Stuck in Lodi

This blog is coming to you today from beautiful Lodi, California. Patrick is working on a national (!) advertising campaign for the KOA. We are staying in one of the darling little cabins they offer while he shoots all day. The kids will be modeling for some of his shots around the pool and playground later in the day, but for now they are enjoying a very large television and real cheerios. I am going to ignore the internet for the rest of the day and read the entire newspaper.

Cheers!

Mr. Misterio Speaks

This evening I paused in my work to cuddle with Isidore for a few minutes. Lying in my lap, he told me, "I wish I could live life over and over again." I asked him why he wanted to do that, to which he replied, "So I could be a baby again and nurse, and then grow up again and be like I am now, over and over again."

Okay.

and zee 'air cut

I have failed at my Buy Nothing Challenge. I got my hairs cut. And blow dried. It felt great. I haven't had a haircut in years. Here it is. I like it.

Mr. Misterio

When Isidore was born my darling Auntie Deedee crocheted him a beautiful soft blue blanket. He has slept with it just about every night since then. As a newborn we swaddled him in it and called him the blue burrito. A couple of years ago he started calling it his woopee. For several months now it has been doing double duty as a super-hero cape. Daily he ties it around his neck and leaps off the couch to assault his sisters, as any brother ought to. His super-powers are awesome.



But, incredibly, they just got much, much stronger.



On Friday at the farmers market we were in line for churros. Yum. They have become our Friday evening market treat of choice lately. I felt a little tug on my hand. Super-boy had spotted some capes for sale at a nearby stall. Mean old mom pointed out that he had a perfectly wonderful cape already. Didn't he love his blue cape? I went back to my churro purchase.



By time I was taking my first bite of deep-fried goodness Isidore had been transformed into Mr. Misterio.



Patrick confessed that as a little boy he had always wanted a real cape. Not a pillow case or a homemade cape, but the real deal. So when Isidore of the crocheted-blanket-tied-around-his neck-cape tugged on his hand, there was no hesitation.










That night Patrick's old friend Eric came up for a visit. When Mr. Misterio put on Jimi Hendrix, Eric brought out his guitar. Mr. Misterio gleefully whipped out his own ax, recruited Aliana for piano, Patrick on the harmonica and Elizabeth on the ukulele. They had quite a session.







Apologies to Rory for the foot on the piano, I swear we don't do that all the time. And yes, that is a lampshade on Aliana's head.

Zo, zee znailz.....

We ate 'em! First we starved them for a couple of days, then we plunked the lot in boiling water for a minute. Once out of the bath they slipped easily out of their shells. We sauteed them with homegrown garlic and butter and then...












Aliana chowed down! Isidore and Elizabeth decided not to partake, but Aliana loved them. She is a big fan of clams and mussels, and we all agreed they taste just like clams. We will be collecting more next week to make a main dish meal with pasta.

Long Days, Crappy Food

Last month I signed up for Path to Freedom's 100-foot diet challenge. We have had a lot of fun dreaming up homegrown meals. We've scoured our cookbooks for egg recipes, stayed up late talking about ideas for dishes, remembering things our relatives made. We've all greatly enjoyed planning our meals.

The problem has been finding the time to make them. The past few weeks the shop has opened its jaws wide and eaten us. Sometimes owning one's own business kinda sucks. I love spending my days working with my partner. I really appreciate being able to bring the kids to work instead of dropping them off at daycare. But I don't like it when everything breaks and people get mad at me. There are days when the idea of punching out at five o'clock and going home sounds delicious.

I know there are people who work long hours and fit cooking from scratch into their busy schedules. I would like to be one of them. Some days I wake up early and use the pressure cooker to whip up some variation of rice and beans and vegetables. It makes everyone's day better to eat a real meal instead of something that came out of a box. It's the logistics of it that kill me, though. I have to get up early enough to have enough time to cook it, then I have to have clean tupperware to use for transport. At the shop we have to have clean dishes and silverware. Then after the food is eaten dishes have to be done at the shop and the tupperware have to make it back home for the next day's meal. It all theoretically works fine, but the reality is that usually one of the pieces of the chain end up missing. I didn't wash the tupperware, or get up early enough, or maybe when we get to the shop we don't have clean dishes at lunchtime. The result is way too much expensive, salty processed food for our meals at the shop.

So, we have lots of homegrown menus up our sleeves for the weeks to come.

I am sure that things at the shop will get easier, and we will find more time to cook wholesome meals again. When Patrick and I met and were courting, as he likes to say, we cooked together all the time. It was a wonderful way to get to know each other. We long for the kind of days that allow time to chat as one of us chops the garlic and the other stirs the sauce. Cooking with the kids is also such wonderful time together. I love to watch little hands holding giant spoons.

So... stay tuned for more 100-foot diet meals. Such plans we have in store!

No picky eaters allowed!

My family is amazing. The bunch of us are all weirdos, but we either don't care or don't know, depending upon the individual in question. That's really why we're homeschooling, to avoid the embarassment of sending them out into public. Just kidding. I think.

This morning Isidore was complaining because we were having fried eggs and sliced oranges for breakfast again. Ever practical (see my post from March 26) Aliana pointed out that we have lots of homegrown eggs right now, so we should enjoy them. She explained that eggs are healthy protein filled food, and that oranges help our bodies fight colds and lower cholesterol. I simply stated, for the seven hundred twenty fifth time (so maybe I'm exagerating) that I will not tolerate picky eaters in my family.

Did either of these attempts sway dear Isidore? Nope. Breakfast was eaten under threat of force.

After he managed to finish his meal without dying of boredom from eating eggs and oranges for the third time this week he scampered outside with his sisters to collect snails from the garden for tomorrow's dinner.

Yes, the child who fights over consuming two of the most common items on an american grocery list thinks it's a great idea to eat a creature not many people on this continent would even consider food.

The kids are all very involved in what we eat. They eagerly peruse the seeds catalogues just as I do. They help to plan the garden, plant the seeds and as it grows they water, weed and harvest. Some of my very favorite memories of my time with my children are in the garden. When I signed us up for the 100 foot diet challenge they cheered me on. We have been brainstorming, and realized that in the spring the snail population explodes. In years past we fed buckets of them to the chickens. This year we're going to cook them with a little garlic and butter and eat them ourselves.

Yum.

King of the Clutter Busters

I'm a bad partner. Really. Here's the story. We have been rearranging and cleaning the shop this week. A lot of junk is gone and it's much easier to share our working space with three kids now. They have a nice chunk of floor space for drawing, legoes, school work, and watching movies. It's in a corner of the back room so we aren't trekking through their games on the way to the bathroom.

Naturally during the course of the super-fling-boogie we broke out the clutter-buster crowns. Yesterday we were still going full tilt when we had a family wander in asking about a portrait. I grabbed Patrick and they talked for awhile about locations, wardrobe and times. Eventually the family departed and only about ten minutes later did Patrick realize that, yep, he was still wearing the crown. If I were super-wife, the story wouldn't go like that. No, super-wife would have thought about a projecting a professional image and noticed the handmade paper crown on her husband's head. She would have in fact removed it before she asked him to talk to prospective clients. She would have done this even on a Friday afternoon at 5:17 after a very long day spent sneezing and dusting and telling the kids to stop fighting and then sneezing some more. She also probably wouldn't have tripped over a half-eaten bagel and a lego spaceship on the way to the backroom to summon Mr. Photographer Guy.

Yeah. So. I think we might not get that portrait job. But it was awfully fun to share a real-live belly laugh with King Clutter Buster. I'm pretty sure super-wife didn't have that in her appointment book.

I really do thank my lucky stars daily that I have the opportunity to spend my days at work with my family, even when it's really damned hard.

Song of the Week #2

This week's song was selected by Aliana. She spent years learning to tell good jokes, and is quite the aficionado of all things silly. So we have a pretty goofy one this week. The first three verses came from The World Treasury of Children's Literature, a book I've had since I was a kid (Any idea where it came from, Mom?). The next part was made up as we drove to work.

Alligator Pie

Alligator pie, alligator pie,
If I don't get some I think I'm gonna die.
Give away the green grass, give away the sky,
But don't give away my alligator pie


Alligator stew, alligator stew,
If I don't get some I don't know what I'll do.
Give away my furry hat, give away my shoe.
But don't give away my alligator stew.


Alligator soup, alligator soup,
If I don't get some I thinkI'm gonna droop.
Give away my hockey-stick, give away my hoop,
But don't give away my alligator soup.


Alligator cake, alligator cake,
If I don't get some I think I'll fall in a lake.
Take away my gecko, take away my snake,
But don't take away my alligator cake.


Alligator juice, alligator juice,
If I don't get some I'll be in a noose.
Take away my chickens, take away my goose,
But don't take away my alligator juice!


Anyone else have a verse?

Words of Wisdom from the Littles

Upon waking this morning Isidore's first words were, "Mom, I had a great dream!" When I asked him to tell me about it he said, "Mom, I can't explain, stuff in dreams is too complicated."


On the way to the shop today, we were exploring which family members possess the ability to roll his or her tongue. Aliana observed, "That's not very useful."



Also on the drive to work dear Elizabeth told me, "My nose can wiggle."





There you have it.

Another Challenge - Buy Nothing in April

I have already signed up my unknowing family for the 100-foot Diet Challenge. Aliana was enthusiastic. The rest of the crew didn't really notice. This next one, though, is a little more strenuous than eating a delicious home-grown meal once a week.

From elsewhere in cyberspace, a blogger named Crunchy Chicken has challenged us to stop buying stuff for the entire month of April. You get to buy food, medicine and essentials, but not stuff.

Here's how she lays it out:

No new clothes
No new gadgets
No new furniture or housewares
No salon services
No makeup
No tools
No whatever the hell else people buy

Here's her page: http://crunchychicken.blogspot.com/2008/03/buy-nothing-challenge.html

I can't actually rope Patrick into this one, but the kids and I are in! Here goes.

Someone had to do it

Yesterday Patrick and Isidore attended opening day at the Oakland A's stadium. This left Aliana, Elizabeth and I with a free night at home. So, you see, we cleary had to stop by the grocery store for potato chips, ice cream and junky pizza. After stuffing ourselves silly we played Twister. Probably should have reversed the order of those two activities. We finished up our estrogen evening by climbing in bed to cuddle up and read aloud from Bridge to Terabithia until my voice faded. Happy hens we were!

Our Plum Tree

The thing I think I will miss most about the little red house when we leave is the plum tree. It's not a very productive tree, and the fruit is tiny, but Patrick and I were married under it's branches. Then a few years later it was in full bloom on the stormy January night Elizabeth was born. Every year we have told her that it blooms as a gift for her birthday, and we have come to call it Elizabeth's tree. I mourn to leave it, but we will remember the joy we have felt under and in it's branches, picking the fruit it creates to pass on its life, making vows to entwine our lives, and bearing a new life of our own. We will try to take a cutting or plant a pit from the harvest this year. I sure hope we are successful, but even if we aren't, I will always remember Elizabeth's plum tree.

Another Omelet!?

As I considered my options for our second 100-foot meal, I was at first sort of annoyed that my ingredient list this week isn't any different than it was last week. "What am I going to write about if we just eat the same thing again? How boring. 'Look, here's another omelet. End of post'."

It occured to me only when I was photographing the meal that eating eggs again is anything but boring. It is in fact miraculous. I happen to think that eggs may well be the most beautiful thing found in mother nature. I never tire of finding a warm egg nestled in the hay in the barn. It really actually makes me feel excited and special every single time I find one. I never just rush it in the house and stick it in the egg carton in the refrigerator. No, every time I come across a newly laid egg I cradle it in my palm and marvel at how perfectly designed such a thing is, from a human or a chicken perspective.

For a hen, an egg is a way to raise a whole lot of babies at once and therefore insure that some of them will survive to make more chickens. It amazes me that an egg can wait weeks in the cold before a hen decides she has laid enough to spend a few weeks sitting on the nest. Her warmth helps the previously dormant creature inside that shell quickly grow into a perfect little chick, ready to walk and peep and eat the day it hatches.

For those of us with opposable thumbs and slightly larger brains, the egg is no less awesome. Here is a portable food storage device like no other. Eggs keep much longer than most of us think, and really don't need to be stored in as cold a place as our refrigerator. We keep them there out of habit, but a farm-fresh egg will keep in a cool place like a cellar for weeks and weeks. And for those of us who eat with the seasons, the egg is a celebration of spring. Though supermarket eggs are available 365 days a year, our hens only recently began laying again after taking a break during the short, dark days of winter. The first few eggs felt like tiny miracles! We carefully considered how to prepare them. As the days lengthened the girls gave us more eggs each day. Now we find between 6 and 8 every morning.

This morning I sauteed some of the volunteer arugula that just grows in the yard and tucked it inside the omelet, and sprinkled chives on top. I took some pictures, then Aliana and Ellie and I sat down to eat. It was delicious. It tasted just right. It sounds kind of trite, but it tasted like spring, like what we ought to be eating on a morning in march. The girls and I felt really fortunate to be eating such tasty food from our own homestead. It's not a glamorous life, but it is satisfying and fun.

Friday

Isidore the photographer

When Isidore was attending preschool for awhile Patrick and I were naturally asked to take pictures at school for events and yearbook pages and things. Once when I had my camera along Isidore asked if he could use it. He uses both my camera and Aliana's all the time, so I thought nothing of it. A few minutes later he came crying to me because another parent at the school took the camera away from him, thinking he wasn't supposed to be using it. I explained that he had my permission to take pictures, but the other parent couldn't quite believe I would be so foolish as to hand such an expensive piece of equipment to a four-year old. Hey, I figure if I start his training now he'll be taking over sooner, and off to retirement I'll go!





Here are a few of his shots.

The really blurry one is Elizabeth somersalting. I love that one.

Victory Garden

Planting and caring for the garden this year is a little tricky. We will be living on the mountain by the end of the summer, perhaps even sooner, so I am planting things up there this spring. I’ve run into a bit of trouble because I'm not up there every day to plant and because watering is not as easy as turning on the hose anymore. Up there I have to find a way to get the water from the spring that's halfway down the hill to the thirsty plants at the top.


Right now the way I accomplish this is to use a plastic barrel to haul the water up in the back of the truck and park slightly higher than the garden. I connect a hose to the barrel. What I hope to be doing by next year is using the strength of my darling mule, Dina, instead of the truck. She is eager to work; I just need to find more time to train her to drive. That, too, will be easier when we are living there full time.


The opportunity for the kids to grow up smack dab in the middle of nowhere sets my soul at ease in a way I thought would never happen, but the chance to feed my family also thrills me. In a few years we will probably be close to self-sufficient. I’ve been working on this goal all the years we’ve been in the little red house, but now I have acres to work with! Each year we set aside some money to spend on edible plants and necessary tools. Last year we added 12 fruit trees to the yard. I have moved them to the mountain, and most of them seem to be in good shape. This year I ordered lots and lots of seeds so that I can have enough for this year and the next in case my seed-saving attempts don’t go well. I am saving the extra in tightly sealed jars in the refrigerator. In each jar I have a silica packet to keep them dry. I’ll put them to the fridge at the shop after we move up to the land of no electricity.


Up on the mountain I am planting lots of different edible perennials. I’ve already put in hazelnuts, huckleberries, strawberries, rhubarb, and wintergreen. On the way are seaberry, honeyberry, fig, red and golden raspberries, elderberry, kiwi, wolfberry, and a green tea plant.
Most of what I ordered this year came from Territorial Seed Company in Oregon. They come highly recommended for their care with seed trials and seed storage. I am using two books written by the former owner of the company, Steve Solomon. One is called Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades, the other is Gardening When it Counts: Growing Food in Hard Times. I like the first book because the climate he writes about is like mine, not like most gardening books whose authors assume you actually have a summer and a winter. I just have a wet season and a dry season. The latter title has very good advice about growing vegetables with little or no irrigation.

Why we should all be like Aliana

My oldest child is the most practical person I have ever known. She prefers the most direct way to accomplish any task, even if it’s more difficult, nobody else does it that way, or she looks silly doing it. She also really takes advice to heart. It doesn’t generally occur to her to ask for it, but if someone points out a way she can improve whatever she is doing, she tries it out.

She has been working on drawings of dragons and other strange creatures that her Nonna is going to make into a quilt. I noticed that the work wasn’t her best and made some suggestions about how she could use the direction of her strokes to create realistic texture. Like I actually know anything about drawing- give me a camera, thank you very much. But she listened to me and then dove into a pile of paper and crayons and came out the next day with a dozen gorgeous drawings.

I am very proud of her for her effort, but what really stands out to me is what she didn’t do. I imagine what I might have said to her had she taken it upon herself to critique a lousy meal I set in front of her for dinner. I have to confess it probably wouldn’t have been so polite. I might have defended my gummy rice and overcooked broccoli as acceptable, made an excuse about having a long day, or perhaps found something to criticize about her in return. I’m pretty sure most of us wouldn’t have behaved as she did upon receiving unsolicited advice.

She thanked me for my help and went to work.

I’m going to try that next time.

Ostara

We had a lovely little celebration. It began with chocolate bunnies for breakfast and ended with egg-salad sandwiches for dinner. Each of the kids received a plant for the garden and some art supplies. Isidore went right to work on the workbook the Easter bunny left him.

Isidore and Aliana melted my heart by sharing with Elizabeth as they found eggs in the yard , and even leaving some easy-to-find ones for her. When they returned to the house they divided them up equally. Did I mention how much I love my kids?

Using natural materials for egg dyes worked wonderfully. Aliana and I both voted to use them from now on. Clean up was easier and the leftovers were a lovely thank you gift for the hens.

The bright yellow/orange eggs were dyed in a bath of yellow onion skins and turmeric. The brownish-purple marbled effect was made with grape juice. We used raw eggs and hard-boiled them right in the dye bath. I didn't get a picture of the gorgeous purple we got by just rubbing cut beets on cooked eggs. We had no success with the red cabbage to make teal. Next time we will cook some eggs first and then soak them overnight in the cabbage water.

An entirely un-original thought

I love my kids so much it hurts.

I love it when Elizabeth tells me her name is "Ellie-Belly Penelope Works".

I love it when Izzy asks me if I will be his cuddle bug.

I love it when Aliana reminds me not to bite my nails.

It's Monday, and it's already been a really long week.