While I Was Gone....

 My boy's room took a tween twist with the addition of this awesome electronic drum set. Please do not ask how much it cost. It embarrasses me. But, both of them play, and I hope will for many years, so someday I hope to share that it was a great bargain at pennies a day. ahem

 Erik did an awesome job taking care of and watering my gardens! It looked like this when I left for my Chicago trip. Really now!

Ohhhhhhhh pumpkins! I love them so. I didn't grow any last year, how I wept, but I've got 4 big plants from seed going this year, and I could just die. Look how sweet they are, I love them so!

SOMEBODY is digging in my cucumber patch. Probably the dog. I will cut her.

Squash! The zuchini and yellow squash are both thriving, but these summer squash are actually bearing fruit already. Yummy on the grill, just in time for July!

The greens confuse me. I need to figure out how these work. I checked the packages, and it says "harvest in 45 to 60 days" and I believe these were planted 40 days or so ago. I'm going to let it ride. Come on, no snake eyes!

The tomatoes have had the slowest starts, but I believe I can see real progress, finally.

I love coming home :)

Canoed

I had Back to School Night last night. And today I'm yarg. (yawn + argh = yarg)

But! It was back in July when we took the boys on our first big canoeing adventure! We headed up to Strawberry and spent a few days on a private lake (let's call it a pond) and also went to Bardsley Reservoir. No phones. No computers. No television. Best cheeseburger on the face of the planet at the snack shack near Pinecrest Lake. Soft serve ice cream for breakfast. Three fights over how to steer the canoe. Sore shoulders for three weeks.  Heaven on earth, really.

 Just noticed that Thing Two is doing The Robot in this picture. Dying laughing over here, really.

 You can't see her in this picture, but puppy Lego is in Scotty's lap here. She loved canoeing!

 I remember laying out in the sun to get a tan in high school. I don't remember a six year old laying on me when I did,

Learned (a bit late) that our canoe anchoring system was not sufficient for the ride home. (not to worry, we made it! and so did our 52 pound, 17 foot, canoe!) Was reminded that I can always call my daddy when I need help. Haven't had to do that for awhile, but I had such a familiar rush of well-being when I looked at Erik, after helplessly tiptoeing down blocked off side roads still an hour and a half from home (a 3 hour drive already creeping up on 4 hours and no end in sight), and said, "Let's call my dad. He'll know what to do." And he did. Love him. When he caught up with us on the backroads leading to the Altamont Pass, with enough rope to secure a navy fleet, he found me giggling helplessly at the absurdity of chasing our foam mounts down the road, through barbed wire fences, and across farmers' fields, as they rolled away like chicklets from our swaying and bobbing canoe.

He shook his head (not without affection) and said, "You're so much like your mother." I'm pretty sure I saw Erik shudder.

Love Notes

In a box, somewhere in my house, I know there are two treasures: a note and a card. Both are from my husband. The note was written to me in a college English class.  We did not go to college together, but when we were a-courting, he was taking a night class to finish up his degree and I, besotted and unreasonable, basically audited the class by sitting there mooning at him so we wouldn't have to spend one waking moment apart. I am a constant, attention-mongering pest when it comes to him; this was true from the moment I laid eyes on him, right up until I sat down to write this. For nearly 20 years, I've been poking at his neck and whining at him to talk to me, what are you doing, why won't you talk to me, and his response in 1992 was to drop everything and talk to me.  In 2011, his more measured response is a small smile, a 'what is it honey?', and usually a pat on my head to let me know he's about to move on to more pressing matters, like, I don't know, living his life. But in the early months of our love affair, he reluctantly wrote me a very silly, one page, passing-notes-in-class-kind-of-note, during an English class that he did not want (and I did not have) to take.

The card is a small field of pinkety-pink-pink flowers with no sentiment inside except the one line he wrote to me, the week before we were married in 1998.  What it says is between us, but I promise you, it is a love note.

I am a total sucker for a love note.  For reals. Erik has a set of love letters from me, written pages at a time, every day, from a one month return trip to my beloved Mexico that I took the summer after we started dating. This entire blog feels like a love letter to him and my boys, when the truth be known. He isn't moved to write me love letters (drats!) so I keep my treasures and gratefully accept the many tokens of affection that he does offer.

 I get dozens of love notes from my students every day. 

(I'm going to be totally honest, and tell you that some people ought not a be teaching; some people are damaged and unyielding and angry, and they should turn and walk away. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life, when I walked into one such teacher's classroom, early in my own teaching career, to find a proliferation of love notes taped to her desk. Teachers are given such a precious gift ~ a child's heart, for a whole year, and maybe even for a lifetime ~ and these love notes are a touch of humility, a reminder of the great responsibility that goes with that precious gift.)

When I had to explain to the students first, that I needed to be gone for a couple of days because my grandma was very sick, and then, that I needed to be gone for a couple of days because my grandma had passed away, I began to receive such an influx in love notes and sympathy cards that I had to actually take some home.  There simply isn't any more space in my classroom to house the sentiments. They go from the profound ("Sorry about your grandma hope you get better so you will rember (sic) her in all your heart xoxoxoxoooxxooooxo") to the sublime (a grave, with "RIP grandma rest in heaven" splashed across the tombstone, with the words, "Get Better Soon" headlining the note). A common theme is a student and I, holding hands and or ambling companionably over hill and dale, or through a field of flowers, a bright yellow sun our constant friend. I get books (Super B!) and drawings and notes and missives.

They are treasures.

Dinner for Three

 The day that Gram died, I got home around 10 at night, and I started cooking and cleaning. As you do.

In this case, I had a very special mission.  I needed to make dinner and dessert for Miss Maia and her Pumpkin.  (Papa was out of town, so it was girls' night and we took full advantage!)

 Maia loooovveeeeesssssss banana bread. I make it for her as much as possible.

I headed into San Francisco and got as many snuggles and toothless grins I could possibly squeeze into the few hours we had together.  I know I may be biased, but I'm not exaggerating when I say: this is easily the cutest, sweetest, most lovable baby I have ever met.  I mean honestly:  look at that mug! swoon And there's nothing that soothes the ache from the loss of a precious life, as holding a new precious life does. Just what I needed, isn't Maia smart? ; )

For dinner, I made her a lasagna with ground beef and a loaf of homemade bread, and of course a loaf of banana bread. Every time I make lasagna, people ask me for the recipe. Here's what you need to know about me and lasagna:  I grew up with an Italian mother. People positively melt when they eat her lasagna. They can't get enough! I promise you this: you would vomit if you watched her make a lasagna. For an Italian? "lasagna night" is "clean out the refrigerator night". Everything gets tossed in, and it's not unusual to find yourself eating lasagna comprised almost entirely of shredded beef that was used in enchiladas on Tuesday, chicken that was roasted on Wednesday, and eggplant and zucchini that was not going to make it to the weekend in the vegetable crisper. Add a couple of eggs, ricotta cheese (cottage cheese also works, use whatever you have, because under no circumstances do you ever buy fresh ingredients for an Italian lasagna), and shred the ends of every moldy brick of mozzarella and cheddar you can find in the refrigerator.  Layer with noodles and tomato sauce.  Cover with foil and bake at 350 degrees F for about an hour (remove foil for the last 10 minutes or so, so the cheese melts completely).

This is NOT the lasagna I made for Maia. You're welcome. The lasagna I make, that everybody asks how I make it and wants to know my secret for, comes directly from the side of the box that the no bake lasagna noodles come in. I buy the ingredients fresh, and I bake it immediately. I make it exclusively for other people, and every time I pull the 5 pound beast from the oven, Erik always demands to know (only half-kidding in his ire), "Why does everybody else get lasagna, and we never do!?!" To which I can only reply, "If you wanted lasagna, you shouldn't have married and Italian girl."

72 Hours

I'm a sunny day kind of gal...for reals. In fact, Erik's mom gave me one of those light boxes for Christmas. It's called "the mood improver". Ahem. To her credit, she quickly pointed out that I could also put somebody else in front of it. Nice save.

Having said that, I'm always pleasantly surprised at how very much you can find to do inside when a stormy, long weekend lands in your lap. Things like, cleaning up and organizing a book shelf and a desk in your bedroom...

You're just going to have to trust me on this one; big improvement!

Or, you could spend some time practicing an art...

 

In pajamas you put on Friday night...and never took off!

Or meeting a new friend...

Or watching (two-thirds of) a favorite trilogy...

And then faithfully recreating the battle at Helm's Deep...

How about a hair cut for your puppy?

It was such a lovely, blustery, Winnie-the-Pooh kind of weekend, which cleared up just enough for a before-dinner stroll over at my mom's house on Sunday night.  The rest of the weekend was perfectly spent with my favorite boys.

Now all I need is a sunny, warm, spring-like weekend so I can attack the yards and get out on the lake with our new canoe. I know that's coming, but if we get another stormy weekend...or two...before that, I won't be too sad!

And This Is Why...

...I keep my old-school, circa 1989, cheese grater.  

(It saved taco night!)

...I keep my old-school, circa 1992, husband.

("I read on your blog that your students liked stationary.  

You can give them this too, I just found it.")

Taking Suggestions

We added to our family this weekend, and now we have this to deal with:

She's pretty dang funny.  I don't care for an overly-confident dog, myself.  I like my dog's slightly insecure.  This one's self-esteem is fully intact, however, as evidenced by her proud and regal stature.  There's only room for one top-dog in this casa, my friend, so stand down.

Fortunately, she has personality to spare and she seems very bright.  It's the little things, you know?  I put a harness and collar on her, then hooked up a leash and took her for a spin in the court.  I've had dogs who lay down and make you drag them under similar circumstances, but she got right with the program.  She also had the good sense to immediately remove the plaid sweater I was going to make her wear.  So I have hope for her.

I can't believe we finally got another dog.  We loved our Howard so much, and when we lost him (over two years ago now) I thought I'd NEVER get another one.  We've always had big, working, busy dogs, but I insisted that we have a totally different experience this time.  A shitzu-toy poodle mix seems about as far from Australian Shepherd as you can get.  It barely seems like the same species, and I've never owned a small dog in my life.  In fact, I'd probably still be dogless, except my brother found these and got the sister, then Erik shocked me by approving the purchase.

She loves to play fetch.  Another point in her favor.  We got her situated with a crate today, so forget about sleeping in the bed every night, chump.  Now we just need a name.  We usually give our pets human names, because we think it's funny to have a goldfish named Keith, a dog named Howard, or a cat named Tim.  For some reason, my family has lost its collective minds with this one, though.  Without your intervention I'm going to be stuck with Brain (Scotty's choice, who is an Inspector Gadget fan) or Tron II (Erik's choice, who is an ass) or Sparky (Tommy's choice, who seems unconcerned that our new dog is a girl and might want a less gender-ambiguous name).  The phone lines are open, and we clearly need a voice of reason.

Merry and Bright

Scotty believes.  We had a box of 10 specialty bakery cookies for Santa.  By the time My Boys were finished 'snacking', he was left trying to convince me that one cookie would be enough for Santa.  haha!

 

This week we watched the lunar eclipse in full awe of nature's miracles.  The weather was stormy that day, but at just the right time that night, the clouds were blown away and the sky was crisp and clear, the air was cold but without breeze, and Erik laid in the driveway and told me, "I can't believe how spherical the moon looks!"...it was the perfect solstice gift.

The rest of our week was spent visiting family and friends, doing a bit of shopping (Erik) and a bit of making (me), and spending entire days (and nights) without even leaving our house.  I'm feeling grateful (always) and wistful (slightly) and overwhelmed (vaguely) and if I know one thing, it's that I'm so glad to be right here, right now.

Merry Christmas! 

Today in The City

Today, the whole family took a ride over the bridge and Erik and Scotty played cards, while I knitted, and Tommy practiced drums at his drum teacher's adorable and quirky artist's bungalow.  It was a sweet, slow morning.  Before heading back home, we stopped in downtown and spent a couple of hours in Union Square.  I love going to San Francisco these days, where I feel like a tourist in my own town.

 In the lobby of the Westin St Francis Hotel.

 Macy's has used these huge wreaths in every window for as long as I can remember.  The look, to me, has lost none of its charm.

 Lunch!  :)

 Saks, through the square, from in front of Macy's.  For about a hot second we contemplated getting into the ice skating rink.  Decided to pass.

 The boys positively love San Francisco.  When we come over the bridge, Scotty tells me, with an expansive, encompassing flourish of his hand and a huge grin, "I got all this for you, Mommy!"

Be still my heart.

 If you look closely toward the center of the St. Frances, you can see the glass elevator on a quick descent.  Sadly, it was being "policed" by lobby officials, and was not available for riding "probably until the first of the year."  I'm not sure if we were considered a terrorist threat, or if the crowds just grow to unmanageable proportions during the holidays.  No worries.  We can wait, and come back any time we please.

It was a good day!