Shameless Plea for Money

Alright, people, I am going to make this short. On May 4th, Naomi and I are going to trek four miles through beautiful, non-hunger-plagued, waterfront Kirkland to raise money as part of the CROP Walk. This is an annual event that raises money for the Church World Service. The money goes to help hungry people, poor people, refugees, people who have lost their homes in emergencies. 25% of the money stays here, to help hungry people on the Eastside, which for you out of towners is what they call those of us who look west across Lake Washington to Seattle.

The slogan of the walk, "We walk because they walk," refers to the fact that so many people in the world have to walk MILES every day (and not along the tony Kirkland waterfront) just to get clean(ish) water. Food, too. 

I am late to the fundraising party, so I am throwing it out to the universe (uh, you guys) to scrape some coin together to preserve my street cred at church. Which is not only a lame joke, it's really a joke, because I have no cred whatsoever at church. But if you have five or ten bucks burning a hole in your pocket, and your pocket also has a credit card, please consider following this link to my fundraising page, and doing a bit (a bit more than you unquestionably already do, I acknowledge) for the less fortunate. Thank you, and I will not bug you for money again until next year, if then.

Wicked Imp

Anyone who has a blog knows that getting comments is one of the things that makes keeping the blog worthwhile, because it makes it feel less like you just came up with a clever (uh, precious) title and posted some photos to your private diary, and more like you are actually in some pseudo-dialogue with people you like. For serious bloggers, this is how you actually get to know the people with whom you share your virtual community, and whatever in-kind attributes brought you together. For rank amateurs like myself, who have only readers that are already in their real-life social circle, it's just cool to hear from my friends. Cool! 

This introductory paragraph is not a shameless plea for comments (really), rather a way to differentiate my view of (dearly beloved) blog commenters from the whole other related, yet vastly different world of people who will comment on Anything and Everything they come across on the web. These people are the subject of a loving taxonomy in a recent article on Slate, Laughing Baby vs. the YouTube Commenters. It is a funny article, but only if you have ever whiled away the minutes (OK, hours) checking out what people have to say about the things they while away their hours on, online. 

I am not going anywhere with that last paragraph either, except that just two days after watching the cute Swedish baby busting his little baby gut (bling! dong!), I found myself filming a more local specimen who has unfortunately discovered that when she spits her food all over me, I make a funny face. Now I must train myself to give no reaction whatsoever to food spitting, because she is enjoying this game way too much. Anyway, here's our contribution to the genre. If I just get one "Better than Cats" comment, I'll be happy.

Tewtally Awesome

Yesterday an old friend from high school that I haven't spoken with, electronically or otherwise, in 12 years or so, sent me this:

Awesome! He wasn't in the picture- I think he had to work or something. But there are the rest of us, in all our eighties hair glory. My hair is so big in this picture that it is difficult to see poor Art, behind me. It's like his chin never existed.

If you are a reader of this blog and also happen to be a member of this photogenic group, and for some reason object to this fantastically bitchin' photo being displayed here, tell me and I will take it down. But not gladly. And now, I'm going to go listen to some OMD. 

Monthly Newsletter

People, I must apologize for my slackerliness in posting. So many things have happened since the last post, and I have been busy, but really, no good excuses. And right now I have about ten minutes to try to catch up, so here goes...

• We got new windows. At first I thought I would feel nostalgic for the original-to-the-house fifties windows- nope! The new windows are much more cold and noise proof, and cleaner, and just wonderful. The fact that we have a big new window and declined to hang the old blinds in our bedroom not only means that we have to change our clothes in a strategic spot, but also that I have been admiring the moonlight especially the last week (when the moon was big), shining onto the beautiful white blossoming trees in our neighbors' back yard. Lovely! Blinds would also be lovely, but whatever, no rush. As long as no one is sitting on our next door neighbor's second story roof, we should be alright.
• Jim re-did the bathroom! I will definitely try to post some before and after shots, because the before color was so dismal, and the after, so much nicer. It is surprising how many varieties of white and off-white can be included in one (tiny!) room. No longer! Unless you refuse to overlook the tan shower stall, which we are just covering as much as we can with the new shower curtain. 
• I had a "spa weekend" (my Christmas present from Jim) with my homegirl C., which involved no spa treatments whatsoever save the cheapie manicure we got on the way to our hotel downtown, where we worked out in the fitness room, gave up on the redonkulous modern bathtub in the super swank hotel room and just showered off, and then drank and snacked our way through a Seattle Saturday night. Better than a mud wrap or whatever. I won't say I felt 21 again, since I am unable to binge drink any longer without carefully balancing my food intake and rehydrating myself at every turn, and also because I had to pump a bunch of alcohol-tainted milk and pour it down the drain before I fell asleep (at, uh, like 11:45, sad). But I did feel 32 again. heh.
• Muriel started crawling...well, dragging herself is more like it. It's funny to watch, and she is totally into it. She's fast, too. And the sound she makes is a little like a horror movie if you don't know it's a cute baby coming. Dragggg, slap, draggggg, slap.
• Also, after watching Naomi grow, I decided that eight to nine months is when babies sort of come into their own- where they turn into the widely held cultural image we have of babies, who tilt their heads and flirt and smile and sit up on their own and cram cheerios into their mouths. So, Muriel has made it. Her cuteness factor, already reasonably high, is shooting through the roof, people. 
• Naomi has mastered the potty, and I am extremely proud of her, and if you are training a child of your own and get very aggravated when people tell you that when the child is really ready, it will take two days to train him or her, well, just try to hear them. I didn't want to hear it, myself. But...it's true. 
• Visitors! From Boise, Idaho, our friends E. and E., with young master C., who is angling to get himself betrothed to Muriel. He likes Naomi and all, but it's "Baby Murrel" who has really captured his heart. We had Easter with these friends, a really fun one, involving a swanky all-you-can-eat brunch at 8 a.m. (note to self, make reservations earlier in the year!), a lot of Easter basket goodies, and a speedy indoor egg hunt, thanks to the really wretched weather. 
• Crazy weather! The spring has come, with blooming trees and camellias and forsythia. And then, the last few days? Snow! Which, I know, Midwesterners, whatever, but here it's weird.
• And now- more visitors! Namely, my in-laws, from Malaysia. They arrived Tuesday. I am having a little trouble balancing my genuine wish for them to feel happy and at home and welcome with my self-protecting instinct to not go to too much trouble, since they are not going to like my cooking or ever think my housekeeping standards are up to par. Insecure much? Oh well. It's nice to have them here, and the kids are in love, of course (the feeling is mutual). Except that it means...
• Monday (tomorrow) is back to work for me. Three months are up, and my lonely, quiet (relaxing) desk awaits. So, if you haven't had a call from me in a while, the commutes are starting back up. Talk to you soon.

Next time, some new pictures.

Three Years Old!

Naomi turned three last week. Her biggest present was a surprise visit from her Arizona grandparents. I took her to the airport to pick them up- after we were there for about five minutes, she said, "Are we at the airport?" Hee. After getting over that hurdle, it was a short jump to guessing who was coming. That is one of the funny things about my little kid growing bigger- it used to be so easy to fool her. Not that I went out of my way to do that, or anything.

Somehow Naomi got it into her head that she wanted for her birthday "chocolate cake with a cherry on top." What kid's book depicts this cake? I don't know. Since we were having a little celebration on her birthday, and an outright party on the weekend, I felt free to interpret this request in various ways. 

Presents, first round...

At the "big" party on Saturday, Naomi wore a dress (for the first time in months), and she looked so grown up, you know, vs. her baby self, and so lovely, it was almost painful to look at her. Of course, we didn't get any photos that really captured that, but here she is in her dress and hat...

And cake with cherries, round two...

Finally, the "Enchantment Under the Sea" party decorations...

Has it only been three years since this radical life change? This kid, I tell you. 

BONUS PHOTO SECTION!

Barber of Seville, anyone?

Muriel rocks her new bathing venue.

Storch Riesen, please, Mrs. Lang!

I Heart Yoga!

The first session of my first ever yoga class has come to an end, so it seems like a good time to write a little paean to the whole experience. Some of you may remember me asking you for advice on how to get started with yoga- I have been interested in trying it for a long time. The excuses that prevented this interest from going anywhere have been plentiful (too busy! too pregnant! too exhausted!), but they were finally all run out, the stars have aligned, the club we belong to is right up the street, and the class was offered at a manageable time. Now it was simply up to me to get out of my rut and try something new. 

It should be noted that this is not the first alternative exercise class I ever took on. Back in Minnesota, I signed up for a community ed class in Tai Chi, along with my housemate and her friend. After one forty-five minute session in the gym of the local junior high, which involved a lot of breathing instruction and some truly confusing combinations of moves (made more confusing by the animal names attached to them), somehow all three of us had a headache when the next class rolled around. 

Of course I am older and more enlightened now, heh. Amazingly, my response to the first class was not to hatch a scheme to get my fee back, but rather, genuine enjoyment and enthusiasm (dampened only a little by the litany of body complaints everyone was compelled to share during the first session, sheesh). I really liked it! Why, you ask? There are a lot of reasons, some stupid, some relevant. First, the instructor is really wonderful. She is a tiny little person whose body really looks like it is made out of one flowing muscle (which sounds kind of weird and alien- though it's not at all). She is encouraging and pleasant and direct, pushing everyone to do a little more or a little better, and then saying "Yes! Exactly," like she is certain of how capable we are even if we are not. She constantly admonishes us in little detailed ways to get the poses right, and I really like it, because later in the week, I hear her voice in my head telling me to push those shoulder blades down my back! and I think there may be hope yet for my truly terrible posture. 

The exercises themselves are good too. There are a lot of stretches that don't feel anything like the stretches I remember (that is, remember doing once long ago when I was a sporty person, in a different lifetime). We do a series of exercises every time, and then try to learn something new with the time that's left over. Some of the exercises have names I can remember, like "Tibetan Rites" or "Sun Salutations" or "Downward Dog." Some have names that I would have to write down to remember, as they are all Sanskritty.  But all of them, if I follow the directions of the instructor the best I am able, make my body feel like it's really working. 

The thing I like about the class that I feel a little funny about is this: I have never taken a class before that was not for a grade or a credit (and I'm not counting the "Creativity" class I audited my senior year of college when I had already gotten all my degree credits in place- even as an audit student I was driven to get good grades from my "peer teachers," thereby completely missing the point of the class, and the point of auditing. duh...). People who take exercise classes are probably scratching their heads that this is some kind of new experience for me, but it is. I have never taken an exercise class before. And I LOVE this kind of class experience. However much I want to get out of it, that's what I have to put into it. I can do the exercises and try as hard as I can to keep my muscles "firing" in the right way, or not, whatever. The class is for my benefit. It's for ME! Even though I have loved so many of the learning opportunities I have had in my educational career, and the extra classes I have taken here and there, I have never ever felt this way before. I am always consumed with what the teacher wants from me, and what the other students in the class want from me. In this class, for the first time ever- none of that. LOVE!

The last part of every class, which has another name I didn't write down, is fantastic. We all lie down on our mats in the dark while our instructor leads us through a grateful relaxation exercise. We feel our elbows sink into the floor. Our legs are heavy, our arms are heavy. Our breath is focused or something. We embrace the light within ourselves. We feel grateful for the work we have done. Zzzz. When I was pregnant the first time, and wondering how I was going to stick to my goal of having an unmedicated childbirth, I invested in a Hypnobabies CD set. The idea was that the course would train me to hypnotize myself into complete relaxation, resulting in no labor pains. I learned two important things from this course. The first was that self hypnosis was totally and completely useless when it came up against actual factual labor. Oh well. The second was that I am perfectly suited to guided relaxation. As laughable as hypnosis was during the birth, it was my best friend during the pregnancy, when all of my relaxing practice sessions resulted in hour upon comatose hour of unconscious couch time. Permission to nap? Whatever, it was awesome. And now that I think about it, it also included the encouraging self-pep-talk element that I also get from the instructor during the "lie down time" at the end of my class. Sometimes during this relaxing end part, I get a little choked up about how great the whole experience is. Relaxation and affirmation, and stretching, and muscle tone! And when I get home, dinner is ready! Are you kidding me with this?

Naomi, who is constantly refining her conversation skills in strange and hilarious ways, always asks me when I get home, "How was your yoga?" or "How did you do your yoga?" Hee. She loves my yoga mat and uses it to do pretend yoga, real dancing, somersaults, and some ill-conceived building projects that are usually scrapped pretty quickly. 

Namaste, people!

Admit it, you're jealous...

...That you didn't get to come to our Chinese New Year celebration last Saturday. I would be more humble if I were bragging on my own fine cooking, but really, Jim was the star. He spent the whole day (and part of the previous evening) laboring over a dish that was a particular tradition in his family. The dish's name means "no meat," or something similar, which is important to clarify, because the style of cooking from which this dish comes finds a way to sneak meat into everything- tofu dishes, vegetable dishes, dessert (not really). 

When we were merely dating, Jim had the urge to try his hand at this dish, just from memory. The result was not so edible, and I assumed my Western palate was to blame. When his parents and mine first met, his mother made this dish, and I whispered a warning to my mom, something like "Don't take too much of that one!" Then I took a bite and realized that I had not actually tasted this dish before. Yum! So this time, Jim not only got the recipe from his mother, he went to this new Chinese grocery store here that actually had all the ingredients, including tofu skin, Chinese cabbage, red dates, rock sugar, three kinds of mushroom, two kinds of sea fungus (??), and of course, more than one kind of fermented tofu. 

So many of the ingredients have to be prepared separately before preparing the whole dish, and the dish, when all together, has to cook quite a while. So Jim spent the day dry-frying, soaking, simmering, and deep frying. So engrossed was he in his cooking duties, he neglected to take even a single photo, which is why there is no enticing picture of the fruits of his labor- a shame. He also made ribs, and I made broccoli with tofu and a dish called shrimp ball, which I admit with a further lack of humility was pretty delicious, and a big hit with the toddler set. 

Happy Year of the Rat, you all. Wish you could have been with us!

Tom Petty = Rocker

A couple of my high school friends that we saw during our Christmas visit to Arizona showed off their mad parenting skillz by bragging how their (super cute) boys had been so effectively acculturated by the consistent application of the 80s music station during car drives that they were now pushing their parents to get tickets to the 3-D U2 movie. Awesome. During Jim's stay-at-home dad quarter, he signed us up for XM radio, which has its own delightfully endless supply of 80s hits, 90s hits, and of course, Snoop Dogg's classic rap and hip hop, making it possible to relive high school, college, grad school, and all the weird in-between times.

Just as an aside, has anyone noticed how you can hear old songs that you expressly didn't like, or would have considered not even on your radar, yet when it comes on the radio (or, the satellite radio), you not only know every word, but you even know every annoying grace note and dramatic modulation? Ah, the spongy mind of youth. Why didn't you soak up something more useful?

Naturally, staying home with a nearly three year old (and a six month old!) has an entirely different soundtrack from some of the other lives I've led. Naomi got some cool new music for Christmas, including a Justin Roberts CD and another, called "Mary Had a Little Amp," (thanks, Tudes!) which includes a Dixie Chicks cover of "Rainbow Connection" that actually brings tears to my eyes. The tot does not seem that emotionally affected by it...

The two disks hogging the air time this week- Ella Jenkins' multi-culti kid songs (C & B, thanks!), and Laurie Berkner's "Buzz Buzz" (shout out to Pearl for recommending that one!). I should mention that my other friend C. bought me the Ella Jenkins album on...wait for it...cassette tape, back when I was the world's worst preschool teacher. I made the kids learn Swahili songs, before getting myself escorted from the building for distributing to the other teachers the photocopies I had made regarding mandatory overtime laws (which the school owners were, um, flouting). Workers, rise up!

Anyhoo, Ella's back and she's better than ever. Naomi looooves the "Mexican Hand Clapping Song" and this other Spanish chant that includes a whispered "Chickie-cha, chickie-cha, chickie-cha" or something. She walks around the house chickie-cha-ing in a stage whisper, which was really confusing to Jim for a few days. The new Ella-related hilarity is that Naomi has started to sing "The Dredel Song," although she has no idea what any of the words are, including...dredel. She says, "Is it 'Cradle, cradle, cradle, I'm giving it away?'" Hee.

On the Laurie Berkner CD, she likes to speculate how the many many songs might be related to each other. For example, when she hears the "Clean It Up" song, she opines that they are likely cleaning up the big old messy mess that happened as a result of the "I'm a Mess" song. Makes sense. What doesn't make sense is why Laurie felt compelled to include "The Erie Canal," and why, somehow, I know that song. Did you guys also learn this song for some reason, when you were kids? Because I know it, but- how, why? Anyway, Naomi was of course fearlessly singing some combination of words that approximate the sounds of the actual lyrics of this song, and because someone made me learn this anachronistic ditty, by goodness, I'm going to force it on my toddler too. That's not really what I was thinking. I don't know what I was thinking. But by the end of the day, and my four hundredth retelling of what a mule is, what the Erie Canal was, how canal boats work, where New York is, and so forth, we were looking at historical postcard lithograph something-or-others on the internet, depicting horses (mules?) pulling boats, low bridges, the whole 15 miles. Sheesh.

Lest anyone get the idea that I am not also training Naomi in right, we DO also listen to the XM 80s station, usually around dinner-cooking time (although with our meal, we switch down to the 40s or "High Standards"). And last week I dug out my old "Full Moon Fever" CD to play her a Tom Petty song that is one of our favorite lullabies. It happened that Tom Petty was enjoying a big week on XM radio and on PBS (did he have a birthday or something?), and after my initial instruction, Naomi now confidently informs her dad that Tom Petty is a rocker. Of course he is.

To Dream, Perchance to Sleep

A few weeks ago I was poking around on the all-knowing internet for some ideas and encouragement in the child-rearing arena, and ran across what seems to be a really calm, sane, interesting source of information (drgreene.org). One article I read (though I wasn't looking for it) addressed the issue of being driven crazy by your pre-schooler asking you why? Why? Why? Or in one of our typical end of my rope exchanges, Me: "No, don't ask why, just say, 'Yes, Mom.'" Naomi: "Yes, Mom, but why?" Says Dr. Greene, or whoever wrote the article, the questioner does not in fact really want a logical cause and effect explanation for every minute particle of their day, but instead, just really wants to hear me talk a lot more about whatever we're already talking about or experiencing. When I think about it that way, it's a little easier to make myself think of more to say (though I already think I have created a chatty little monster, in a lot of ways).

The other standout was an answer to the question of whether babies dream. Based on brain signals, it seemed that babies likely do dream, and maybe even more than we do. The other fascinating idea from this article was that we not only dream at night, but also during the day. In the same way that the brightness of the sun prevents us from seeing the stars in the daytime sky (though they are there), the overbearing brightness of our conscious mind makes it impossible for us to experience our daytime dreams. 

Hmm, what am I dreaming about today? Are the daytime ones as weird as the nighttime ones? The other night I dreamed that I met a plane carrying Naomi (current, little tiny Naomi) back to me from somewhere, and she had been inexplicably seated next to... Billy Joel? Not angry, grayed, and drunk-driving, but jovial, friendly eighties Billy. And he had found Naomi to be such a charming seat mate that he offered to sing us a song, so which one did I want? And in the dream I was so embarrassed because I knew there was a song of his I really liked singing along to, an extra cheesy one, but I couldn't remember. So I had to say, oh, thanks, no need, rather than risk sounding like I didn't actually know any of his songs. I remembered the song when I woke up; it's "For the Longest Time." Heh.

Finally, in the category of sleep related items, whenever the grownups in the house are required to pretend to be sleeping as part of imaginary play (which for Jim often leads to real sleeping, on the kid's bedroom floor), we always dutifully make cartoon snoring sounds. Recently, Naomi finally learned how to fake snore, and she sounds like a high school football player clearing his sinuses. Lovely. Even though I fake snore with the best of them, apparently, she thinks I'm really really faking, as the following exchange suggests:

Naomi: Do you know what mans do when they are sleeping? 

Me: Um, no. what? 

Naomi: They SNORE!

Snowy Night

This picture is a bit blurry, but you get an idea of the good time Naomi was having in last night's snow. Not so, the poor bamboo plants (on the left).

Our Dog is an Awesome Dog

OK, it was that or Dog is my Copilot. This post is a shout out to an oft-neglected member of the Khooler pack, Luna, who turned 13 yesterday. We celebrated as we usually do, with the ritual trail of popcorn, and lot of extra petting. Now that she is a teenager, we didn't force her to wear a party hat, as we usually do. 

Luna still isn't convinced that we didn't have children expressly to ruin her life, but she becomes slightly more tolerant of Naomi every day, and just in time, as Naomi is increasingly committed to being dog's best friend. Happy Birthday, Lulu!

Christmas Trip Photos, Finally!

Phoenix Zoo carousel: two tokens per ride, one dollar per token, big gang of pushy kids behind me in line as I tried to get the token machine to take my crumpled dollar bills...

Entrance to the Desert Botanical Garden, where Jim had a nice solo afternoon visit. Sigh.

Child labor laws do not apply to Christmas paper chain operations.

Wall lizards and lollipop drum. Naomi is a fan of Gramma's house.

Does this really need a caption?

(My nephew's new toy dachshund, Zeke)

Did I mention the weather? This was a really beautiful trip to Saguaro Lake east of the Valley.

Too cool for school, in new sunglasses.

Alas, Muriel does not own sunglasses.

Novelty jammies! Baby's first seasonal one-time wear item.

Christmas morning, what a happy sight!

When babies attack! This is Muriel's super cute cousin V.

Naomi in her seasonal one-time wear item, playing with the weird psychiatrist office dollhouse furniture I got her for Christmas. And to all, a good night.

Trip Report - Sans Photos

I have been putting off posting anything until I can get our Christmas trip pictures posted, and no matter how many times Jim runs through the process of exporting multiple photos out of Lightroom, or whatever the software is called, I can never seem to make it work on my own. So, sometime in February, you will be able to enjoy the pictures of our trip to Arizona...

In the meantime, I will summarize: it was a good trip, for a lot of reasons. First, my parents were excellent hosts. They were wonderfully available for baby holding, no questions asked car-lending (nevermind that my dad ALWAYS handed the keys to Jim, and not to me, ha), outright babysitting (enabling an actual dinner date, which I am still savoring in my memory), and activity planning. Second, we had a lot of good family fun, including a retirement party for my dad, a portrait session (and actually, that part wasn't that fun), various other get-togethers, and a big Christmas celebration. 

Third, it was a good trip for reconnecting with old friends. At a brunch party at my parents' house (during which my parents went for a drive), I saw four old high school friends and their kids. I love a bagel with smoked salmon, and I love coffee, but what I really loved was how fun and easy it was to be with these old friends, all of whom were doing different and interesting things with their lives, and all of whom were as funny and thoughtful and delightful as I remember them being. Which is either a compliment to them or to the accuracy of my memory. Hee. And naturally, their kids were a whole new crop of interesting little individuals, great to see. 

I also had a phone call with a friend from college whom I hadn't spoken to in...TEN YEARS. These are the kinds of time spans that make me feel a bit elderly. Although I am sure he is different in a lot of ways, he too sounded the same to me. But when I think about who I was ten years ago...would I even know myself? Would I be someone I would like to talk to? The answer to these questions depend on how charitable I am feeling toward myself when I think about them. Also, it doesn't really matter. I am who I am now, and where I am now, thanks to that person ten years ago, and all the other mes before and since.

Apparently, going back to Arizona is like going back in time, for me. But with all the passengers from my present along for the ride. And oh, the beautiful sunshine! Of course there were some things in Arizona that didn't agree with me (mostly, the water, which not only tastes bad, but also makes my hair and skin go back in time to an extremely homely year), but overall, a very satisfactory trip.

Since we've been back? The year ended, a new one began, I finished up work for three more months, Jim had his wisdom teeth removed, Muriel turned six months old and had her first "solid" food, I took down the Christmas tree, and Naomi learned how to shoot digital photos (I included that for your parents, C.W.!). Maybe I should post some of those. If only I could figure out how!

Cat Away, Mouse Playing

This is what Naomi comes up with to do while her father plays Medieval II on the computer...

We're headed to Arizona- Merry Christmas, ya'll!!

Holiday Petits Fours

It's four blog entries in one!

Open House, revisited

This past Saturday was our holiday open house, the method I have been employing in place of making a cookie plate for our neighbors. This way, I invite them to our house, where they can eat cookies (among other things), but if they don't come, in a sense, no cookies are wasted. Selfish and lazy? Or a good motivator to get our house cleaned in advance of Christmas? Either way, it was Saturday, and...well attended! We had four different neighbor houses represented (though I expected more, as I actually delivered the invitations in person, at a reasonable hour, and in most cases handed them to the neighbors), as well as two family groups of our friends, and a couple, one half of which is a coworker of Jim's.

Long time readers of this blog may recall that last year's open house went ahead even in the face of a ridiculous power outage during a very chilly week. That party was fifty-three degrees and lit like a pioneer house. So heat and light were two of the exciting innovations at this year's shindig. Everyone was chummy, the house looked decent, our tree is really pretty this year, and overall I would have to classify it as a success.

The only weird part is that no one really ate anything. I am a firm believer that if you are having people over to your house, there should be way too much food. So, there are always leftovers, but this time, it was like I had mice for guests. The toddlers did manage to finish off the bowl of grapes, so that was gratifying. Anyway, if you are hungry for a cheese ball, stop by- I have seven-eighths of one in my fridge.

Idaho-Ho-Ho

We visited our neighbors to the southeast on the weekend straddling November and December, and had a really good time. There was some madness at either end, as we navigated through the airport with a carseat, a stroller and baby bucket, additional carseat base (for the bucket), five carry-on items, two rolly suitcases, and two tots. Going through security with this caravan of babies and related items was pure theater of the absurd. We rented a mini-van on the Idaho end of the flight, and man-oh-man did it become obvious why people buy and drive these vehicles. Sheesh. It was all worthwhile when we got to spend time with our dear friends and their 18 month old son, Charlie, who is clearly infatuated with Muriel. She doesn't try to be irresistible...

Boise is a fast-growing town, and we could appreciate our friends' feelings of ambivalence at the beautiful new house they bought, built on land only recently repurposed from growing corn. They can see a farm out their back door, but their neighborhood is anything but rustic. The sky, of course, is still wide open in a way that it absolutely is not in our part of the country. Which reminds me...

Wait a Minute...What?

Normally I am an NPR commuter, there and back, which means I get lots of overly sobering news of the world, relentless presidential candidate coverage, and an occasional light-hearted feature. Jim is an NPR guy too, much of the time, but when I got into his car to go to work this week, the radio was tuned to a station with a format I must lovingly refer to as "JAMMIN' OLDIES!" I don't know if it was because I was driving to work at 7:20, a full two hours earlier than my slackerly time frame of late, or if it was just the particular song that was playing when I started the car on Monday, but I have continued jammin' to the oldies for a couple of days now.

And that is what led me to this realization (that of course I have had many times before, so it's not really that profound): songs are not always about what you think they are about. Although I am sometimes surprised how many songs from the eighties I can sing by heart, as a rule I am bad at making out lyrics in songs. But when you are commuting along, alone in the car, with the oldies jamming, it becomes somewhat easier to follow along. Which is how I discovered that a song I remember us singing the chorus (and not much else) to as kids is not about any of things I might have imagined it to be about -rather, the message of the song is, you are a cheating whore, and don't think I don't know it, because... I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and so forth. Really, I don't advocate for people cheating on their partners, but this guy sounds like a bit of a jerk. Just break up, you guys.

If I knew you were coming, I'd have moked a cake

I have been keeping track of funny things that come out of Naomi's mouth for a few months now, and trying not to clog the blog with too much overly-precious observations about my kid, but I can wait no longer. These are a few of my favorite things:

moked - past tense of make, as in "I moked you some cookies!"

Doan forgot - forgot. She always adds a doan (don't) on the front, I think because she hears me say "Don't forget to do X". Her version is not negative, though. If you doan forgot to do something, you forgot to do it.

underpits - armpits, or underarms. I have taken to saying it this way, now, too, because it slays me when she says it, and I don't want her to catch on that it's not the common idiom.

Line used in defense of self, when she perceives me to be using an uneccessarily harsh tone with her - "Don't shout at me, I'm a friendly girl!"

Evidence that she is a glass-half-full person- While reading a book of Charlie's that demonstrates feelings by picturing Sesame street characters making various faces (worried face, happy face, confused face), upon encountering on the sad face page a picture of Elmo with a now empty ice cream cone, Naomi said "...But he could still eat the cone, though."

Finally, a quote so wacky, I had to write it down immediately. I love it because it sounds like she is speaking English as a second language. She has all the words to say this right, but the idea is coming too fast, so she just has to scramble around to get it out: "I figured out a thing! If you wear sunshine glasses in the wind, your eyes won't water!" 

Indeed!

Fermented Tofu...

For the uninitiated, hot pot (also called "Steamboat") involves a boiling hot pot of soup in the middle of the table, into which is thrown various meats, vegetables, seafood, and tofu, which are then fished out, dunked into sauce, and consumed. At the end, you add noodles and eggs, cook it a bit longer, eat the noodles and eggs with the last of the soup, and then fall into a stupor, stroking your painfully distended belly. Mmm. 

The first time I had hot pot was at the house of our good friends G. and J. in Minnesota. They take this meal very seriously, much to our great benefit. At that first hot pot, G. endeavored to win us over to his side in the great dipping sauce debate. J.'s sauce was barbecue based (not Kraft barbecue, more like Korean barbecue) with hot chilies, I think. But G's sauce featured an insane amount of minced garlic, an equal part of chopped cilantro, and some kind of sauce base that held the whole thing together. Unlike dipping sauces from bottles (which we use in our occasional sad attempts to simulate the hot pot experience), it takes only a small amount of this magical sauce to satisfy the dipping requirements of a giant pile of tasty hot pot items.

For years (literally) after that, I would occasionally have a taste memory of that sauce, which was incredibly flavorful and delicious. We attempted to make it on our own, but we could never figure out what the sauce base was that held everything together. And for some reason, we never managed to just ask G. what the sauce was made of- when we wanted to know, we couldn't get in touch, or when we were in touch, we forgot to ask.

But this past weekend, joy of joys, we had a visit from G. and J. and their very cute toddling son A. After a trip to Pike's market for some very fresh seafood, and another side trip to the Korean grocery store around the corner, we came home and put our guests to work in preparing hot pot. Warning: the pictures that follow may be disturbing to vegetarians. As well as anyone who has a problem with outright gluttony.

Turns out a fish head makes good soup for the hot pot!

One of the two kinds of tofu, one of the two kinds of mushrooms, and of course, ferns...

I am more excited than I look about eating this bok choy. And Naomi is exactly as excited as she looks about eating these noodles.

The whole gang, minus photographer Jim, as usual. Notice Muriel hanging around in the background. No soup for you, baby!

So what was the secret ingredient in the sauce (in the bottom right of the photo just above)? Fermented tofu, of course, with a liberal addition of sesame oil. There are a lot of ingredients in Chinese food that sound like they would go into a witch's brew. Don't even get me started on the century egg. And fermented tofu, in addition to having a questionable (though descriptive) name, has kind of a funky smell and often comes in intriguing little brown clay pots. But believe me, it has its charms.

I know we will not be able to make the sauce on our own as well as G. makes it. But that is not the only reason we were glad to have these visitors around. It's been a fantastic year for visitors at our house, and it is one of the best things in the world to have good friends around our table. Come on over! The pot is hot.  

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving! 

Infestation!

It's bad enough to find giant insects in your home...

...but then on top of that, bats start showing up?

Yikes!  Someone call pest control, ASAP!

Weird and Weirder (in reverse order)

These two anecdotes have no relationship to each other, but for the fact that they are both...weird. Just in time for Halloween. Of course, a picture post with the photos of the season will follow this.

On Sunday we took the kids to the park to celebrate the fact that it was not raining. We brought a picnic along, including "Boo Chips", which are pringle-esque, but shaped like ghosts and jack-o-lanterns. The playground was crowded, as were the benches, but after sufficient running around, we sat at a picnic table and divided up the food. Naomi and I were sitting on one side, both straddling the bench, in her case, because she is too small for a picnic table, so her food was in front of her on the bench, and in my case, because Muriel was strapped on in the front pack, which made facing the table a little awkward. Jim was on the other side, handing out the food.

A few minutes after we began our picnic, a woman who had been sitting on one of the benches near the playground came over and sat at our table (on Jim's side, facing away from the table). I had noticed this woman earlier, because it wasn't clear that she was attached to any of the
kids or families, but was just enjoying the day. And also? Because she was a classic spooky old lady. She was bony, under long skirts and a velvet jacket, grey chin-length curls, a face both wrinkly and sharp, and an impressive nose. I pantomimed to Jim that there was a banana still in the bag, and that he should offer it to her, which he did. She declined the banana, but accepted some Boo Chips.

And so our picnic ensued. The woman did not speak English, but that did not deter her at all from conversing with us in whatever she did speak (something Slavic?), and hand gestures. Naomi and I were sharing an apple, and with the all the cutting pantomime, I really think the lady was trying to say, if you cut me off some of that apple, I'll take some. We didn't have a knife, though, and I am not so brotherhood (sisterhood?) of man as to let a stranger chew from the same piece of fruit as my kid. After a bit, Muriel woke up and began to fuss, as babies do, because her front-pack nap had been inadequate (this baby requires a lot of sleep). The lady kept pointing at me, grabbing her breast, and then making eating motions with her hands. And Jim and I, doing the ridiculously over-friendly smiling and laughing that makes Americans (and their assimilated spouses, heh) look like idiots the world over, pantomimed back the classic going-to-sleep pose (closed eyes, head leaning on folded hands). She's not hungry, she's sleepy. Unconvinced that we had properly understood her, she actually came around the table and pointed at my breast. Check! Understood! Back away!

I took Muriel out of the pack, as she enjoys a sunny day, like most people, and handed her to Jim. The lady said lots of incomprehensible things to Muriel, in a shrill, talking-to-a-baby voice, tried to get Muriel to grab her fingers, and the like. Muriel, though tired, tried to be a
good sport. It was getting late (late for Naomi's nap, that is), so we packed up our stuff and cleaned up, and she saw that we were going to go. She held out her hands to hold Muriel, and Jim relented (what can you do?). She started to sort of toss Muriel in the air (which she is by
no means old enough for), and then stood up with her, and started (jokily?) making off with her. She kept looking back at Naomi and me, and saying something, with a look on her face (again, a joking look?), which I assumed was something like, "Uh oh, I'm stealing the baby, ha ha!" I couldn't tell if she was aiming her joke at Naomi or at me.

Either way, I was totally not down with the joke. I kept saying, "Jim, get our baby." Jim laughed. "Seriously, get our baby." "Seriously, get our baby." I don't know how many times I said, it but over and over, with, I think, a big dumb frozen smile on my face, like I was playing
along. Jim finally got the baby, and we said goodbye, and headed for the car. It's not like she could have run faster than Jim, and somehow actually made off with Muriel. But seriously, don't walk off with someone else's baby! Especially if it seems like you are maybe a little batty and cannot make your comic intentions clear! Or, not with my baby, anyway.

The other weird anecdote stars the other kid. If I have not said it recently, Naomi is a really good kid. But like every two year old, she has a burgeoning reserve of cheekiness that sometimes gets the better of her. The other night I was trying to nurse Muriel, and I asked Naomi to leave the room, because her chirpy chatter is endlessly fascinating to
Murel, who must stop nursing and crane her neck around to try to get a look at her sister. Not only would Naomi not leave, she came over to the bedside table and began to play with a pretty little box of mine. She has previously damaged the lid of this box, and she knows she is not
supposed to touch it. So I said, Naomi, put the lid down. And she held it in her hand, and looked at me, and didn't move. I lost my cool, and raised my voice, and told her again to put it down. And instead of putting it down, she raised the box lid to her mouth and... licked it. Ha!
It was as if I had raised the stakes by yelling at her, and she had to raise them in turn, but couldn't figure out how to make her simple not-listening into something even naughtier. Ah, my creative, weird, cheeky kid.

Happy Halloween!

Upright Citizens

The first order of business is to describe Muriel's dogged determination to always be either standing or sitting up. Of course, she is too little to do either, but she seems not to know that. Every time we plunk her in the bouncy seat, she does this hilarious ab workout routine that makes an otherwise luxurious recliner look like the most uncomfortable chair in the house. And there is no un-recline in the bouncy seat, so this sad state of affairs is going to continue until we find her something else to sit in, or she starts just walking around on her own. Naomi learned how to stand up and hold on to things at six months plus a week. Muriel's trainer has leaked information that leads us to believe she is on track to break that record.

Also, Muriel is starting to figure out that those hands she always sees waving around belong to her, and that with a little effort, she can do things with them. Like hold one with the other, hold that weird frog and turtle that always appear before her when she's in that way-too-reclined green seat, bring said frog or turtle up onto one of her shoulders or (somehow) to the top of her head and leave it there, and scratch little messages into mom's chest whenever she's in the Baby Bjorn. Oh, and escape from the nighttime swaddle, and bring them comfortably into her mouth, which uses them to make loud smacky, sucky sounds at 2:30 in the morning. Who knew they would be so useful?

On Tuesday night, the other small citizen of our republic and I attended a vigil for children's health care. I think the veto override vote is tomorrow, so if any of you all have a wavering Republican in the House (not your house, THE House), get thee to a phone. I was on the fence about bringing her along. On the one hand, good to be involved in a cause I am not a bit conflicted on, and good for Naomi to see what involvement (albeit not particularly efficacious involvement, I think) can look like. On the other hand, I dislike as a rule any appearance of using kids who don't know any better in the promotion of some position or other. Remember that "pass it on" billboard, with the three- or four-year-old girl on someone's shoulders, waving an American flag, and the word (I think) "Patriotism" below her? Yeech. What could be a less meaningful (and more manipulative) manifestation of patriotism, a problematic enough concept by itself?


Anyway, yeah, already sufficiently insured toddler girl in mom's arms on the street corner in front of Crate and Barrel, holding up her veto override sign for the well-heeled pedestrians and drivers of downtown Bellevue...I don't know. And lest anyone think that maybe she really did know why she was participating, she was pretty sure that people honked because they liked our signs.* I will not pain you with the details of our not-particularly successful conversation in the car on the way there about how all children should be able to go to the doctor...

My parents modeled participation in democracy in the sense that I knew they were voting, I guess. And there were always those little right-to-life roses on everything. But my wish for my kids is to really feel a part of the process, and feel they have a stake in it, in a way that I didn't. I am not blaming my parents- I have a particularly strong focus on myself (see: this blog) that is inherent in my personality- but I was apathetic about politics for a long time, because I didn't think it mattered. In fact, it rarely did matter to me because my life never changed much no matter who was in power or what they tried to do. I guess this is the legacy I do NOT want to pass along- that if it's not touching me, it doesn't matter. Because of course, the decisions of our leaders make a big difference in countless lives, and those lives and those differences matter, because they are my fellows. Fellow citizens, fellow parents, fellow children. (see what I mean? I am nearing middle age and am only just now figuring this out?!) This is what I want my two little citizens to bring out of childhood with them. I know about the stages of morality development, how self interest comes before other-interest and all that. But maybe actions of this kind will lead to habits on my part, and memories on their parts. Good luck to us.

*When you see those street-side sign holders and you're down with their message, people, give them a long, loud honk. Repeated honking is also good.

Four Short Years

Wow, a post a month is not exactly a great record. I will pretend that there are readers who object to the long wait, and apologize. Sorry, ya'll.

This past Thursday was our fourth wedding anniversary. We celebrated by eating dinner later than usual (8:00 instead of 6:00), and in Jim's case, by waiting until 10:00 to fall asleep on the couch. Spicy! On the one hand, four years seems like a long time, that is, it's hard to believe that we've been married that long already. On the other hand, our lives have changed so drastically in those four years that it's difficult to see how all those changes could have fit into that span of time.

I remember as a teenager, or maybe a young twenty-something, asking my mom how she knew that my dad was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. I was hoping for a peek into my mom's fairly secretive emotional life, and thrilled a bit to the anticipation of some semblance of girl talk between her and me- a rarity. I can't remember the exact words she used, but her answer was along the lines of "You know, we were just both at the age where people get married, so it seemed like the right thing to do." Was she just getting over a recent spat with my dad? Or did she really just get married because she was the right age, and so was he, and there they were, the right age, together?

The main piece of advice about marriage that my parents passed along to me (besides the one where my mom repeatedly harangued me not to get married before I finished my degree and found a good job) was to "marry a friend." Which, when you're a teenager, sounds ridiculous and even a little creepy. It was creepier still when my dad would explain that he and my mom didn't do that (but instead, just got married because she was so good looking, and he, the right age?), and this made it a lot harder when they ran into problems and had to work them out without a strong basis of friendship to stand on. I don't know how old you have to get before it's comfortable hearing your parents discuss problems in their marriage. They had their forty-fifth wedding anniversary (I think that's the right number) this year, so, all's well that endures well. The friendship must have seeped in along the way.

As with many pieces of parental advice that seemed at the time really not to apply to me, of course my parents were right about this. Having a good friend, one that you can really count on, by your side every day is absolutely the best thing about being married. It is a super sweet bonus if that friend is smart, kind, funny (goofy), strong, brave, a great father, a good singer, a good cook (if memory serves, ha ha, just kidding, honey), and last but not least, goooood looking. Reader, he is the bomb.

I thought it would be a palate cleanser to write about something other than my super cute and adorable girls and their winning ways and amazing vocabularies. And I could have gone the sitcom route and described all the things that drive us crazy about each other (I mean, not in a good way), or the absurd argument we had the other day about whether the giant powdered wigs that guys used to wear can be compared to something like modern day jeans in a historical big picture analysis of superficially inscrutable "fashion" (Me: they cannot! Him: they can!). Instead, I up the syrup ante with a little anniversary tribute to my man, and the institution that binds us.


Now married 4 years, in this picture, right around 4 minutes...