Man Hike!

I had a post all cooked up about how hot it was over the weekend, and how it turned the girls into crabby little crabbersons, and I had some irritating titles on the table, like "Hot Cross Bun(nies)" or "Hottentots" or something similar, and some pictures of them all sweated up, and some of them in the wading pool, with their little teeth chattering. But now, of course, it is gray and cool and rainy, they put an extra onesie on Muriel today, under the tank top I sent her to daycare in, and I can't even remember what the heat was like. Also, it occurs to me that any readers in Arizona and even in the midwest would likely scoff at my claims of the magnitude of the heat, which really only got into the nineties.

So instead I will turn my attention to the oft-neglected (and completely outnumbered) man of the house, who on Sunday joined some of his coworkers for some wilderness male bonding. They went hiking near Mt. Ranier, and had a really good time. Why, yes, he did have to go out the day before to buy a lighter, more hikeable tripod for his big old camera. But it was worth it- look at this beauty...
And let us not overlook this beauty, for that matter!
Marmot!

Here's hoping we get a little more of the hot weather- we're planning a camping trip in the next week, and we would like it warm and dry, please....

The Crumber

Remember back in college when all of a sudden everyone was reading the Rabbit books, and you decided that Updike was a genius and you were going to read everything else he ever wrote, and you went to the used book store and found some little old early Updike paperbacks and you started in on them, and ...enh. The prose was still lovely, but they just didn't have the juice?

For me that paperback was The Poorhouse Fair, which I never finished. At the beginning, though, (and I hope I am remembering correctly), is the part where one of the women in the poorhouse reflects endlessly on her contribution to the running of their unconventional household, which is "crumbing" the table after meals. She scrapes and picks and gets all the little food bits off the tablecloth so that it is clean and ready for the next meal. Friends, Jim's mom was our crumber. For three months. And today, as I picked a galaxy of sticky jasmine rice off our tablecloth, well, I missed her a little more than I usually do.

Work is absolutely kicking my ass, if I may say so. As a rule, I am your aggravating coworker, who, when you complain about how much work you have and you can't even believe it, and how do they expect you to get anything done with all these meetings, and so forth, clucks sympathetically and strains all the muscles in her face to keep her eyes from rolling. But now, I am on your side. The work is piling up! It is insane how much we still have to accomplish! I am tripled booked, every other morning, between 9:00 and 12:00, with scrums (for all you Agile development fans), trainings, meetings, and more scrums.

And because everyone is feeling this way, whenever a new task comes up, which it does about fifteen times a day, somehow it's landing on my tablecloth. More things to track. More things to learn. More things to finish up. More things to be responsible for. And although it has me stressed out quite a bit, and feeling equal parts grouch and martyr, there is a part of me that feels a little more alive than usual. So I will continue to gather up these sticky, annoying bits of work, and feel secretly grateful for some external motivation. I knew I had it in me to be more productive!

School Daze

The girls have completed a month of school (Naomi is actually in pre-school, and for consistency we also refer to Muriel's baby holding pen as school), and I am pleased to say that the report is so far, so good. I usually time Muriel's drop off to coincide nicely with breakfast, so when I get there, there is a gaggle of toddlers sitting in teeny chairs, munching on incongruous pairings like pancakes and canned green beans. Mmmm. Muriel loves getting into one of these chairs and participating in the group snack. She is a sociable creature, noticeably more so than Naomi was at this age. She gets excited to see the teachers, she blows kissses when we leave, and does her random, non-directional hand waving. From the teachers' accounts, she enjoys music time, does a great job eating her lunch, and is especially fond of playing with dirt outside. Whee!

I would compare Naomi's initial reaction to school to a fervent crush. She LOVED school the first week or two, because at school there are teachers who are kind and friendly to three-year-olds. She is an adult-centric child, and this made it especially frustrating for her when her grandparents didn't know what to do with her for three months. She has settled down a bit, and more importantly, she has shifted her focus onto her peers. Hurray! We hear about her friends, we count them up (there are seven!), we talk about one in particular who seems a little bi-polar with her "play with me, no, don't play with me now" behavior every other day. Naomi seems unfazed by her flip-flopping, even though we are dying to rig her up with a hidden panda-cam to figure out just what the heck motivates three year olds in the "dolphin" class to accept and reject friendship overtures from minute to minute.

We visted a handful of preschools before settling on this one. I had thought a Montessori school might be good for Naomi, considering the glimpses of OCD I see in her, and my own anxieties about being able to model self-motivated learning (I am externally motivated in the worst way). We saw a few that were really fantastic. The one we chose, though, is close to our house, inexpensive, Montessori-inspired (close enough!), and has a shabby, comfortable feel to it, which I mean in the best possible way. It is the preschool that alleviates any concern you might have that you are in some way related to those people you hear about in New York City that call in all their favors to get the editor of the Times to write their two-year-old a letter of reference for admission to the preschool that will fast-track their kid to Yale or whatever.

Only time will tell whether this place sends Naomi to the Ivies, but in the meantime, here is a list of things she has learned at school in the past month:

"Ewwww!" All the cool kids at school must say Ewww! to just about anything that happens, because Naomi does it all the time now. Ewwww! Underpants! Ewwww, a baby wipe- I'm not a baby! Ewwww! Pee!

"Criss cross applesauce" = the new "Indian Style"... Everybody sit down, criss cross applesauce!

"Zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket." - Ha! If I were in just the right mood, I might be bothered by this, but most of the time I think it's really funny, and I have already tried using it on Jim, with undesirable results.

Songs, songs, songs. She can sing "America the Beautiful" all the way through ("above the fruit and planes!"), "I'm a Little Teapot," which I had purposefully never taught her because I have always found it a little too cutesy, a song for lining up to the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell"..."I'm ready for the hall, I'm standing nice and tall...", and my super fave rave, a days of the week song set to the tune of "The Addams Family":

There's Sunday and there's Monday. There's Tuesday and there's Wednesday. There's Thursday and there's Friday, and then there's Saturday.
Days of the week. (clap clap)
Days of the week. (clap clap)
Days of the week, days of the week, days of the week. (clap clap)

In case you were looking for a song to get stuck in your head for 72 hours.

Splash Park!

This Sunday afternoon we repeated last Sunday afternoon's high jinks, minus the chilliness, minus the adorable vegan kindergartner. We had some splashing, we followed up with some Chinese food. Ah, weekend, I miss you already.

Gigantic Blog Roundup

First, the picture of Muriel's cake that didn't make her birthday post:

Trip Report, Retroactive
So, way back a long time ago (at the end of June), we had our vacation. We went to Orcas island again, not because there are no other good vacation destinations around here, but because we really loved it last time, and we wanted to take Jim's parents on a sure thing. Our last Orcas trip, you may recall, was inspired by drunken bidding at a charity auction. This time we rented a house the way most people have to (find house, send in deposit, pay full price, bleah). Again, we were lucky enough to have our good friends join us on the trip as well, so along with three generations of Khooler, we had Naomi and Muriel's BFFs (and their parents) along.

Naomi with her best pal. The weather was chilly the first part of the week, but good and warm by the end.

The house was on the north side of the island, and looked out into the part of the Sound between the San Juans and the mainland. The view was really pretty spectacular, from the deck outside the main floor of the house, from our little deck upstairs, from my ridiculously comfy king-sized bed (from where, on the first morning, thanks to an early wakeup by our little closet-dweller, I got to lie back and actually watch the sun rise over the water), and from the rocky little private beach, accessible by a steep-sided trail that would not have seemed breathtakingly dangerous to my childless self of yore. 

The view from our private beach....

We didn't see any whales this time, but there were a few dolphin sightings, big ships, sailboats, and a puzzling set of dark, intriguing buildings on the far shore, which I doggedly attempted to identify with the marine map of the island that came with the house, only to discover a little typed square of paper that had been laminated onto the map, telling me exactly which islands I was seeing, and what those dark, forboding cities on the far shore were (uh, oil refineries). The only part of the house that didn't have a great view was the hot tub, which we tried out just on principle, but I think if it had been on the deck, there may have been considerably increased stewing. Also on the topic of stewing, my friend brought the pinot grigio wine cube from Target. And then her husband went to the liquor store for Jameson (because he has been reading my diary?), and a Khalua/vodka pre-mix thing that we renamed, in Jim's honor, "White Asian." Slurp.

This is the first season I have really watched "So You Think You Can Dance," and I am a little concerned that it is influencing my already slangariffic vocab. Because I was about to start writing about how good the food was in our vacation paradise, and the first adjective that came to mind was "sick." Thanks a lot, you weird dancing judges. Anyway, the food was not sick, but very very good, thanks to a friendly unspoken competition between Jim's mom and our friend J., the same vacation chef who kept us in bacon last trip. Yes, there were Mexican delicacies (homemade guacamole a la J. has converted me from a guac hater), yes there was sticky rice, on the Eastern side. We even had a birthday cake for C. Mmm.
I was concerned that Jim's parents would be bored on this vacation. Their sport of choice is shopping, preferably discount (or DVD) shopping, preferably at the same strip mall over and over and over. Occasionally, they like to vary from this routine with a trip to any establishment which provides them with all you can eat food. If the food includes seafood, specifically shellfish or sushi, all the better. Our vacation choice provides travelers with exactly zero opportunity to do any of this. But they settled right in, on the deck, reading a thriller, in the case of Jim's dad, and just taking in the view, in the case of Jim's mom. I confess, it was enormously gratifying. As for the rest of us, there was a lot of story reading and little-people playing. The bigger, though still quite little girls shared a room off of C. and J.'s room, which made for really terrible nights' sleep for those two. Shenanigans! We did a little hiking. We hit the beach (the lake beach, where again, the water was waaaaay too cold for any of us to go in further than knee level).

(Muriel auditions for some wacky Racquel Welch movie remake starring only babies...)

Jim, J., and I went sea kayaking, which was a terrific adventure, and also made me think it was possible that my arms might fall off. Ahh, vacation. This one really was over too soon.

Bridge Topic: Vacation Homes

One thing I didn't mention in the vacation post is that the house we rented, in addition to being large and wonderfully sited, ridiculously well-equipped (kid plates? high chair? pack and play? blender? beach towels? checks and more checks on the list), and a tiny bit eerie in its ability to make you think someone was right there, when they were upstairs, or long gone, when they were around the corner in the kitchen, also had a distinct decorative theme: pine cones. You may think this is the sort of theme that would be a kind of suggestion, just a little something to tie rooms together. But no, this house was obsessed, in so far as a house does that king of thing, with pine cones. The things I mentioned in the "well equipped" list, above, are about the only thing in this house that didn't conform to the decorative theme. So there were pine cone wall paper borders, towels, sheets, dishes, glasses, silverware, placemats, switch plates on all the light switches, lamps, bed headboards, nightstands, wall hangings, throw rugs, candles, picture frames, mirrors, drawer pulls, curtains, and various bric a brac. To name a few. There was a set of framed stamps FROM OTHER COUNTRIES that had pine cones on them. There was a cute folk-art thrift store tin frame with a pine cone theme. There was a figurine that was clearly resin-cast, but was intended to look like a folk art miniature of an evergreen tree constructed out of pine cone parts (what are those parts called? You know, the petals of the pine cone?).

I was tempted, dear readers, to treat you to a peek at this excess, but there was no way to capture just a few photos that would realistically convey the scope of this theme. It was mighty, overpowering, all-encompassing. Pine Cone Cabin! You know who you are. It was in bookclubbing this wacky aspect of our vacation, during our vacation, that my friend and I formulated an important theory. Because it is too mind-blowing to imagine that there exists someone who has the time and the patience and the resources to scour retail and resale establishments to furnish a vacation home this completely and this thoroughly thematically, there simply has got to be a service out there in the world that exists to furnish vacation homes according to themes. In my two minutes of googling, I have turned up a couple of cabin-decor type places that have all the furniture and bedding and switch plate covers and coasters and salt and pepper shakers. So I guess I can imagine that those crazy, over the top touches could be accomplished by actual owners (the seven framed antique postcards of little resorts across the country that have "pine cone" in the name?), with the muscle work handled by a tireless online shopper. I remember that whenever we stayed at the North shore in Minnesota, the themes always centered around black bears or moose. I have to imagine there are many beach cottages that have fish or seashells or both.

But who could forget the hall of taxidermy, where I stayed with my girlfriend during a girls' weekend of terror, outside of Vegas, a year and a half ago? We were apalled by that place, so incredibly well-stocked with dead, menacing animals as it was, and wondered how anyone had the time to hunt as many deer as they would have had to to create that many antler chandeliers and, embarrassingly, magazine racks for the bathroom stalls. So, naive J. Khooler of one and one half years ago, I announce to you this: they just picked a theme and someone ordered one hundred and fifty dead animals off the internet. Duh.

But that brings me to a quick anecdote, which is almost in the present day (finally), and that is this: I had another girls' weekend, with the same girl, only this time it was in her new home, fabulous Boise, Idaho. Not that you care, but people from there say "Boy-see," not "Boy-zee," which is kind of my preferred pronunciation. Oh well. There was no taxidermy whatsoever involved in this weekend. Last time, I was the pregnant friend, but this time, it was my friend bearing that burden, if you will. She is due at the end of August, and is postively radiant (though she is normally, too). There was a baby shower for her that involved sick (read, fantastic) coconut cupcakes, a fun little farmer's market in Eagle, and a night on the town in Boise. Here's what our night on the town looked like: 1. Check into hotel. 2. Get suits on for trip to pool. 3. Discover pool is the greenish, three-lane lap pool at the Gold's Gym in the hotel. Eee. Return to room, still dry, for nap. 4. Get dressed up, including cute (uncomfortable) shoes. Hey, it happens once in a while. 5. Sit at sidewalk table of very nice restaurant/bar, drinking, eating tiny appetizer, watching people. 6. Report to real dinner spot, the fondue restaurant. Sit at a crazily romantic little table. 7. Eat way, way too much food that has been dipped into something or cooked in something right at our table. 8. Stagger and/or hobble back to hotel. 9. The end.

So, yeah, girls' weekends were a little different when we were closer to being actual girls. This is the friend who used to take me to the makeup counter, then dinner at a casino restaurant, off to a club, and then dancing at the after-club. Not that I expected much dancing out of this trip. It was just fine with me, how relaxing and devoid of binge drinking our evening was. The great part is that just being with my friend, which was ostensibly the appeal of a girls' weekend all along, is now genuinely the primary, wonderful treat of the experience. It is so great to get together and have nothing but time to talk and plan and dissect. Thanks, girlfriend! Spending time with someone who has known me since I was 13 (and still likes me!) is a remarkable gift. Though I will admit that going through security at the airport and eating out at three different restaurants without any small children along was weirdly delightful as well.

Awesome

When I got back from my girls' weekend on Sunday afternoon, my husband performed his usual ritual for the day we are reunited after a long absence, which is to go and see a matinee. Whatever. I took the girls out to the backyard post-nap, and it was so warm and sunny and lovely that I decided we should head over to the new splash park not far from our house. We hustled through the sunscreen/swimsuit/towel/dress/shoes procedure (involving a spectacular fall down the stairs by Muriel, which did not result in any injury to Muriel, but gave me the most amazing adrenaline dump), drove to the splash park, and jumped into the spray. At which time the dark gray clouds completely took over the sky and the warm 71 degree weather turned into cold 71 degree weather. The sun makes a big difference, is all I'm saying. Muriel kept putting her face directly in the spray, so she got pretty wet. I started to feel like a bad parent, since they were in their wet little bathing suits and I was not inclined to take off my SWEATER, so I dried them off and changed their clothes and set them loose on the dry playground portion of the park.

Naomi remembered some random imaginary play we had enacted the last time we had been at this park, which had to have been four months ago or more, that involved being trapped in the high tower, and having the other person come for rescue purposes, bearing nutritious, tasty (pretend) muffins. I don't know how muffins got involved. But we picked the game back up, and Naomi came to rescue her sister and me, up in the tall tower, and brought the pretend muffins. There was another little girl on the play structure (or whatever they're called) with us, watching our weird game, so I said, "Do you want some of our tasty muffins?" And she blinked her wide eyes for a few seconds, and then said, "But, we don't know if they are vegan!"

News Flash! More on Muriel!

Like that kid isn't getting enough press around here, I have to post again hot on the heels of the (tardy) birthday newsletter to announce that our Sinbad the Sailor bondage is at an end... Muriel walks! Or, she did today. This morning she stood up and took a step, and sat down and kind of thought it over, and looked pleased with herself. Then she stood up again, and walked about five steps. Naomi and I cheered. Then we all ran out to school, daycare, and work, in that order. I told Muriel's teacher that she had walked for the first time this morning, and when I picked her up, she said she did four or five more times at school, and that she kept catching someone out of the corner of her eye, and saying, who is that? Oh, Muriel! Little ambulatory biped!

Also, Muriel had her one year check up, and she is healthy and tall and big headed and...super skinny. I thought she was, but it is not that great to get the confirmation that your kid is an absolute featherweight. Without being too specific, her weight is lagging behind her height and head circumference...by 70%. Zoinks! So, I'm putting the call out- if you have any finger food ideas to suggest, I'm all ears. I'm looking for good (not too sugary) carbs, especially. I can only give her so much cheese, is all I'm saying.

Happy Birthday to (M)Yoooouuuuuu(riel)

Muriel has made it a year on the outside, and we are proud of her for it. Was there a theme for her birthday party? There was: birds. That's it. And it wasn't exactly fully realized. There were some funny birds on her cake, a cute furry singing oriole toy, and a mylar balloon in the shape of a chick (which was probably intended for baby showers, whatever). But there was also a balloon with a dog wearing a party hat, that said, "Do I smell cake?" And a whole other cake, Mango Creme, which Jim's parents contributed to the party.

There were hamburgers and bratwursts, there was cucumber salad and German potato salad, there were cherries, there were chips, and homemade guacamole (thanks to Mr. V. for that delicious stuff!). There were two sets of grandparents, a family of old friends, and two of Jim's coworkers and the coworkers' spouse or partner.

The weather wasn't exactly fantastic for the party, but it wasn't raining, and it wasn't freezing, so we got to spend it outside, per plan.

Kid's table!

Some of the younger party guests were extremely zealous in helping Muriel unwrap her presents, to the extent that I have no idea which guests or friends sent or brought which gifts. This is going to make writing the thank you cards an exciting mental and creative challenge.

Muriel changes so much week to week. She doesn't even look like the same baby- her poofy cheeks and square, squishy head have disappeared, which is not to say that she doesn't have a head, just that she has shed her baby looks and is heading into toddler-dom. She is itching to walk- does anyone else remember reading "Sinbad the Sailor" as a kid, the part where Sinbad gives a ride on his shoulders to an old man, but the man hangs on tight and he has to carry the guy around for days or something? Our version of that is when Muriel convinces you to help her walk by letting her hold your fingers and clomp around the house. Seems like a nice thing to do at first, but she will never, ever, let you stop. Try to let go? Try to set her down? Try to pick her up? Good luck. I forget what Sinbad does to get the old guy off, but fortunately for us, Muriel is just going to start walking one of these days, and we will all be released from our bondage.

Muriel loves music- she dances even when I just sing songs to her (especially if the song is "Get Your Freak On"). She likes to pound out sounds on the piano, and drum on things, and shake things. You heard the prediction here first! Muriel will have a musical life! She has, alas, fallen out of love with baby food, which means we have entered the uncertain realm where we can't measure with satisfaction how many containers of carrots or green beans she has consumed in a given week. She is pretty good at trying foods, though. She is learning how to drink milk from a sippy cup, but she is not into it. She knows a handful of baby signs, and has just busted out with "more," which we were hoping would mean she would stop shrieking during meals, but not so far. She likes to imitate any sound anybody makes, including herself, so if someone coughs, she makes a weird coughing sound. Wacky baby. Oh, and she HAAATES lying still on the changing table. It is a wrestling match every single time. She also enjoys looking out the window, scrambling up the stairs when we are not looking, chewing on her own and others' shoes, and laughing at her sister. She is a funny, beautiful, smart, good little person. We are into Muriel!

PS- I am somehow deleting all the birthday photos I laboriously uploaded to this thing, and the files are all out of town on Mr. K's computer, so I will update with more when he returns. How can you live without seeing the globby freehand icing gel birds on Muriel's birthday cake?

And the Award for Most Inscrutable License Plate Frame Slogan Goes to...

"Hoochie Nana and Lovin' It."

Please discuss. And let me know what that is supposed to mean. No, I did not make it up.

Here are the things that have happened since I last posted:

• Went on vacation to Orcas Island. Sea kayaking!
• Finally managed to organize a department lunch. Attendance, just over 50%.
• 4th of July, Muriel's birthday party, including both sets of grandparents.
• Muriel's actual birthday.
• Muriel's baptism, again, both sets of grandparents.
• Parents-in-law returning to Malaysia (actually that happens in a few hours).
• Both kids starting "school" full time (again, this happens in the future, though not the distant one).

So, clearly, there are pictures and wry observations (or just observations) associated with all these events, but I am a bit of a wreck right now, to be frank. So I put it to you, my loyal reader(s)... which piece of news would you like to see reported, and possibly photo documentaried? All votes count for something. Peace out.

A Thousand Words and Then Some

I have already copped to slackerly posting these past few months, but in peeking through our recent photos, I see that there have been plenty of happenings happening. Why did I not just post one of these pictures each time, and knock off a thousand words apiece? 

Who dressed this merry band of kitchen pirates?

In an attempt to bring his war-making skills off of the computer and out into the real world, Jim bought a force of mercenary ladybugs to take on the forces of Aphid, which had overrun the province of Euphorbia. Cute general, don't you think?

This little bunny-fest took place at the "Sheep-Shearing Event" at a farm park here in town. Thanks to (my) bad planning, we spent most of the day waiting for the shuttle bus. But the adorable kids who bring their pets to be admired and petted by small children were waiting, as predicted, and Naomi made friends with a few long-eared creatures. The rapt look on Naomi's face is because the big girl holding the bunny was chewing gum, and Naomi found that almost as fascinating as the bunny. 

Look, Jim is actually in more than one picture this year! What you can't see in this is his poor tropical parents, wearing their parkas on a walk around our neighborhood.

Seattle Folk Life Festival! This is a really fun three or four day festival that involves lots of street performers, spoken word, music, folk dancing, eating (not folk eating), and drumming. Always drumming. Because this is Seattle, the mini-donut booth sign had the word ORGANIC bigger than the word DONUT. This was Naomi's first all-to-herself ice cream cone. 

Picnic! Muriel is a picnic natural- for some reason it has not occurred to her yet that she could just crawl away. She sits sweetly on the blanket and waits for me to shovel food into her mouth. Naomi does pretty well too. Also, the playground at this park is pretty awesome. The girls and I went back to this park a few days later (with three other ladies) for a brunch picnic, so there you go, the playground is awesome.

Another picnic! Actually, we billed this outing as a snack picnic. Probably not the most foolproof plan for developing healthy eating habits, or health at all, to associate any outing we have with eating. Oh well. Speaking of healthy eating habits, Muriel is all about the roughage. Every picture we take of her that's outside, she's munching on something a goat might fancy- grass, leaves, pine cones...

Today I was all set to write about how wretched the weather has been, how it seems it will never ever improve, how summer will never come. But then every picture I have not gotten around to posting before now shows us enjoying what appears to be lovely summer weather... So I guess the deal is that we have seen summer around, and summer looks good, and has been chatting us up, and gazing into our eyes, and we really thought we might be starting up something. But now? Now, in the damp, dark gray, 53 degree days of June? Summer is NOT returning our calls. Summer! Think about what you're doing! We could have been so good together!

Outdoors, I am a goat kid, but indoors, I am a musical prodigy!

In other indoor news, Muriel is determined to walk. She can walk pushing a stool, or holding someone's hand, though she puts one in mind of a showbiz chimpanzee, you know, in a cute way. I love this shot, because it captures another big development in our family- a sharp rise in the level of affection and care Naomi is showing her sister. 

Yea, sisters! 

OK, now I'm off the hook for another month...

Dulce, Dulce

I have a loved one (or two) who smokes. I read a column recently in which another smoker announced to his loved ones that yes, he knows smoking is bad for him, and he's a grown up, and now, would everyone please just drop it. I want to respect that my smokers are grown ups, but I
also want them to live long lives and not have the end of those lives all falling to pieces for years. I remembered, too, a program I saw about addiction, in which smokers all admitted that they could quit, and their attempts to quit were unsuccessful because...they didn't really want to quit. They liked it! Fair enough. My ambivalence about whether to keep relentlessly nagging my smokers provides a long lead-in to what happens next, which is that I try to think of something I am addicted to that I could try to quit, even if...I don't want to quit it.

My something is sugar. I am a reasonably healthy eater, I would say, though short about one vegetable serving and maybe one dairy serving per day. I excel at whole grains! But sugar is my weak spot, in part because it is so easy to add such a lot of it to my day without even realizing it. I have jam on my toast, and in the mid-morning eat a couple of truffles from the magical never-ending can of free truffles I got from my boyfriend, Trader Joe (a whole 'nother story). I have juice (diluted, but still) with my dinner, I have ice cream or some other dessert after the kids have gone to bed (yes, kids, after you go to bed, your parents have cake and watch movies, and it sucks to be you). Here and there, extra chocolate from the pantry, any sweet treat that is being given away free at work, and occasionally vending machine junk. If Starbucks, then pumpkin scone. If Hoffman's Fine Pastries sandwich for lunch, then cookie to go along with it. If Crossroads Cafe for breakfast, then pancakes and syrup. And so on.

So, sugar it was, for testing the willpower. Plan was, I would go two weeks without added sugar. I could have cereal, as long as it is not an explicitly sugary type (Mini Spooners, which is what they call the generic Frosted Mini Wheats around these parts, out, Cheerios, in). I can have milk, which has a lot of sugar grams, but just because it does, not because it's added. Fruit is OK, fruit juice is not. Jam, beloved jam, is out. Obviously, cakes, pumpkin scones, cookies, milkshakes, chocolate milk, ice cream, soda- all out. My two weeks started a week ago yesterday (Sunday). The first test was the kettle corn we brought back from the "Sheep Shearing Event" at the local farm park. I prevailed. I have had no kettle corn, no truffles, no vending machine food, no sweet extras of any kind. Woo hoo!

On Friday night, Jim got home from his brief but valuable work trip back to MN (shout out to the Cities, woot!), and his mom decided to mom him up with a couple of delicious childhood dishes that he particularly likes. One of them was sticky rice, which she sort of taught me how to make. I will be trying it on my own, with her supervision, and when she has sticky rice certified me, I shall make it upon request for visitors. It is good stuff. The other dish she made is called I-don't-know-what in Cantonese, and it means, the red bean stuff. I know I have discussed with some of you the perplexing category of Chinese food known as "dessert," which often turns out to contain things like beans, or tofu. I don't mean vanilla beans. The red bean stuff is a dessert, and is made out of red beans and dried citrus peel and big rocks of sugar. Jim loves the stuff. I don't so much love the stuff. But on Friday night, his mom served up the dinner she had made, the sticky rice (mmm), a vegetable I added because my kid hadn't had any vegetables in a couple of days, and for each person, a bowl of red bean stuff.

So, yeah, on only my fifth day into the no-sugar experiment, I totally blew it eating a bowl of Chinese "dessert" that I don't even like. I ate it to be polite, but also because it did not cognitively compute that what I was unenthusiastically chewing and slurping through was a sweet dish, until it was three quarters of the way gone. Augh! I'm not using the red bean debacle to get out of the rest of the experiment. It's been good to eat less sugar, and even when this week is up, I'm going to be a little more judicious. The jam is totally coming back, though.

Other addictions I should try to give up for two weeks:
Coffee (noooooo)
Checking my email incessantly
Freecell (Freecell Anon?)

PS. Today is not only Cinco de Mayo, but also Muriel's ten month birthday! And we are in double celebration mode because that little girl had a terrible fever for four days and was right on the verge of going back to the doctor for some yucky invasive tests, and instead she has decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo by getting over her fever and back to the business of cutin' it up all over the place. Woo hoo, Muriel!

PPS. The Crop Walk went well- we had beautiful sunny weather, and Naomi and I went the whole four miles. I question the choice of venues, though, since very few things make me covet my neighbor's house (or condo) like walking along the Kirkland waterfront. Swank! I reached my fundraising goal of $200, with help from myself, my parents, my husband, my friend, and one loyal blog reader. You know who you are, rock star.

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).