude walking across my lawn, every damn day

I know that we do not keep our lawn tidy and neat, neat and tidy, and we don't have a fence. I know that we live on a corner lot, which means that cutting across our lawn cuts off the extra 50 feet you have to walk if you go to the corner. But dude, what the heck? You have to notice that we are sitting inside, we have a HUGE WINDOW in the front of our house. Henry and I sit there and watch you every day.

How does one tell a guy walking across your lawn that he is being a jerk? Bret doesn't think it's a big deal, but then he saw the guy do it today, and agreed that it's weird. In this case, I may have to say something, but I have no idea how that conversation will go... any thoughts for me?

My New Year

My 2010 is starting today.

I just got the time to be still and think about what things I want to change in the new year, so my resolutions start now. Or tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.

I could make very specific goals (I do have a few of those in the back pocket), but I prefer the top two lofty ideas I came up with while I was in my little bubble this weekend.

1. Practice being present.
Yes, this is kind of cheesy, but suck it. I've been ridiculously stressed out, and freaked out, about all the things falling through the cracks, and all the scary possibilities that loom in the potential futures. Anxiety begets anxiety, and it has, quite frankly, paralyzed me in many ways. I could make my resolution getting back into yoga, because the practice of presence was precisely what had me hooked on it years ago, but it's not just yoga. My goal is, in fact, to bring myself into the moment and enjoy the process, rather than just focusing on an end and worrying about getting there.

2. Patience.
I need more of it, pretty much all the time. When Henry was a tiny baby, I remember being more patient than I ever imagined I could be. (I have no idea if I was delusional, or even if I am just remembering it wrong. The chances of either being true are excellent.) I have not found that same well of patience since Toby's birth, and have found myself looking back over a day or a week, wishing I had been more patient and not acted as I did. I'm not yet sure how to remind myself to find patience in the moment, and I'm not getting a tattoo (I love Christine's though).

I figure that by actively incorporating presence and patience into my life, I will also be more attentive and kind, and really enjoy the pure love of my family. I'm also hoping to focus more attention on my life, and do some of the little things for myself and my family that I have been wanting to do for ages. (See back pocket list for details.) It will mean turning off the TV and computer more, buying less, creating more things from scratch, and learning how to incorporate the kids into activities like cooking, cleaning, and gardening. All of this will be good for all of us.

So, Happy New Year to me! I'll let you know how it's going.

And, break!

It is probably painfully obvious from my posts alone, and I assure you that if you had a face to face conversation with me there would be no doubt: I am exhausted.

I have been very up front about the fact that I have found two kids beyond hard to manage, and that I don't get nearly enough sleep to function as a human being. Long-term sleep deprivation screws with you in ways you can't imagine, and I fear I may never get my brain back.

Let me break it down for you: I'm generally a very smart person, and I have my poop in a group. Not perfection, but together. These days, here is the scenario: I walk into the grocery store to buy three things (aluminum foil, kale, and red lentils). We desperately need the aluminum foil and I'm thinking of making soup for dinner. While in the store, I get a cookie for Henry, because that is what we do at the grocery store. I pick up two of the items on the list (the lentils and the kale), but remember that cookie, oops. Apparently the cookie is a third thing in my new world. Not a chance I will think of that real third thing (remember that aluminum foil?) until I am on the way home, thinking about how smart I was to go ahead and go to the store before lunch so that while the kids nap I can bake those sweet potatoes after all since I have... oh wait, the aluminum foil.

This happens thirty times a day. No joke.

So this weekend, I am escaping from life. Call it a mental health leave, or whatever you want. Three nights in a hotel with a big, beautiful bed. No kids. No conversation. No responsibilities. No thinking. No reasoning. N.o.t.h.i.n.g. (Possibly some simple knitting math, but that is IT.)

I used to get a chance to do nothing every now and again. It wasn't for three days in a chunk, it was for a couple of hours here or there when Bret was working and I was home alone. Zone out. Knit. Be still. Read. Think about life or make lists or whatever, just time to myself for a little while. I can't even recall the last time I got to do this - I mean really DO NOTHING - and I am so excited about it.

I love my kids. I love my husband. I love my house.

And I will love it so much more freely when I get back Tuesday.

I'm just a college town kind of person.

I used to think of myself as a city person. A smaller city person, but definitely a city person.

I loved living in DC in college. I never, ever liked New York - it was always too big - even when I was young and spry and down for a party. I liked DC. Now I realize that it wasn't that it was the city, but rather that Georgetown was functionally a college town from which I could access a small city.

I have never been remotely a country person. I love growing food, but I love it in a garden. A farm, far from everything, would just be too much for me to handle. I also don't like livestock much, so the equation would be: me + farm = no way.

Recently I was thinking that I was, shudder, a suburban mom. I mean, I drive my kids around in a minivan. On a recent shopping trip I was gleeful when I realized that we could go to one strip mall, get out of the car one time, and hit three errands in the stroller! Grocery store for kale and garlic, check. Print shop, check. Liquor store, check. (Yes, I take my kids to the liquor store. Would you rather I leave them in the car? We needed whiskey.)

I had almost been sold on the strip mall, and surrendered to the dreaded suburbs, but then I realized: If we just had a few more of the traditional stores downtown, I could stick the kids in the stroller and do the same shopping walking from my house. Which would mean not having to get into the car. Which would be far better than even the strip mall in the suburbs!

I was beside myself with joy - not a suburban mom after all! Sure one strip mall trip worked out, but I was not sold. (And in my defense, it was raining that day. So the walking would have been a bit miserable.)

I like living in Gainesville because we have a downtown. I love living downtown. OK, so not everything is available, and since this is Florida we can't get rid of our cars just yet (blech for sprawl!) however, it is a college town. Biking and walking are normal here, and even if you do have to get in the car sometimes, nothing is really more than 15 minutes away. We get lectures. And shows. And experts in horticulture who are interested in teaching you things. And the University gives the town a center that really can't shift too terribly far, and has to be accessible to bikes and people on foot.

Yay for the college town. It's for me.

Cliford should be on Hoarders!

I have not seen many episodes of Clifford: The Big Red Dog. I am thankful for this, as given the few episodes I have seen, I have found the following things really grate on my last nerve:

1. The music. It is not cute or clever, just repetitive and clangy.

2. The name "Emily Elizabeth." Either name is adorable for a little girl. Neither is appropriate for a double-name because there are just too many syllables here.

3. The whole concept of a "big red dog" annoys me. The thought of a mutant dog, that is both technicolor and as big as a house is just plain creepy.

Now, in order to form these opinions, I did have to watch a few episodes with Henry, who began requesting Clifford once he got a DVD for Christmas. (I should note that said DVD is not living at our house, or even in our county, but does remain in our state, which I find unfortunate.)

Why this visceral reaction?

Clifford is a Hoarder.

He could be featured on A&E. He'd probably qualify for some special show since he has the mutant issues in addition to the compulsive hoarding.

It might be that I have been watching too much Hoarders, and have gotten a bit compulsive about analyzing my own relationship to junk as a result, but I was a little bit taken aback to have a kids' show openly enabling a hoarder.

Let me break it down for you: Clifford is cleaning out his dog house, and has a huge pile of stinky and dirty stuff outside his dog house. (Given Clifford's mutant stature, the pile looks exactly like the mounds of crap that are removed from houses on Hoarders). Every item that gets pulled from the pie brings back memories, and we get to relive several stories through the magic of the television flashback. All that is missing is the expert/therapist introducing the memory with a comment about how "typically objects carry emotional weight for hoarders, and throwing them out makes them fear losing the memory or somehow betraying it." Which is why Clifford decides he can throw nothing away. Emily Elizabeth discovers his stash, and laughs!

Yeah, how many mummified cats do you think are in his pile?

I'm sorry Clifford, I just can't handle it.