I multi-task with the best of them. Cook dinner, hold the baby, talk on the phone and tie a shoe? No problem. Nurse the baby, read aloud and knit? Okay.

Sometimes I wonder though if I am losing my ability to focus on a single thing, to really live totally in the moment. I often think ahead to the next thing, and I lose sight of what it is I am currently doing. After all these years of doing multiple things at once, I have difficulty doing only one thing at a time. When the children read to me, I find it hard to sit and do nothing other than listen to them. My hands start twitching for knitting needles or my legs want to get up and move around while listening.

Lately, I have been trying to not do as much multi-tasking, to see if I can get back the feeling of losing myself in a singe task. I am refocusing on only chopping the onions, nursing the baby or listening to the child.

I am not sure if I will be successful (is is even possible to nurse a baby to sleep without reading or knitting and stay awake myself?), but it is quite different.

To contrast my last post, I love the day after Christmas. It is the harbinger of a new season for me. As the detritus of the holiday litters the home, it is time to start cleaning. Away go the wrappings and excessive packaging. Why must toys be wrapped in so much plastic and cardboard? With them, the old papers, catalogs and unneeded magazines from the living room are swept away. As the new socks and shirts go into the drawers, the ripped and stained ones make their way to the rag bin. The new toys find homes in the children's rooms, and the unused and broken toys are gathered to be discarded or given away.

Soon the tree will come down. As happy as I am to see it go up every year, I am just as happy when it comes down. The room expands as the huge tree leaves. It feels fresh and new again, an open space waiting for parties and projects. Light pours in as the blocked window is revealed again, making the room somehow more stark. The emptiness and the potential are the perfect compliment to the winter season.

I do love the days after the holiday. Once the house is put to rights again for the year, I can focus on the projects in my life that need my attention again.

I do not like Christmas. Does that make me a Grinch?

I love the natural beauty of this time of year. The weather is crisp, but not usually so cold that I don't want to venture outside at all. The first snowfalls are beautiful, blanketing the world in a fluffy white quilt. The time of slush and ice crystals is yet to come. The season of hibernation looms in front of me, and I love the times of seasonal transition. The indoor and internal possibilities for the winter are endless. What projects will I work on this year?

I enjoy our religious celebration. The magical candlelit night of Yule is special. The children look forward to our Yule dinner all year, and I enjoy telling the winter fairy story by the light of the tree. The wish bread tradition is special, and our morning breakfast tradition of wish bread, orange juice and singing is great. I like giving the children a present or two from Luis and myself.

Christmas is not something I yearn for, though. It is overblown. There does not need to be six or eight weeks of anticipation for any yearly event in my opinion. I could be more tolerant if it were less in your face and more personal, but blow up yard Santas and houses dripping with lights seems to be more about keeping up with the neighbors than a personal celebration of joy. I tire of shop clerks threatening my kids with Santa ("you'd better be good because Santa is watching!").

I do not like the materialism of the day. Some of our family members are great with presents, giving needed gifts like clothes; special, quality toys that the children really desire; services like art classes; or educational things we might not otherwise get. These are great gifts, but still the obligation bothers me. I prefer to give presents because I saw something and thought of a friend or family member, not because the calendar says that I should give a gift. There are other family members, though, that I swear pick out anything at the variety store, resulting in occasionally bizarre gifts, like real microscopes given to five year olds. Other try to live vicariously through our family by showering our children with a literal mountain of toys, many of which will be played with for about two months before being forgotten or broken. It is over the top, too much to an absurd degree. It leaves us feeling like we should get very little for our children because too much is coming, but at the same time it feels like we should go overboard too because aren't we as the parent's supposed to be the primary gift givers?

Then there are the myriad traditions that seemingly cannot be broken. There would be a family riot should be not attend Noche Buena dinner, and I feel guilty every year that we do not attend a holiday gathering at a relative's home. The gatherings are fun, but I feel pulled in too many directions. I love seeing our families, but hate cramming six different events into four day's time.

The magic of the time of year is real, and I love seeing the children's face light up after Santa comes, dropping off a few gifts. I wish I could embrace the joy without the obligation and baggage, finding the fun that other people seems to find in the season.

Life is too short for waxy chocolate, spongy bread or supermarket cheese.

I have been the cliche alternative hippie at one stage of my life, the woman who boycotts bras and makeup, who does not even own a hairdryer and who goes about her day in sloppy jeans and tshirts. I am not sure if I was doing it because it felt right at the time or if it was because that was what all the good alternative people did.

After a couple of years of this, I realized that I like to wear lipstick. I like eyeliner, eyeshadow and other makeup. I enjoy styling my hair, and Heidi braids are not for me. I like my clothes to be more refined that sweatshirts and trainers. Bras are comfortable and I like having things supported.

I like soft pink.

I will not judge women who are comfortable in their Birks, men's sweaters and rugged cords with clean faces and hair pulled back in ponytails or braids. Please do not look at me in my tailored pants, ribbed fitted turtleneck, three inch heels and lipstick and assume that you know about my life and my beliefs. I am comfortable in my skin, having found the style that feels right for me. It has nothing to do with my ecological, social, political or religious beliefs.

If people want to be accepted with their dreadlocks, pierced noses and chunky Peruvian handknit sweaters, they should also accept that some people prefer other styles. It does not mean that we are not be kindred spirits inside.

A few weeks ago, the children's art teacher, Jennifer, sent me a link to a website called Story People. The site has sayings that are submitted by different people, and she said that the one that day reminded her of me.

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good.

I felt honored when Jennifer took the time to send that link. It isn't often that I feel that people really know and understand me, and for some reason, this made me feel that Jennifer does.

Conversations with Vincent...

A couple of days ago, while driving to the store with just Vincent, his voice pipes up from the back seat with a question.

"So, can I have a real chainsaw?"

I blame my sister for the fact that my five year old is asking about real chainsaws. He emailed her his wish list, which included a chainsaw after he saw them at Toys R Us (his expression in the toy tool aisle was priceless; it was like he had found the promised land). My sister emailed back asking if he wanted a real chainsaw or a pretend one. Sarcasm is lost on preschoolers. Apparently he had been mulling it over and was wondering if real was an option.

Later that same day, my brother asked Vincent for his wish list. Vincent casually replied "I email you." I think it is safe to say that he is comfortable with technology.

I stumbled across this today for the first time in a few years. The message is an important one. Even as a non-spanking parent, the urge to lash out sometimes bubbles up within me when the children get stuck in big emotions and are completely out of control. It is good to remember these words.

When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking--the first of his life. And she told him that he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, "Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock that you can throw at me."

All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. And the mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because violence begins in the nursery--one can raise children into violence.

~ Astrid Lindgren (author of Pippi Longstocking and other wonderful books)

I have been playing around with light while taking pictures again. The last set I took did not turn out as I had hoped, but this set was quite interesting. I especially like this one:



It fascinated me the way the sunlight streaked across his face, illuminating his eyelashes. I also like the grain in the wood floor. Please forgive the wonky spot on the door frame. I am in the process of removing the edge of the bedspread with photoshop, and I am not quite done yet.

I take photos in color, but frequently end up using photoshop to change them to black and white or sepia tones. Something about these color variations draw me in much more than full color photos do. Even as I set up the shots and take the photographs, I find myself thinking of how it will look with the color removed. I cannot put my finger on exactly what draws me to these color variations. There is something about the way it changes the focus of the photograph that I like. Perhaps it is the way that it seems to soften the background and make the people in the photograph more vibrant. I am not finding the words to describe the emotional difference tonight. Suffice it to say that they touch my artistic soul very differently.

How do I know that winter is on its way? I could go by the calendar date or temperature. Day length is a clue, as are the seasonal foods. But none of these truly tells me that winter is almost here.

Seeing Luis pull on his bright red Union suit for the first time since the weather started warming up last spring tells me definitively that winter is just around the corner. Yes, my husband is a goofball who actually owns and sleeps in a Union suit. It cracks me up watching him button it up or seeing him lounging around the house in it.

I spent the morning chopping, stirring, kneading and baking. The afternoon was spent dusting and straightening with a lot more stirring here and there. It was all in preparation for our first Soup Night of the winter.

Soup Night is a fun tradition in our house. I snagged the idea from a former acquaintance, and we have expanded it to create our own event. We try to do it once a month in the fall, winter and early spring months. I make a two or three large pots of soup and oodles of bread. We invite a variety of friends and acquaintances to join us anytime during the evening. It is like a resurrection of the old fashioned "at home" hours. We let people know that we are at home and our house is open to anyone for as long or as little as they want to stay. Most people bring a dish to share; there is always plenty to eat. It is an evening of companionship during the winter hibernation.

My house smelled of bread, pledge and soup. Conversation hummed, children shrieked, jazz played in the background and poker chips slid across the dining room table. In addition to a traditional beef stew, I experimented with two new soups (Roasted Potato Bisque with Leeks and Sage [to which I added sauteed fennel] and Roasted Tomato and Basil Cream Soup) which both so good that they will have a spot in my permanent recipe book.

I really enjoy entertaining. Opening my house up and helping others feel at comfortable and connected makes me feel good inside. I am already looking forward to the next Soup Night.

One of the things I enjoyed about owning a dog was walking him late at night when it was dark. I fully admit to being nosy, and I would glance into people's windows at night as we walked by. Who knew so many living rooms in my area were painted red? It is fun to glimpse vignettes of people's lives.

Last night, I had to take both girls down to the Square for evening activities (girl scouts and theater rehearsal). I had left both boys home with Luis. As I walked across the road and up our sidewalk, I was looking in our front windows. Vincent danced through the sitting room, arms out as he flew a little toy airplane. Luis chased behind, Simon snuggled in his arms. Seeing them framed by lace curtains in the lit windows felt like a movie scene, the kind where the protagonist is returning from a journey or life-altering experience and pauses, heart swelling with emotion, to watch her family before entering to join them.

Naturally, I had to pause for a minute to watch them before walking through the door.

Yeah the view I love the most
Is my front porch looking in

I see what beautiful is about
When I'm looking in
Not when I'm looking out
~ Lonestar "My Front Porch Looking In"

For a community of ten thousand people, my city sometimes is such a small town. This was reinforced the other day.

We have a real downtown square, filled with stores, restaurants and service businesses. Our real estate office sits on one corner of the Square. The other day, I was the only person in the office, so I was sitting up front by two walls of windows. I happened to be looking outside when I witnessed a traffic accident. Traffic only moves one way around the Square, and the speed limit is only fifteen miles per hour. Even with these precautions, accidents happen too often on the Square.

A blue truck was backing out of a parking spot when a sedan bounced off its tailgate. Given the fact that the accident happened at less than fifteen miles per hour, neither vehicle even appeared damaged.

About forty-five seconds after the accident happened, a police car pulled up. Personally, I think it was just coincidence; the police station is only three blocks away, and I suspect the officer was just heading back to the station when he happened by. After laughing about the idea that the city was so Mayberry-esque the the police respond to accidents within a minute of impact, I decided to call Luis to share the giggle with him.

At this point, less than three minutes had elapsed since the incredibly minor accident occurred. The police officer never turned on his lights or sirens. As I told Luis about the accident, his response was first to laugh and then tell me that this explained why people were standing on the corner by our house (we live two blocks from the office) talking and pointing at the Square.

Good gravy.

Andy, Aunt Bee is having problems with Opie snitching cookies again, and Barney is raising a ruckus over by the general store by ticketing people driving 18 in a 15 mph zone.

Welcome to Mayber...er...Monroe.

My sister is an occupational therapist. Last year, she decided to do the coursework and take the exam necessary to become a certified hand therapist. It is a difficult certification to earn. Therapists have to have a certain number of years experience and a minimum number of hours working with hands. The test is only given once a year. My sister has been studying for this exam for a year now. She takes the exam tomorrow.

Squirt, I want you to know that no matter how tomorrow goes, you are fabulous. Taking the steps required to even take the exam is a huge deal. After quizzing you, I believe that you are going to do great, but whatever the result tomorrow, you should be so proud of yourself. I am.

You must be the change you wish to see in the world. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

That statement is becoming commonplace, turning into a cliché, which is unfortunate because it is quite significant. It is bordering on becoming a platitude in alternative circles. I have heard it uttered many times, yet rarely focused on the deeper meaning.

A conversation I had with friends earlier this week has been simmering on the back burner of my mind and has forced me to take a closer look at Ghandi's words. Two friends of mine attended a seminar sponsored by the state extension office about encouraging people to buy local. I had wanted to attend it as well, but considering I was hosting a potluck and had a house full of people, I thought it might be bad form. When my friends got back (their children and husbands were at the potluck), we were discussing the forum.

The "buy local" movement falls into catch-22 situations all too often. The producers of local goods struggle to find the consumers who want to purchase these goods. The consumers who would like to purchase local goods do not know how to connect with the producers. Venues like farmers markets attempt to bring the two together. Fledgling markets fail too often. Why? In my opinion, it is because people fail to be the change they wish to see in the world. The producer waits sign up for the market until s/he can see how many others are participating. The result is a market with only a few pioneers brave enough to forge the way. Consumers look at the market and see only six or eight booths. They decide not to bother stopping because they assume they cannot obtain the goods they desire.

This movement can only succeed when both the producer of the local goods and the consumer of the local goods become the change they wish to see in the world. They must participate in the purchasing cycle during the infancy of local markets otherwise the local markets will not survive to become large, thriving venues.

This is why I make it a point to shop my local markets. I might go looking for beets and spinach, but walk home with leeks and peppers. It is okay. I talk with each vendor and request the beets and spinach. If they do not have any, perhaps they have some at home and will bring them next week or plant them next year because they know there is a demand. I buy the peppers and leeks because it is important to support the vendors today so that they will be back next week, next month, next year. I can put turn the leeks into soup and chop the peppers, putting both into the freezer for the dead of winter when I know they will taste so good. Others may see me shopping and decide to stop, thinking that perhaps shopping the small market is worth their while too. More money gets spent, the vendors bring more goods and encourage other producers to participate, the market grows and we miraculously have thriving "buy local" initiative.

I am not egotistical enough to think that I can singlehandedly create a successful local market, but I strongly believe that I must do my part. I must become the change I wish to see in the world. If I do not do my part, I lose the right to complain about the lack of local goods, the slim pickings at the local markets.

This is why I shop local. I might settle for something that was not what I intended to purchase, but while shopping I talk with the shopkeepers and producers of local goods, sowing seeds for the future.

Living locally is one of the changes I wish to see in the world. I will continue to do my part to make it possible. It matters.

One of my favorite holiday songs from elementary school had a refrain that I still sing every fall.

H - A - Double L - O - W - Double E - N spells Halloween

So today was the night of magic, a co-opted holiday where children and adults lose themselves in a little bit of fun. Luis took the children out to trick-or-treat with our friends and their son while Simon and I handed out candy. I was a little sad that we only had four teens trick-or-treating this year. Some people harp on older children coming out to trick-or-treat, especially when they don't do much for a costume. I prefer this viewpoint. It makes me happy to see older children embracing the magical spirit of childhood and coming out for trick-or-treat. I have large handfuls of treats for all children who visit our front porch, regardless of age or costumes.

We cut our own children's trick-or-treat time a little short this year due to the fact that they have been up too late too many nights in the last week. Even with their coming in about twenty minutes early, they still had quite a bounty of treats. Doritos seemed to be a popular thing to pass out this year, as well as KitKats and Gummy items. Bubble gum seems to be falling from favor, but prepackaged popcorn balls growing in popularity. The children had more than enough treats to split up between our home, our friends' home and the home of a third friend whose children were unable to trick-or-treat due to travel plans, with each household getting more than enough. Sharing is a good thing.

Happy Halloween and Happy Samhain to all!

Simon and I have gotten into the habit of taking a brisk walk every morning. Well, I have gotten into the habit. Since Simon is is not mobile and is in the habit of hanging out wherever he is placed, he rides along in the mei tai, looks at the world for 10 minutes and then falls fast asleep. But, to quote Annie, I digress.

While Simon and I were on our morning walk/nap today, I really wished that I would have had my camera with me. There were two images, completely different from one another, that I had a strong urge to photograph.

There was an elderly man in the yard of one of the houses I walked by. He was bent over low and shuffling along with tiny steps. I was momentarily concerned and getting ready to offer assistance when I noticed the white and brown spotted rabbit about 4 feet away from him. It was a fleeting shot, one I never would have captured anyways unless I had been walking around with my camera at the ready, but I would have loved to have tried to capture the moment.

The second image is one I wanted to photograph due to its sheer absurdity. I was walking by a house with a couple of cow statues in the yard. I am not sure if this is common in the rest of the United States or if it only a Wisconsin thing, but yes, stores sell small statues of cows to put in the yard as decorations. This home had a little family of mama cow and the smaller calf. Walking by, I noticed that mama cow had been decorated for Halloween. She was wearing a pig mask. It tickled my funny bone.

The sock drawer will tell you much about someone's life. That was my realization this week.

Think about it. Look at your socks. What do they say about you and how you live your life?

When I was in high school and college, I lived in athletic shoes and hiking boots. I wore white padded athletic socks almost exclusively. I had about two pair of non-white socks, which were worn a couple of times a year and lasted about ten years without wearing out. The white athletic sock stage persisted through my early mom years. I was in a point of my life where functional was more important than anything else. My clothes were simple, mix and match, easy care. A few years ago, I got sick of feeling sloppy all of the time. I started wearing more tailored clothing, a little dressier than before. My sock drawer become more varied. Multi-colored handknit socks rubbed heels with finer black and navy socks. Chunky wool hiking socks joined the drawer too. I recently noticed that my white athletic socks are occupying a record low portion of the drawer and only get pulled out if I am actually exercising.

Luis's sock drawer underwent a transformation too. For years, his drawer had white tube socks and heavy thermal socks with a few pair of dress socks languishing in the bottom. In recent months, his dress sock collection has grown by leaps and bounds, and those tube socks are hiding under the layer of argyles and stripes. The thermal socks? They are not even in the drawer any more. The changes in his sock drawer speak volumes about the changes in his life this year.

What is in your sock drawer?

Back in 2001, my younger sister graduated college, got her first job and moved to Monroe. At that time, we had never even visited here before. Luis helped her move down here, and he came home that night with one of those free Homes magazines from a grocery store. We couldn't believe the house prices. Compared to where we were living, 15 minutes outside of Madison, the houses were so cheap. We looked at each other and realized that we probably could afford a home down by my sister.

We started looking at homes in the area. On one level, it felt bizarre to look for a home somewhere we had never visited, somewhere that we knew only two people (my sister and her now husband) in a city of ten thousand. Yet we knew we wanted a real house, and it seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. We scoured the internet, spent a couple of weekends down here and looked at a number of houses. We found a huge brick home with five bedrooms and more space than we could imagine at a price that boggled our mind. In Madison, nine hundred square foot starter homes with postage stamp yards cost that much. We jumped in with both feet and never looked back.

About four weeks later, we closed on our house. The day after we closed, we formally moved. Due to timing, Luis and the family members helping us move left our apartment about an hour before the girls and I were able to. I made the seventy five minute drive knowing that people were already in my home, moving my furniture into it. It was surreal. I got closer and closer, and a huge bubble of excitement well up inside of me as I started up the final hill before the city, only minutes from my new home, the home I have spent almost seven years in now and have come to love so much.

Every single time I make the drive back home from Madison with just me and the kids in the car, I still get that same bubble of excitement inside knowing that I am almost home. We may have jumped into our decision to live here, but that thrill of coming home lets me know we made the perfect choice.

I recently decided to make another sourdough starter and try my hand at sourdough breads again. Last week, I mixed up a batch of starter. It foamed away nicely, soured sweetly and has been stored in my fridge waiting for a day like today when I felt like making bread.

So, being in the mood for a good bread to go with tonight's spinach manicotti dinner, I pulled out the starter this morning. I poured off two cups of starter to warm up for the bread and fed the remaining starter. Three hours later when the starter was warm, I started making my bread. Only problem was that Simon woke up from his nap just when I was ready to start the bread, so I was slightly distracted with him. Okay, I was extremely distracted. I threw together the water, yeast, bread, sugar and starter when I noticed how liquidy the dough was. Odd.

I checked the recipe and realized that I was supposed to use a quarter cup of water, not the two cups of water I had added. Oops. As I got ready to throw out the liquidly mess, it occurred to me that I had put in the correct proportions of starter, water, flour and sugar to have actually created more starter. Now the dilemma. Do I throw it out or do I let it grow and have about three time more sourdough starter on hand than I actually need?

I decided to let it grow. I dumped the mess into a ten cup bowl. An hour later, I walked through the kitchen to discover it all over the counter. I scraped it into a large tupperware bowl. It kept growing. The foaming mass reached the top, bubbling up over the rim, but thankfully the surface tension kept it all in. I now have a boatload of sourdough starter on hand! Anyone want some?

There was exactly enough starter leftover from my established batch to create two loaves of sourdough bread, so we were able to have it with dinner after all. I paired a scrumptious piece with (local, organic) huckleberry jam for a tasty snack tonight. It is a good thing we like sourdough because I will be making a number of loaves in the next couple of days!

On a completely unrelated note, here is what you might find if you were to leave Vincent outside to with a shop vac and his imagination.

There is actually a science to car washing. Who knew?

Earlier this year, we acquired a car wash business. This has been Luis's thing, so I have been on the edges, doing only little bits while he took care of it. Being the word addict that I am, I started picking up his car wash magazines (again, who knew there were multiple magazines dedicated to this?) when I had nothing better to read. I have learned things that really surprised me.

Did you know that using a commercial car wash can be more environmentally conscious than doing it yourself with a hose? If you wash a vehicle on pavement, the water and chemicals run off into the storm sewer system. The storm sewer systems for most towns are discharged into lakes or streams. If you are washing your vehicles at home, please do so over grass or gravel where the earth can filter that water before returning it to the groundwater system. Commercial car washes discharge into the sanitary sewer system from which the water travels to treatment plans. There are also commercial car washes that use water reclaim systems, cleaning and reusing their water so that they never discharge to sewer systems at all. Nationally, over fifty percent of full service conveyor car washes use reclaim systems, but less than ten percent of self-service bays do.

Did you know that touch-free car wash systems actually use more water and harsher chemicals than systems that have foam pads that touch your vehicle? I had never stopped to think about this one before, but learning it gave me a "duh" moment. Full service conveyor systems use about 15-40 gallons of water per car. They use a light water and chemical solution combined with friction to clean your vehicle. Touchless systems can use 24-85 gallons per car and rely upon chemicals and increased water spray to break the surface tensions of the dirt and debris on your vehicle. Water is a valuable resource, one that we should conserve whenever possible. Home washing can use 30-140 gallons in a 10 minute wash, depending upon if the hose has an automatic shut-off nozzle or not. For reference, top loading washers can use 35 gallons of water per cycle and an average shower uses 35-40 gallons.

I also learned that the ph balance of the chemicals in a well planned car wash will balance out, leaving the water neutral. It never even occurred to me before to wonder about the effects of the washing chemicals upon the waste water and ground systems.

The good chemical companies also reuse packaging. Ours takes their barrels back after they are emptied and refills them instead of simply using new ones each time.

Who knew washing your vehicle could still be an ecologically sound choice? Go Green Team!

I have noticed that my shoes completely change my outlook and attitude towards the world. Does this make me superficial? Probably, but I am okay with that.

If I wear trainers or flipflops, I am more apt to rush around and be frazzled. I am more deferential, more prone to panic and more likely to be self-deprecating.

Things change when I slip into my shoes with three inch heels. My stride changes, my shoulders go back and my chin goes up a little. Suddenly, it is not a big deal if I am two or six minutes late. Somehow I am more at ease and less deferential in the way I interact with the world. I smile more and speak with greater confidence.

Is it any wonder that I wear heeled sandals or loafers most every day? Heeled shoes and lipstick are my armor, protecting my doubt-filled, squishy-marshmallow-pushover-center from the world.

I have been told more than once that I live in my own little world. I try very hard to see the positive in the world around me and view other people's actions with positive intent. I know that this seems Pollyannaish to some people, even naive, but it is a conscious choice that I have made about the way I live my life.

I firmly believe that as we live our lives, we will find what we are looking for. If I am looking for positive things, I will tend to find them. I have some friends who dislike the community I live in. I could easily feel the same way as they do, but instead of focusing on the insular, narrow minded tendencies of some people in the community, I focus on the positive aspects of this city. Yes, our farmers market may have only 8 booths some weeks, but I can easily spend thirty to sixty enjoyable minutes there chatting with people and getting delicious food. Yes, this is an overtly Christian community, but for every person who will judge me for my religion, there is another who does not care one whit about it and will judge me on my personality. No, perhaps I can't get Indian food, but the Chinese and Mexican restaurants are excellent and if I really want another ethnicity, I can get it within a hour drive. Yes, some people won't fully accept me because I wasn't born here, but I have made great friends and good acquaintances. I enjoy life here.

Maybe I am naive, but my life is good. So, if I am living in my own little world, I say it is a happy place and please come join me here.

Things that amaze me:

~ The Full Moon Looking up at a gleaming full moon in a cloudless sky never fails to take my breathe away. I can feel an energy radiating from it that soaks into my soul. Every month, I find time to stand outside late on a full moon night to enjoy the quiet and the energy of the moon.

~ My Mother She is so generous and has a knack for giving gifts that are more than just material goods. She gifts me with things I never knew how much I wanted, like 600 count sateen sheets and the perfect shredder for Parmesan. She gives my children magazine subscriptions and two gifts in one when she takes them shopping for shoes (an adored task). Yesterday she informed me that she wants to give the children the Rosetta Stone for the winter holidays. Her thoughtfulness blows me away.

~ My Home I love every inch of this old home. I look around at the hundred year old wood work, flowing rooms and shady front porch, and I cannot believe that I own this wonderful, historic home.

~ Friends I have been blessed with some incredible people in my life. I do not see myself as that interesting, so it amazes me that other people think I am.

~ Knitting Two sticks and a piece of yarn. Put them into the hands of a knitter and who knows what will result. The product is beautiful, and the process is meditation for me. Follow a simple pattern, let the fingers to their thing and let the mind wander as it will.

~ Baby Radar Every night, no matter how sound asleep Simon is or how long he has been sleeping, he wakes within ten minutes of my slipping into bed. It doesn't matter how close I am to him, how careful I am to not jostle the bed or how quiet am I. Without fail, ten minutes and he is wakes up just enough to nurse. In the morning, the reverse happens. No matter how careful and quiet I am, within ten minutes of my leaving the bed, he is awake and ready for the day. All four of the children have had this Baby Radar. I find it fascinating that Mother Nature programmed babies this way.

Vincent is 5 now, and it is becoming even more clear that he is a Mini-Me of Luis. Give him a real job to do, and he is happy. One day, he tried to pay me for letting him hang up laundry. I hadn't realized he was doing that; I had been hanging it until I went inside to get a fussy, woken-up-from-his-nap Simon. Ten minutes later, Vincent swaggered in, handed me two quarters, informed me that the laundry was all up and thanked me for letting him hang it.

So, life is interesting with him around.

Today I was carrying water softener salt from the van into the house and the basement. I carried the first bag down, dumped it into the big storage thingamabobee and went back outside. There was Vincent walking down the driveway with the other bag of a salt on a dolly. The bags weigh fifty pounds. Fifty. Vincent weighs forty pounds, for reference. In the amount of time it took me to walk to the basement and dump the first bag of salt, he had gotten out the handcart, taken it to the back of the van, maneuvered the bag onto the cart and rolled it up the driveway.

I let him take it the rest of the way to the back door, including up the little hill. He did it.

Help me when this boy hits puberty. I just know the there will be an Unfortunate Incident involving a Sawzall at some point in his teenage years.

Solar Tour of Homes day is coming up next Saturday, October 6. Check to see if there is something going on near you at the ASES website. You might meet some interesting people in your area, so support the families and businesses that open their doors during this day by stopping in during their open times. This is a big commitment for some of the participants, so make it worth their while. You might learn something new, may meet a new kindred spirit or may simply enjoy an afternoon spent doing something completely different. If you are in Wisconsin, stop out at our friends' farm and bed and breakfast!

Also coming up is the Smithsonian Museum Day. Download and print out the card for free admission to any Smithsonian Affiliate Museum on Saturday, September 29.

Support events like both of these so that they will continue to be offered.

We are reentering the modern era in our household. A dishwasher arrives in the morning. Yes folks, we are getting a dishwasher for the first time in almost seven years. My children are in awe of the idea that they will have one of those fascinating machines like grandma and Aunt Amy have, one of those things that cleans the dishes all by itself. They have not yet realized that this fabulous machine means that doing the dishes will no longer be my job. No, I will be the mama who tells them to put their own lunch plates and breakfast glasses into the dishwasher all by themselves. I wonder how long it will take before that goes from excellent fun to an "awww, Mama" chore?

Luis has been wanting a dishwasher forever, but I have resisted. I didn't want to give up the cupboard space, and besides, hand-washing dishes only used about 5-7 gallons of water. Yes, I have measured. Then someone at yaaps informed me that newer dishwashers no longer use the 10+ gallons of the old dishwashers. A little research later and I could no longer claim my handwashing was using less water on a consistent basis. There went half of my argument against getting the machine.

My sister came up with the brilliant idea of where to place the silverware drawer, I found places to stash the appliances that were stored in the cupboard, and I planned a pantry organizer in the kitchen closet to supplement my storage space. I may actually come out of this with more storage space in my kitchen if Luis is ever home long enough to do the closet for me. I keep threatening to order a kit, and then my sister and I will tackle it with a drill driver, level and pitcher of sangria. Oh wait, she can't have the sangria because she is pregnant (somehow I have never blogged about this, shame on me), so I will drink it. Works for me.

I found the best price at the locally owned independent store. They were actually $60 less then the big box city store when I factored in delivery charges. So our shiny new Energy Star dishwasher will arrive in the morning, and I can have a clean conscience knowing I am using less water and supported a local business.

I still draw the line at getting a microwave again though.

She got a part! Actually, two!

Abigail will be starring in our community theater production of A Christmas Carol as a Street Urchin and as Ignorance. Both are non-speaking roles, but she is still thrilled to bits.

Happiness is:

~ blue-turning-brown eyes smiling up at me while a little trickle of milk slips out of a baby's mouth.
~ coming home to a husband who is still calm after half an hour home alone with all four children.
~ a seven year old, who just two weeks ago acted like school work was a fate worse than death, getting all of hers done by 11 am today.
~ good shoes.
~ good chocolate.
~ trays filled with dried basil and oregano from my garden and pots, ready to put away for winter.
~ watching my five year old use chopsticks correctly while we share a bowl of fried rice (my lunch and his snack)
~ getting ready to go to Ohio in less than 3 weeks (more on why Ohio is so wonderful in another post).
~ dozing away a Sunday afternoon with my husband, asleep just barely enough to call it dozing, while listening to the older kids play outside.
~ autumn.
~ reading the latest Mother Earth News and discovering that the last page poetry quote was the same on I used back in August to describe the season.
~ comments on my blog.
~ the aforementioned seven year old finally starting to do some creative spelling and composing notes on her own
~ the aforementioned five year old starting to write his name and copy letters and numbers.
~ two hours alone at the salon getting a body treatment, massage, shampoo and style

I have the potential to become a theater mom. Abigail had an audition this week for the role of Tiny Tim in our community theater production of A Christmas Carol. Over the summer, she expressed an interest in theater after finishing a summer school theater class where the kids rehearsed and performed a musical. Since she is under her quota of activities at the moment, I encouraged her to try for this. She obtained a copy of the script on her own, practiced hard and even asked friends of our who own a medical supply company if they would lend her a crutch to practice with. I helped her only after she spent time memorizing her lines, giving her some tips on projecting and falling down/getting back up theatrically. I wish I had taken a picture of her on the way to the audition. We put her hair up, and she wore my grandfather's old tweed driving cap in order to look more the part of Tiny Tim. She said afterwards that she was scared while waiting to audition, but that the actual process was interesting and fun.

I would love to encourage and enable my children to pursue all their interests, join activities they would like and try a little bit of everything. I know my limits, though, and we allow each child only two activities other than homeschool art. Both girls do scouting, so that leaves only one blank spot. They dabble in different things to fill this blank, and theater is Abigail's current dabble. I hope she gets a part of some sort. She'd be happy with anything as she just wants to participate. The practice and performance schedule is a big commitment, but the community theater group just purchased a new building only a block away from our home. Knowing she could walk on her own or we could get her there in a 2 minute walk made all the difference in our consent to this commitment.

Keep your fingers crossed! We should know in the next week or so.

My weekend was all about food. After a mind-bogglingly busy week that included too much driving, too much work and too many struggles over school work, Friday afternoon arrived, and I was fried. Enough already, no more meals on the run and lunches eaten in quick gulps standing by the counter holding the baby. The boys and I set off on a walk to the market (Brennan's cannot be referred to as a grocery; it is a market plain and simple). After forty minutes spent talking with Vincent, laughing as he jumped trying to reach leaves on maple trees, singing to Simon and discussing the merits of various samples at the market with Vincent, we were back home with our blue cheese, garlic and red potatoes. Dinner was a simple and delicious combination of parmesan-crusted potatoes, garlic sauteed fish and brown-sugar baked acorn squash.

I could not tell you what I ate for lunch on Friday, but I could describe in detail the tastes and smells of that dinner and the meals we ate over the weekend. It is good to be mindful of your food. The people in the Slow Food movement know what they are talking about.

Friday night saw me mixing up Cornmeal Mush for Saturday's breakfast. The Cinnamon Fried Cornmeal Mush was a hit with the kids, and I hoarded the last two slices for my own breakfast this morning.

After breakfast, we headed to the Farmer's Market for potatoes and cabbage for an Irish-themed potluck Saturday night. Amazingly, there were none to be found. We settled instead for onions, green peppers, two pots of jam, a bag of honey candy, two painted cheeks and a conversation with an older gentleman about Cornmeal Mush.

Since I had neither potatoes nor cabbage, Colcannon and Boxty were no longer possible for potluck, I made a couple loaves of my hearty Honey Oat bread, made nutty with flax seeds, and some deep dish chocolate brownies. Oats are Irish, and chocolate is always welcome!

The food at the potluck was simply incredible. There were many Irish stews, and there was this pumpkin cheese cake roll crusted with hazelnuts that was WOW. After dinner was the concert by The Stone Ring. Normally, the concerts happens in this space outdoors. It is the foundation of their old barn which our hosts turned into a multi-functional space, complete with seating areas, a dance area and a musician area lit by old fashioned candle stage lights. Due to the cold, this concert was in one of their greenhouses instead. The ambiance was not the same, but it was still a night of fabulous people and great music shared in an intimate way.

Sunday saw me cooking the entire day with my sister. We cooked up calzones, ziti, lasagna, stew, taco meat, sloppy joes, cookies and muffins, enjoying good company and conversation while filling our freezers with easy meals.

Today, I am making a huge batch of meatballs using my long-lost internet friend Lorraine's recipe. Some are for the freezer and some for sweet and sour meatballs for dinner.

Good food, big kid cuddles, shoulder rubs from a hubby and baby kisses make for good days.

I read good cookbooks like good novels, slowly going page by page from cover to cover. Actually read them, each recipe. Cookbooks are about possibilities. I find new recipes to try every time I crack them open, even the ones I have been reading yearly for over a decade. Yes, I read all of my cookbooks yearly and enjoy reading new ones too.

After I asked my friend for her ever-adaptable sangria recipe, she lent me the cookbook she found the base recipe in. I received it with the joy of finding a new novel at the library. A cookbook is just as escapist as a juicy chick lit novel. I can pretend that I am someone who regularly cooks with things like chick peas, saffron and cardamom. I can convince myself that the family might enjoy Great American Pumpkin Beer Soup and drool over the idea of Grilled Tuna with Lime.

Then I come back to reality and start pulling out things we might actually eat. In addition to the blackberry sangria, I am thinking the Gingerbread Blackberry Waffles and Cinnamon Fried Cornmeal Mush might be things to try. The Spinach Cannelloni and Crab and Broccoli Quiche will also be making appearances on our table, along with Honey Orange Pancakes. There was even a Honey Orange Butter to go with the pancakes in the multi-page Flavored Butters section. I'm inspired to make a starter for sourdough, having started making bread again after a summer's hiatus.

I can dream of being a excellent and adventurous cook with a family of children who are excited to try anything. We'll see if I make half of the recipes I have marked, but the point is I could make them. As long as I have the recipe, the dream is alive.

And I will stop at the seafood market in the city someday and pick up the tuna steaks to try that Grilled Tuna with Lime recipe.

For The Middle Of Nowhere, Wisconsin, we certainly have some interesting evenings.

Tonight, we joined our dear friends for an evening at their farm. Dinner was an outdoor potluck in the cantina, and we all seemed to have the same ideas because it was noodles and rice all over the board. Delicious, though, as was the pineapple fizz sangria. Over dinner, we shared conversation with our good neighbors, some B&B guests and another fascinating couple that we could talk with all night. Conversation ranged from homeschooling to alternatives to conventional cars, from the complexities of buying local to real life impact in our own backyard of the monopoly-creating buying practices of a certain big box retailer whose name starts with W. Dinner was followed by a piñata for the children, then two cakes made by Lisa, the dessert queen, including my favorite frozen mocha cake.

As darkness fell, it was time for the main event. The B&B guests were a lovely couple from Chicago that do Maorian poi and staff fire dancing as a hobby. They performed for a group of us last year when they stayed at Inn Serendipity, and they graciously offered to do it again this year. It was such a treat last year that we have been anxiously awaiting their return. The grace and concentration shown by the dancers is stunning. It is a passionate, grounded form of dance and self-expression.

So, there an eclectic group of us sat, on chairs in a grassy old farm yard in Wisconsin, as Liz and Devan, the newlywed dancers, captivated us with the rhythm and the music (the noise of the fire whirling is a music unto itself) of fire dancing against a backdrop of an inky black sky and a strawbale greenhouse with slices of red and purple light shining through the windows.

A varied life is good.

I almost received a speeding ticket today. Considering I was driving 35 mph in a 25 zone, it would have been well deserved. Thankfully, the police officer let me off with a warning. His comment irritated me though. He said "School is back in session, so slow down." It was 9:30 in the morning, and all the schools here start by 8:30. I was also over a mile away from the nearest school. There was no possible way that my speed was endangering any school child, even though it was against the law.

Last weekend, I noticed large "Slow Down, school is back in session" signs on the highway, and it's been in the news too. I find this to be a rather silly driving safety campaign. School being in session means that school-aged children are safely ensconced in classrooms for the bulk of the day. Granted people need to be careful in school zones and during the before/after walk home, but for the most part the children are safer than they were all summer long while they were riding bikes, playing outside and walking to the public library.

It seems to me that a more logical public safety campaign would take place in June and be "School is out of session. Drive carefully."

We had a wonderful trip to Chicago this week. We took advantage of our flexible hours as realtors and had a mid-week getaway with the children. We went downtown one day to the Shedd Aquarium, Grant Park, Lincoln Park and the general downtown district. We stayed in Woodstock and took the Metra train downtown on Tuesday morning. We woke the kids up in time to catch an early train, so we were downtown by 9:30. It was worth the effort of having our sleep-until-8-am children up early because the next train from Woodstock would have had us downtown almost two hours later. I must say that the train is the only way to go downtown. It was so nice not to have to deal with traffic or parking, and the cost was less than gas would have been and certainly less than parking. We will certainly do that again.

From the Metra station, we took the free trolley to Shedd Aquarium. Personally, I wanted to go to the Art Institute, but common sense took over and I realized that the kids would enjoy the Shedd much more. We had to start our Shedd visit with the obligatory picture of the family with the giant man and fish fountain.

We lucked out with our timing, and they happened to be feeding the fish in the giant Caribbean Reef, so we were able to immediately listen to the talk about that. The kids were in awe of the giant tank teeming with animals, and Vincent really liked seeing the diver up close. Though the kids were disappointed that the belugas were not available to the public due to a new calf, they still loved the Shedd. The dolphin show awed them, and they were amazed at the variety of sizes and colors of fishes (a word I always thought was grammatically incorrect, but if the aquarium uses it, I suspect I was taught wrong).


After the aquarium, we took a walk through Grant Park past the Field Museum and along the shore. There is a fascinating display of globes there, each detailing a different aspect about the planet or some other educational concept. Plus they are quirky dotting the landscape like they do. On our walk, we were tantalizingly close to the Art Institute, but still I resisted. I wanted to take pictures with the lions, but no one else was game for that. The kids wanted to get to the fountains in Millennium Park so they could splash around. We did walk through the peaceful garden next to the Art Institute, a little oasis on Michigan Ave.

After a long break splashing around in the fountains, during which the children somehow managed to keep most of their clothing dry, we journeyed over to The Bean. Now, I'm not sure if that is its official name, but this strange sculpture is simply fascinating. As you approach it, you see a distorted reflection that is interesting, but once underneath, it becomes intriguing. It was impossible to capture with the camera. We spent a long time there looking around at the myriad reflections the angles of The Bean create. When Luis said he wanted to stop to see it, I thought "how goofy", but it was beguiling. I am really happy we stopped.

Following The Bean we had a long walk down Washington back to the train station with tired children in tow. They were troopers, and I think they were a little awed by the towering buildings around us. Simon did wonderfully all day, hanging out in the mei tai and the sling. The train back to Woodstock was an express, so it was only an hour back. Even so, Vincent quickly fell asleep, and even Isabella and Luis dozed on the train. All in all, it was a great day trip that must be repeated.

The second day was spent as Six Flags Great America's homeschool day. It was an amusement park, so obviously there was a great deal of riding rides, playing in kiddie areas and eating cotton candy. I must say that we are now spoiled for any other day at an amusement park after this experience. Most of the time we had to wait 2-3 minutes for a ride, even on the hugely popular roller coasters. In 6.5 hours we managed to do 5 roller coasters, 8 rides, spend time at all three children's areas, have a picnic lunch and a cotton candy break, and see a show. It was exhausting and tons of fun.

When did it become acceptable to have one's bra straps or more on display for the world to see?

I do not think that I am that old, but call me old fashioned on this. If my bra strap or the top the cup accidentally shows for a few moments, eh, no big deal. Lingerie is not something to be embarrassed about, but I do believe it is private clothing. Underthings belong under our clothing.

I do not feel it is acceptable to purposefully wear a bra with a shirt that does not cover it. I was hoping the trend of young women wearing spaghetti strap tanks with bras on display would be short-lived, but it seems to be getting worse. Recently I saw a lovely young women looking completely trashy by pairing a darling halter top with a strapped bra. Put on a strapless bra, my dear, or if you are perky enough and the shirt is not sheer, go without. Neglecting to wear underthings appropriate to your outfit is déclassé.

May the pendulum swing back to covering up lingerie again soon. Backless shirts need backless bras, thong sides and backs belong underneath the waistline, and bra straps belong inside of shirts.

This morning, the children and I were all up by 7, rather early for us. Actually, Simon and I were up by 6:20, but I digress. Since Luis was already out at the carwash supervising the final renovations before we reopen on Monday, the children and I laid in bed snuggling and talking. I forget what the conversation started with, but I made the mistake of telling Abigail that she was getting big. Suddenly she was almost in tears.

I rearranged a few small bodies and snuggled Abigail close so we could quietly talk about why she was so upset. She is worried that time is going too quickly. As she said "It is my last single digit year. I'm not ready to be double digits yet." She isn't ready to grow up, and she is worried about it. It led to a long talk about how we age and mature at just the right rate for ourselves. A few years ago, she wasn't ready to be nine, but now that she is, it is okay, and by the time she is 16, 18 or 20, she will be ready for that too. We talked about how she will always be my baby and how I'll still be able to snuggle her even when she is grown up, if that is what she wants.

All in all, it was a good conversation, and she seemed to feel calmer afterwards. However, the entire time we were talking, one thought stayed in the back of my head. Who is going to talk me through her becoming "double digits?" Regardless of what I told Abigail, time is going too quickly.

Three years ago, even two years ago, I wasn't sure if I wanted a fourth baby. I felt very done after three children in four and a half years. I wasn't sure I could parent another baby the way I feel is right.

Obviously my thinking changed, as Simon is such a part of our family now. He is such a gift, my little chubalicious darling. Looking back now, I realize that my concerns weren't about having a fourth baby, but rather about having four babies in, say, six or seven years. I was burnt out on babyhood and toddler years. I needed the larger gap, the four and a half years that separate Simon and Vincent, to get my feet back under me and to recenter my life.

In many ways, Simon is like having a first baby again. With Abigail, Isabella and Vincent being older and capable of more independence, I can focus on Simon's babyness. I can spend more time having raspberry blowing contests and kissing baby toes. I will never regret having the older children so close together. That was an amazing experience, a wonderful parenting journey. Their relationship is so neat. It was exhausting to parent through, though, and if I had had Simon sooner, I believe that I would not have been able to be the parent I would want to be for him.

I am so thankful that Simon is here with us, and that I am able to find such joy in him being with us. He is a darling with a deep belly laugh. I know he will bring our family much laughter in the coming years.

I do love this handsome baby boy!

Saturday means the farmer's market. We had a late start this morning, what with watching a friend's son while she worked out, and it started raining. Who am I to let a little rain stand between me and garlic, onions, green peppers, beets and (bestill my beating heart) butternut squash? With Simon in the mei tai and a couple of umbrellas, the kids and I set off, squelching all the way in our flip flops.

I have noticed that there are two types of people that venture out in gentle rains. One type is only out because they need to be. They cower under their umbrellas, looking down as they quickly dash from car to office building or store. The other type embraces the water as they laugh along, doing their tasks without measureable increase in speed. We had fun chatting with some of the second type today at the market, laughing as the tarp over one of the vendors let loose a small deluge onto Abigail's sweater and talking about the unusually shaped eggplant.

Now I don't pretend to never be the type who does dash around cowering under my umbrella. It happens, especially on days when I have my suede laptop case with me or good shoes on. I prefer the days like today where we can enjoy the music of the drops falling on the umbrella and actively look for puddles to stomp in, though. It is much more fun. We need more simple fun in life.

During the most intensely hot week of August of every year, I end up having the kids go through all of their fall and winter clothes to see what still fits. It never fails. It will be 95 degrees and muggy, and I will have them trying on their turtlenecks.

The intense heat always makes me realize that fall is just around the corner. I know it will be sweltering for one or two weeks, almost unbearable, then the weather will break. The cool nights will come back, and in the morning the grass will stay wet with a heavy dew for hours. The glory of lightening bugs fades away, and a chorus of crickets takes center stage instead. In the garden, berries finish their season as the tomatoes and summer squash are ripening in waves, and the fall crop of spinach is starting to sprout.

So last week the children slept naked in the heat, and I pulled hoodie sweaters off of sweaty torsos as they tried on all their winter clothes. This week, the pajamas and nightgowns are again being worn at night, and a new shipment of pants and long sleeved shirts is on its way from Old Navy. Pretty soon we will be hearing the rustle of drying leaves singing as fall starts.

I do love the change in seasons.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
~ Albert Camus

I am seriously in love with my new camera. I have only touched the tip of the iceberg with it so far, but I like my pictures better already.

I took this one of my mother-in-law with Simon today. She would absolutely hate it if she saw it because she looks her age in it, but I love it. It is my favorite of all the pictures I have taken of her with any of the kids. It is simply her radiating love as she kisses her darling grandbaby. Part of me wishes that I had caught Simon's face in this one, but I had framed it this way on purpose and I think I am glad I did. I wanted the focus to be more on Carmen and her expression, and I think my sweet Simon's eyes would have detracted from that.

Simon enjoys playing rougher than the other children did as babies. Consequently, he adores playing with my father-in-law. I can also tell that Jose has relaxed over the last 9 years and is more comfortable playing with the babies. He has a really special spot for Simon, and I think he actually spends more time playing with Simon that Carmen does. For the first time with any of the kids, Jose will grab the baby away from Carmen to play with Simon himself. Simon lights up with a smile when Jose is around and interacting with him.

Since I'm sharing Simon photos, I must share some of the other kids too. Softball and baseball are now over for the year, but the kids had a great time during the season and are already looking forward to next year. I can tell that Abigail is getting older. She is becoming more serious and focused during the games, starting to lead off base and trying to score runs or make outs. She is paying attention to what is happening on the field, rarely waving to us in the stands. I had to call her name in order to take this picture. She glanced back at the batter a second later.

Isabella is my wannabe model. If the camera comes out, she must get her pictures taken. If I am shooting a picture of anyone, she wants to be in the shot too. She thrives on me focusing the camera on her and immediately strikes a pose. It can be frustrating when I am trying to catch her in action because if she sees the camera, she loses all ability to be natural and ignore it.

Vincent is the polar opposite these days. He used to love to have his picture taken, but lately he has been shying away from it. I have to catch him off guard or he may run away or hide. Of course, he'll shock me sometimes and demand that I take his picture, but that is usually only for action shots, things like him riding his bike. Of course, that is an extension of who he is right now. He doesn't want me calling attention to him when other people are around unless he is doing something he feels is "macarena cool" (he picked that up from the movie RV, much to our amusement).

I have been studying for my EcoBroker designation for real estate. It is simply amazing how much I am learning. There is so much information out there if only we know how to access it. The EPA has pamphlets on so many different topics, and then there is the information available from Energy Star. It is amazing.

One thing I came across today in my reading had to do with small things that can make a big difference. Did you know that the average home in the US is responsible for twice the greenhouse gas emissions as the average car? Unless you are using renewable energy sources, every time you flip on a light switch or turn on your computer, and electrical plant somewhere has to produce your electricity, and much of the time this is done by burning fossil fuels. Kudos to our electrical provider Alliant Energy for offering their Second Nature program. If you enroll, they guarantee to purchase energy from renewable sources in amounts equal to or greater than your usage. There is an extra cost for this program, but it is small (about $15/mo for us), and in my opinion it is a small premium to pay to protect the world for our grandchildren.

Change five lights. Change a light and you help change the world. If every American home replaced their 5 most frequently used light fixtures or the bulbs in them with ones that have earned the ENERGY STAR, we would save close to $8 billion each year in energy costs, and together we'd prevent the greenhouse gases equivalent to the emissions from nearly 10 million cars.

Heat and cool smartly. Improve the performance of your heating and cooling system. Have it serviced annually by a licensed contractor, and remember to clean or replace air filters regularly. To avoid heating or cooling an empty house, use an ENERGY STAR qualified programmable thermostat. And when it’s time to replace old equipment, choose an ENERGY STAR qualified model, and make sure it’s sized and installed properly. If just one household in 10 did this, the change would prevent more than 17 billion pounds of greenhouse gases.

I have said it before and I'll say it again - Small Things Make a Huge Difference IF We All Do Them.

To continue the campground theme, even tangentially, I was listening to a piece on NPR yesterday about sleep away camps. Apparently the rise of the internet has led to some interesting changes in the traditional camp experience.

The days of parents only knowing what is happening via hastily scrawled notes back home are disappearing. Many camps offer secure sites to parents where they will upload pictures of the children throughout the day, every day. One interviewee said that parents enjoyed seeing their children and feeling part of their child's time at camp. However, the comment was made the some parents are using this to micromanage. It has led to communications from the parents to the camp on things as small as "I saw a scratch on Liza's arm; what happened?" or "Owen was wearing the same shirt two days in a row!" One camp leader indicated that there is a rise of separation anxiety, not on the part of the kids, but rather on the part of the parents. In this age of digital and cellular communications (it seemed that most camps also ban cell phones), parents are accustomed to being able to contact their children anytime, anywhere. When they are completely out of touch with their children during camp times, it is difficult for some.

It was interesting food for thought. Statistics show that the world around us is no more dangerous than when we were kids, but the perception of many people is completely different. Luis and I have been talking about this since the new year. How much independence should we give to our children and when? Granted I was a responsible and level headed child, but at age 10, I was biking 4.5 miles in the country during the summer to get myself to band practice. We struggle with whether or not to let Abigail (age 9) walk 4 blocks to art class by herself or stay at softball practice alone and walk home afterwards. We have given her a two block range and let her go to the library or run small errands alone, but how do we expand that freedom while feeling comfortable?

I can understand now why some parents are giving cell phones to their upper elementary school children, even though I may not agree with it. The idea that even if our kids are away from us, tasting that independence, we can still contact them to make sure they are safe is tantalizing. It truly does nothing to make our children more safe, but it gives us the parents the illusion of control. When we first starting letting Abigail wander farther from home, we would send her with the two way radio. It felt wrong to me to use the radios around home like that for some reason, and I soon stopped. {We do use them when camping or at festivals without compunction though} I speculate that part of the growing process for our children involves our learning as parents to let go of control. Perhaps we need to learn to hand that control over to our children in order for them to learn to manage independence responsibly.

We went camping this weekend with family and had a very nice time. The campground we went to is one of the amusement-park campgrounds, one that has about fifty-three different activities catering the the children. It is great fun for them, don't get me wrong, and we enjoy the swimming pond that is filled with giant floating equipment. It certainly isn't as peaceful and calming as some other places we have camped, but it is fun.

One thing I have noticed as we have been camping in the last four years is starting to bother me. What is the deal with all of the golf carts? Campgrounds, at least around here, are filled with people zipping around on golf carts. I can understand someone who is disabled using one; some of the campgrounds are large or hilly, and it might be difficult to get around if one has a disability. However, there is no reason that an able bodied person needs to ride on a golf cart to go to a bathroom that is a 3 minute walk away or to get to the swimming pool that would only be 10 minutes away on foot. Last year, Luis and I saw someone get in their golf cart to drive less 100 feet to the bathroom. I am not kidding. The sheer absurdity of it had us snickering all evening.

Personally, I enjoy the walk to get places at a campground. It is a nice change of pace to walk to the bathroom in the early morning hours, listening to the birds or to stroll around the grounds in the evening with the crickets chirping away. It is fun to take a family walk to gawk at other people's campsites, see what creative things people do to their campers and wave hi or make conversation with others. I truly do not understand why someone would want to hop on a golf cart to speed around when putting one foot front of the other takes just a fraction more time and brings such contentment to me.

I said I wouldn't be posting much for a little bit, but obviously, I lied.



Vincent playing baseball makes me think of the song "I play right field; it's important, you know." He loves it and has the best time, but he is thrilled just to be out there. A few of the other little boys are already leading off base and actually getting outs. Vincent, on the other hand, is one of the boys who are busy dumping sand into his glove and grinning as they shout "Hi!" towards the bleachers.

And a quick shot of Simon sleeping. I can't believe how big he is getting!

It is here! Woohoo! My digital SLR is here! I had a really nice closing last week, and the Sony A100 is now mine, complete with a lovely little accessory kit. *happy dance* Now, to see how much I have forgotten and how much I still remember. Methinks I should look for a free online photography course or a book from the library.

I have also enrolled in a course to earn my Eco-broker designation for real estate. I like to cruise through coursework at a good clip, so between studying, playing with the SLR, the kids and work (two more closings in the next 3 weeks to finalize), I am not sure how much I'll be around online.

Are you in the upper Midwest? Come to the Kickapoo Country Fair this weekend. Amy, pull Phil out of the house and come up for a day or weekend. It isn't too far from LaCrosse! Tell Shelley to come; I'd love to meet the baby and see her again. {Okay, enough being pushy...}

We went a few years ago and had a wonderful day. We will be there again this year along with our friends who will be conducting the Approaches to Sustainable Living; Independence 101 workshop. We will also be staying at their cabin in the woods, enjoying a peaceful weekend. We spend time there every year and always have a relaxing time.

Every night, after the kids have been asleep for a while, I will check on them, retuck them in and kiss them. I never quite know how I will find Vincent.

First, he is such a wiggler in his sleep that I have found his feet on his pillow. I have also found him sideways, head against the wall and his feet and legs draped over the edge. He is almost 5 now and we still keep the bedrail up most nights because he can wiggle right out of bed without it.

Then there is the question of what did he stash in his bed this time. He tends to slip out of bed after being tucked in, grab something to play with and fall asleep with it. I'll often find his flashlight clutched in his hand, sometimes with a stack of books underneath him. I have found his wrench and pliers under his pillow on multiple occasions; thanks goodness there were only screws with them once. When Simon was newly born, I found Vincent sound asleep with his paper and glitter St Patrick's Day crown on his head. Last night I found him snuggling with our missing cordless telephone. In the morning, he questioned me accusingly about its whereabouts.

Tonight, I found him sleeping with his lower half inside of his pillowcase like he was in a potato sack race. I so wish I had a camera to take a picture of this one. I called Luis to tell him about it, and we had a good giggle over it. Vincent is such a little goofball.

Things that made me smile today:

~ Abigail's look of concentration and pride as she steered the boat in the river today. She even successfully navigated through some trees without any help from Luis.
~ Simon leaning forward to reach for Luis, a huge grin on his face, when Luis came into his field of view.
~ Irish cream iced mocha
~ Vincent looking like a little surfer dude. He was wearing green abstract print swimming suit, olive green flip flops and a candy necklace with his hair a little long and a heck of a tan (he has Luis's skin tone and tans so easily).
~ spending time with my family with no one else around.
~ Isabella deciding to create a "star chart", essentially a reward chart. She heard about them from a friend. She drew one up, told me how it worked and said it would be for her not waking me up at night. Um, no. She has only woken me up a handful of times in the last 6 months. We decided that it would be for hissy fits. If she goes half a day without a hissy fit, she gets a gold star. She can earn two stars a day. If she gets 14 stars in a row, she'll get a nail polish, and if she gets sixty stars in a row, she'll earn $20 to spend any way she wants at Old Navy. We are 3/4 of the way through day one and hissy fit free. Considering her behaviour as of late, this is a Good Thing.
~ Riding the moped. I always feel about 14 years old again when I get on the Spree. It's fun to ride around town, wind in my hair.
~ My decision that our trip to Great America's homeschool day will be a two day get away. We'll take the kids to Shedd Aquarium, ride the metrarail and free trolley, splash in the fountains, walk the shoreline downtown, stay in a hotel. It should be a great time. I'd like to go to the Art Institute, but they would probably like the aquarium more, and I don't want to squish too much into a day. Maybe I should push Luis for two days downtown plus Great America...

I have decided get rid of our front yard. It is small anyways, only about 20 feet by 10 feet. I'm going to put in a path and landscape it with perennials, herbs and bushes. This will be a long term project, but phase one will start next spring. Maybe I'll do away with the terrace grass too. I always love the look of yards that consist of landscaping like this when I see them in magazines or real life, and there is simply no reason I cannot create this. It will be a work in progress, and I have given myself permission to have it take a few years to get established. My perfectionist tendencies get in the way of things like this sometimes.

About 5 years ago this time of year, I was driving in the country and had to stop because I happened upon a vista that was a living definition of deep summer. That image has been in my head ever since, and I revisit the mental snapshot every so often.

It was hot, so hot that the heat made the air visible as it shimmered in waves. The girls and I were driving along a quiet country road, one of those narrow roads that you drive down the middle of because is really only one and a half lanes. We rounded a corner by an abandoned pasture bordered a three strand barbed wire fence, and nature murmured “summer” in my ear. I stopped the van and just sat there, soaking up the image, storing the mental postcard. The wildflowers were in full bloom; the bright bands of color snaked through long grasses that were bending slightly under the weight of full seed heads. Ancient trees with gnarled branches stood sentinel by a meandering creek. There was no noise from traffic, nothing from the human world hit my ears except the quiet breathing of my napping girls, yet the air was alive with sounds. It actually hummed. There was a cacophony of buzzing and singing from the bees, field crickets and grasshoppers. I sat as long as I could, listening, smelling and watching.

I have been reminded of that afternoon often in the last few days as I have been in the car much more than usual. The country roadsides and wild areas I have been driving past are alive with wide swaths of color – purple and white phlox, orange ditch lilies, white queen anne’s lace, bright yellow rubeckia, dry yellow-brown seed heads on the grasses and about a million shades of green. How to describe summer green? It is the brilliant green of the soybeans, the dry green of the underside of the reaching corn stalks, the yellow green of the grasses and drying oats, the deep green of oaks and maples, the silvery green of birch and aspen all blending together like daubs of paint in an Impressionist painting.

Each season, each moment, in the natural world has a way of reaching out and assaulting my senses. I often say that I favor spring and fall, but there is something amazing about abundance and overload of deep summer. Lay back in your hammock, drink a cool lemonade with fresh mint floating in it, and be part of the natural world. Soak in the sights, sounds and smells that make this time of year unique. I am.

I took a photo essay that other day, before my camera broke, for a website I frequent. I thought I'd share it here. It was supposed to be a day in my life, but thanks to the camera breaking, it is 23 hours in my life.

A Day in My Life

Some of the lighting is wonky because the flash was broken on our camera already before I dropped it. I lightened the pictures up when necessary, but that made them grainy.

I am not a mother who will give my kids the last bite of my food. No, not going to happen.

When I enjoy a meal, I will eat in a way that saves the best bits for last. I like to leave my meal with the Perfect Bite, the bite that combines the best of the dish. It might be a bite of peach pie that combines the fruit and filling with the perfect ratio of crust. It could be a bite of sandwich that has a crusty edge of the bread, lettuce, tomato and the roast beef all in proportion or a few noodles covered in alfredo with a small broccoli floret and a single scallop. It is the bite that sums up the meal or the dessert perfectly. If the entree and sides are both wonderful, I will rotate eating them, leaving a bit of my favorites to end with and mentally plan out the order to eat the final bites in.

Reading this, I sound completely compulsive and absurd, but really I am not. Life is okay if I do not get my Perfect Bite, but I do enjoy finishing with it. The kids had better back off though, because I will not share it. If they ask early enough in the meal, I will share a bit, but that last bite is mine.

{If I hadn't broken my camera, I would have included a picture of the final bite of a dessert here. Use your imagination. Hey, since you are imagining, why don't you picture a piece of lime green Fiestaware (I love that stuff) scattered artfully with pie crust crumbs and just one remaining bite of blueberry pie (the blue would look so nice with the lime of the plate) with a heavy silver fork perched next to the bite. Maybe imagination is a good thing!}

A few entries back, I mentioned that I have a bee in my bonnet for a digital SLR camera. Guess what I did today. Dropped the point and shoot, breaking the LCD screen. I swear it was an accident, really!

Strangely, I am sad. I cannot take any pictures until we do buy the SLR. I will miss how compact the point and shoot was; being able to slip it into my pocket or the sling was nice. We had also intended to give it to Abigail once we bought the SLR. Her camera takes awful pictures, even accounting for her age. Now, we cannot do that.

The bigger issue is that I am afraid. It has been so many years since I took pictures with a real camera. Seriously, it has been close to two decades. I was just a kid last time I played around with lenses, light readings and film speed. What if I do not remember how?

What if we chose the wrong camera? The digital SLR cameras cost quite a little chunk of change. Can I be certain I'm getting the best camera for me money? I have it narrowed down to three choices (I think), but deciding will be hard.

What if my pictures are terrible? I am scared that something that has always brought me joy will now bring stress and disappointment.

Fear. Joy. Sadness. Who could have guessed that dropping a little two inch by three inch gadget could trigger so many emotions?