Garden at the Farm

My parents have almost three acres of space at their farm, but this is by far my favorite garden on their property. It's a beautiful, meandering garden that is just exactly who they are. The rocks and wood have all been poached from different places they go motorcycle riding and camping...from Wilseyville to Pi-Pi Valley to the Apple Ranch near Yosemite. Here is where they sit quietly drinking wine and listening to the small fountain in the pond, where they battle snails and deer and wild turkeys, where they lovingly transplant and shape and tinker. They experiment with light and foliage and structure and it is a beautiful treat for all my senses. I often step out of my car and walk the paths of this garden, to the side of the kitchen (including the veggie patch and fruit "orchard" of a half dozen trees), opening and shutting each gate behind me, before I even venture into the house. They often find me here, and because my mother is crazy, she greets me with, "What the hell are you doing?" And it feels like home. So I tell her, "I'm visiting." I love that garden.

Garden :: Grows!

 Beans, yellow squash, zucchini, pumpkins, strawberries....

 cucumbers....

greens....

Not pictured: tomatoes, spinach, kale...all growing just out of the line of sight from these photos.

Gardening for me is at once a leap of faith, confirmation of the physical laws of the universe, irrefutable botanical science, and yet a completely magical and mysterious process.

The fact that each of these things was a seed, mere potential, not four weeks ago? Plus the fact that these have grown by no less than 35% in the few days since I took these pictures, standing barefoot in my backyard?  This plus that equal awe, every single time. It never gets old.

On Father's Day we had dinner at my mom's house. Standing in her garden, troubleshooting tomato death, marveling at her beans and the way the hummingbird sage starts I propogated from the native  beauty in my front yard are now so huge they need to be transplanted...AGAIN...I could very nearly feel the thread that connects me to her through the roots of those plants, and then through her, connecting both of us to my grandmother.

One thing I'm pretty sure Grandma Dot never asked my mother to do, however, is hop into a 50 gallon garbage bin and jump up and down on it (holding onto the eave of the garage for balance) to make room for a final bag of garbage. That crazy is so patently Mother that I couldn't help but remember the time she had dad's gray bomber truck loaded sky high with pruned branches from, among other things, a dozen rose bushes ambling around her property. When she ask me and my brother to hop in the back to "pack it in", my brother raised his eyebrows at me and shook his head ever so slightly. Thank you, no he seemed to be saying. 

He's been in every kind of pickle imaginable because of that woman, so I didn't question it....my turn, I thought to myself.  I climbed on the edge of the truck bed using the wheel hubs as a makeshift step ladder and scooted toward the cab. With one hand on the top of the truck, and my left foot planted on the edge of the bed, I toed my right foot around until I found my footing and I lept onto the top of the branches. It was no less than a 40 inch vertical leap, and I can't remember exactly what I was thinking when I fell through the tower of branches, cracking and snapping my way as I plunged hip deep into the thorny wood that scratched and gouged first my ankles, then my knees, and finally my thighs...but I'm pretty sure it was something like GODDIZZLE.

My brother shook his head and gave me a (not unkind) I told you so look before my mom started nagging at me that I need to do more I hadn't packed it in  enough and there's plenty of room just start jumping. So I did what I can only hope my own kids do one day...I started jumping.

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.

Keep All Sissy Soft Suckers Off My Corner*

*Run DMC ~ Is IT Live

Teaching is not for the weak.  Nor is parenting. Nor is death. All three have collided for me this week.

In perhaps the most surreal moment of my week so far, I pulled up to my mom's car at my grandma's funeral on this drizzly Monday afternoon. Her windows were up and she was mouthing something to me. I squinted at her through the glass, and it became apparent that she was trying to tell me something. 

I could juuuusssstttt make it out.  "They all think you're baked." Alright. That's.....weird.

I'm down to the next 12 hours. If I can get through the next 12 hours, I believe I will be able to say that the last 72 hours were not so bad in hindsight.

From my garden! I'm looking forward to a lot more of this. Starting soon!

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."

At Night...

 At night, I've been practicing the 'piano' and crawling into bed with a little crochet and a good a ton of good books**.  I picked up the acoustic guitar around Christmas, and Erik showed me a few chords.  I have such short little stubby fingers though, that playing was a bit painful.  I could either strum or place my fingers, but doing both at the same time was an exercise in futility.  I had just decided that learning guitar was for the young, who will play for hours every day, having nothing better to do with themselves, when I remembered that we also have an old-school keyboard and a "beginning piano for adults" study book, and I think I may have found my calling.

I play for 20 or so minutes every night, and it is too too too much fun!  I've taught myself to read music (it's a cinch!) and I can now regal you with rockin' renditions of Down In the Valley, Clementine, When the Saints Go Marching In, Lavender's Blue, and Merrily We Roll Along (in my mind, "Mary Had a Little Lamb").  Somewhat more laborious, due to the out-of-middle-c finger positioning, I have finally also mastered "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".  

I'm available for your bar mitzvahs and weddings!

** I'm totally the kind of person who reads about 10 books at the same time.  When I was in college, my friend Ron asked me, in total seriousness, how many books I've read in my lifetime.  I had never contemplated such a thing, but the math-geek in me quickly flipped through some averages and statistics, and I was past my elementary school days (when I would spend the summers devouring a "chapter book" a day, my favorites being Charlotte's Web, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and Tuck Everlasting) and through the middle school years (when I met Jack London and Black Beauty and went down a rabbit hole with Lauara Ingalls Wilder) and then high school where honors English brought me Hemingway, Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, a Vonnegut spree, and I also read everything Stephen King wrote, espionage thrillers, the entire Planet of the Apes (original series) and anything else I could get my hands on...often going late into the wee hours of every night, unable to stop reading.  I was just beginning to mentally catalog my college textbooks, plus I was heavily into biographies between 1988 and 1994, when my friend Ron asked me "if I thought it was more than 10 books".  

And then I died.  

"No, no, I mean, I know you've had to read books, like for school and stuff, but do you think you've read more than ten books for just, like, fun?"  It had never occurred to me that there were people in the world who could literally list every book they had ever read.  It turns out, there are a lot of people like that...my dad is probably one of them!  Not counting maps and travel guides, I bet he hasn't read more than 20 books for pleasure since graduating from high school!  That would be unlike my mother and me.  I definitely get my love of WORDS from my mom, and she got it from her mom before that.  (Tommy, I'm happy to report...a nose-in-a-book kind of fellow.  The legacy lives on! :)

On my nightstand:

Painted House by John Grisham

Hideaway by Dean Koontz

Still Alice by Lisa Genova (recommended!  deeply emotional book, and so wonderful!)

The New Starting With Bees published by the A.I. Root Company

Little Bee by Chris Cleave (oops, this one is done!)

Bel Canto by Ann Patchette (surprisingly funny for a terrorist/hostage plot line...)

Lies My Teacher Told Me by James Loewen

The Four-Shaft Loom by Anne Field

The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs

Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris

On Beauty by Zadie Smith (re-reading, very worthwhile)

Mirror Mirror by Gregory Maguire (I think these re-imaginings of classic fairy tales are just fascinating!)

And you?  What exactly are you reading these days?  What instrument are you practicing?  Did you learn as an adult, as I am doing, or were you a child prodigy?

Handmade Christmas ~ In the Mail Part Two

I sent my cousin and his family a box in the mail for Christmas.  For Aunt Betty, I sent a pillow that I had made using an applique block from the flower series I was working on.

 I had said I wasn't sure about this blue one, and she mentioned it was her favorite one.  Perhaps she was just being polite; that'll learn her!  haha!

The pillow form comes out (the back of the pillow overlaps) and it was kind of a breeze to put it together.  The applique seems well done, which was a pleasant surprise, considering I made it!

I also sent two (semi-)matching candlesticks I had painted.  You know, what can I say?  They look like they should match, but one has more flowers than the other.  Whatever, I figured they can ignore the imbalance, or simply keep them in separate rooms, so as not to offend.  What a great gift!  oh dear.

 I found this dish towel too, when Cori and I went to Bizarre Bazaar a few weeks ago, so that went into the box, of course!

And we put in a letter from Tommy to his favorite "Uncle Moose", some pictures of the boys, and finally, there was this:

Also made from the applique blocks, using all three from the red series, I made them this 'table runner'.  I had decided a long time ago to make this for them, because Kelly had written in her blog about wanting to paint their dining room "eating room red", or something like that.  They have an amazing historical house mansion, and she was researching traditional paint colors, and so she mentioned it in passing and god I hope she meant it or this is going to be awkward.  haha


This table runner was very nearly the death of me, and there were three different times that it nearly didn't end up in the box.


The first time, was when I had sewed it together.  Using no pattern, and apparently no skill or sense, either, I managed to fashion a table-runner-esque object around the original three blocks.  Here's a picture of me, using my mad measuring skillz, to try and figure out what I needed to do:

Erik actually came up with the idea about how to do the red border and blank blocks.  I was pleasantly surprised that he was willing to play that game with me, and I think it was a mistake on his part, because it's a game I never grow tired of.

By the time I got it to here, I thought it was going to be great!  Then I layered it and pinned it, sewing the edges and turning it, and I was so bad at doing this that I actually considered cutting out the white blocks with the applique on them and starting over.

The second time it almost didn't make it into box, was when it was finally put together, and I realized there were some smudges on the fabric.  It was just dirty in spots, but who could complain?  That little square has been kicked around and lugged to football and baseball games for, like, two years or something.  What?  I'm slow.  I was REALLY afraid to put it in the washer, though, because for all I know, it wouldn't even survive one washing.  I mean, isn't it better for it to disintegrate on somebody else's watch?  Common sense prevailed (eventually) (barely) and it went into the washer and came out sparkling clean.  Yay!

The third time it almost didn't go into the box, was when I took it out of the dryer and saw the good news that my applique skills have come a long ways since I first started the flower block project!  Wow, am I getting good at it!  The bad news was that these red ones were among my first blocks... aaaannndddd....it showed.  :-/  In my defense, circles are hard!  Well, then, that's that!  I thought to myself.  I definitely can't send this out now!

But then I remembered this blanket:

 My mom made and gave me this blanket, and I LOVE IT.  I really, really, do.  And you know, my mom is not the most patient, detail-oriented person I've ever met.  These octogons had to be pieced together, and where I have spent weeks meticulously weaving in tails my mother simply tied the knots so tightly it was like she was mad at them, then snipped the yarn tails to a low nub, and moved on to the next one.  The combined effect is to have little pieces of yarn sticking straight up from various points on the blanket (my OCD was happy to discover that one side was less like this than the other, so now it's a directional blanket, for my sanity) AND I've had to resew the octogons in several spots, just because the little knots don't always hold.  I was able to pick up a few pieces of the actual yarn she used when making the blanket, so it still looks great.

Did I mention how much I love it?  Because the truth is, my affection for this blanket (and the person who made it for me) is no less diminished by these (slight) logistical issues. 

I thought about all these things while I used the blunt edge of a flat, wooden toothpick to push the tiny edges back under, in the (many) various spots that they should have been tacked down with my needle and thread, and when I ironed the whole thing, I was this close to saying, yeah, this might just work.

When Erik held it up from across the room though, I thought all those mistakes just went away and it actually looked nice, from where I was standing.  That sealed it.  Into the box it went.  I should have thrown in some toothpicks, as I'm sure it will need a washing at some point, but I leave it up to Moose and Kelly, who are very competent and will, I'm sure, attack this situation with the vim and vigor it requires.  Including, but certainly not limited to, tucking it away, ready to pull out and decorate the table, should we ever come visiting.  There must be some statute of limitations on how long somebody needs to give up valuable cupboard space for such an occasion, but I want to publicly say, here and now, that I will never ask them how the table runner is working out for them.  It's considered part of the gift, at this point.  Just do what you need to do.  ;)

To summarize:  I will send you a box of half-ass gifts because even though I'm not very good at something, it looked great when I pictured it in my head.  Is it my fault that the execution doesn't come to the heights of my vision?  I say no.  Merry Christmas, Moose, Kelly, and Aunt Betty!!!!  :)

Handmade Christmas ~ In the Mail Part One

 The Stitch Family ~ oh how I love them! ~ are so perfectly perfect.  They are, collectively, the funniest family on the planet.  They are also sweet, sassy, intelligent, generous, and friendly.  It's a mind-blowing combination!  Because of all their hippie-goodness, I was pretty sure the gnomes were a must have...It looks to me like this picture is missing one or two.  Well, no matter, because I need to make more for the boys because these are for Brit.  Never underestimate the need for gnomes felt by every adult woman I've come by in the last few weeks.  :)

I wrote about making this rag rug before, too, and it was always going to be for The Stitches.  I think it's so wonderfully thick and yummy!  On a post I wrote last year about how to make these rugs, a commenter recently left a note that her mom made a crocheted rug out of thrifted wool clothing that took years to make, and eventually covered the entire living room floor.  The kids still have it, having inherited it after their parents passed away, and it weighs more than 300 pounds!  I mean really!  More than 300 pounds.  It's so joyfully absurd, I just LOVE that story!  This rug is not big enough to cover a room (instead, it's about 2.5 x 3.5 feet or so), but it really made me think that if I ever did make one big enough for a room, The Stitches would most assuredly be the recipients. 

Every once in a while, Brit or I will email each other with blogs we like to read; she told me about Soulemama's blog, which I quite like.  Poor sweet Amanda Soule, who seems like a lovely person, also seems to be the recipient of an inordinate number of angst-ridden posts re:  every mother's inability to be her.  Oh, folly!  :)  I have so many hobbies, but this constant comparison is not one of them...even on the one hand, that I can enjoy a voyeuristic peek into somebody's life through their blog, I don't seem to experience the other hand of that, of wishing for what they have or do or believe.  It's not that I'm so full of esteem for myself, nor am I so full of disdain for others; I think it's a gene, inherited from my mom, that if you're busy (enough of the time), and happy (enough of the time), and choose to still feel busy and happy (the rest of the time), then it's okay to be cool with that and not worry about anything, or anyone else, while you're at it.   I will point out that my mom probably takes this to a mind-numbing, socially-embarrassing extreme, but she's rad so we ignore that.

The point of all that, I suppose, is to say that Brit is sort of my "Soulemama"!  I've always thought of Brit's blog as a love letter to her children, and in the best possible way, I'm a fan of her perspective and choices and mama-ing, plus she's so creative and talented; it's like a great big lovely-ball-of-wax, and I'm so glad to know her and her husband in both my real and virtual lives.

They might move pretty soon, and I know it's too much to ask for, but I do wish on a star that they might find their way down to my neighborhood.  :)

Handmade Christmas ~ Mom and Baby

My mom and my niece's baby, that would be!  Erik and The Boys got my mom a Rolling Stones Package of the Keith Richards' autobiography Life and the Martin Scorsese film, Shine a Light.  My mom, you should know, thinks the drug-addled and semi-insane Richards is hilarious.  Okay, Ma. 

She is a huge Stones fan...for years, when we were growing up, she had one of those license plate surrounds that said, "Hey you, get offa my cloud".  It was custom made, people.  Custom made.  So, that was a good call.  I picked up a dish towel with a squirrel screen printed on it from an etsy shop.  Stones and squirrels, she loves them both.

Then I also made her this:

It's just a fabric banner, but I really like the jewel-tones.  She asked for one to hang over the french doors that separate her dining room from the living room.  The french doors are from her grandmother's house, and she wanted something that wasn't a flower garland.  Why?  I don't know why.  She got a bug up her butt, and this is the result.

I couldn't get a great picture of it on my bed, so I hung it up in the kitchen.  The white of my grandma's hutch is similar to the white of her grandma's doors, so it's a pretty fair representation!  These garlands are an absolute snap to make.  And, looking at it here, it seems I need one too.  Dammit.

My niece's baby is due in March, and I gave her this crocheted swing coat.  It's so cute!  The pattern is from one of the first pattern books I ever purchased....it must have been 6 or more years ago, now.  It's all patterns for babies and toddlers.  My FAVORITE knit and crochet projects are for babies and toddlers!  Partly because every babe needs a handmade welcome, and partly because the time frame for these wee little projects suit my complete lack of focus and commitment.  ahem. 

Grief

If my mom were the type to allow naked displays of helplessness, you would be tempted (the day you found out her very best friend had died while holding her hand) to go directly to her side, give her a big hug, and tell her how sorry you are for her loss.  My brother tried to do that, in fact, and her response to his outstretched arms was, and I quote, "Don't touch me."  As she pushed past him. 

Because I'm no amateur when it comes to dealing with her, I took a slightly different tact.  I waited two days (I didn't even call her!  let her wonder!  haha!) then I showed up unannounced with two propagated hummingbird sages and two transplanted hollyhocks that self-started in my front yard.  I said, "Hey.  Look what I brought."  With no other words, we headed outside to rake, dig, move, load, and water. 

Because that's how we roll.  Feeling blue?  Get to work!

I was there for nine hours today.  We worked in the yards, fed the horses, cleaned the goat pen, collected eggs, washed the miniature horse's pool, ran errands, downloaded photos, bought a Waldorf Doll from an Etsy shop for Marie's granddaughter, and watched a little college football for good measure.  And in the smallest bits, with no prompting at all, she shared a few thoughts, a bit of her feelings, and some of her grief.  Just the tiniest amounts, but it's not about what I needed her to do.  It's about whatever she needs to get through this.

"I need you to do something for me," she said through tears as we raked.  "Okay," I answered, already tearing up.  "You have to go through my hope chest to get some pictures for Jenny for the service.  I tried, and I can't do it."

That....wasn't pleasant, I won't lie to you.  I giggled at some of the pictures, and cried over others, and generally needed to lie down and wash my face at the end of that little chore.  But I can see her point.  Obviously, she needed help with that one.

The service will be in a couple of weeks, as we wait for her youngest son to get over here from Hawaii, but it will be months...years...possibly ever....before my mom is able to really talk about what happened. 

I plan to be there, if she ever decides to make the leap.  I plan to be there if she doesn't, too.

Domesticities

The Boys and I had a blissful day here at The Shire.  My mom was visiting Mimi last week (please, don't ask, but I'll let you know the good news...she's hanging in there and she celebrated her 64th birthday last Wednesday...let's save the bad news for another day, shall we?)  and her neighbor's tree was shedding apples.  Nobody cared to harvest them, so my mom brought me a full paper sack!  Since it sounded like some of them came off the ground, and I could see that I would be cutting around soft spots, I first soaked them in water with some baking soda.

We made applesauce, which we ate tonight in the movie theater.  The whole famn damily went to see Dispicable Me.  Which turned out to be really super!  I had no idea what to expect, and I kind of didn't get the whole look of it (what are those yellow things?  I still don't know!) and yes, we ate applesauce.

I also did a thorough cleaning of the linens.  I took everything out of the closet and cleaned the closet.  Then I washed everything (four loads, it took!) and added some Tea Tree Oil to the rinse cycle.  Then everything dried in the sun, on the line. 

I learned how to hang clothing on the line from my Grandma Dot.  She lived in the Oakland Hills, and her house backed right up to Redwood Canyon.  It was so foggy there!  One time, Grandma Dot was driving my mom to school (Skyline High School) and although she assumed it was foggy, as usual, it turned out that it was, in fact, her car windows that were fogged over (it's called a defroster, Grandma).   On a perfectly sunny day, she couldn't quite see well enough to make a smooth drop off...instead, she accidentally drove up the steps in front of the school.  I think it's because my mom drove her to distraction; my mom says it's because "she was just like you, Mia, all brains, no smarts."  Nice.

Anyway, in case you didn't have a Grandma Dot, the trick to a quick-dry on the line is to know which way the wind blows!  Once you know the direction of the wind, just clip your items so they open up to the windy side (you can see in the picture, how only the back of the pillow cases are attached, and there is an opening in the front).  When the wind picks up, it fills the little pocket and that's why everything looks so beautiful and billowy on the line.  Grandma Dot swore by it, and I believe her.  With all that fog, and very little sun, it seems to me that the wind did more than its share of the work drying everything!  And today, which turned out to be pretty warm but definitely breezey, I was able to dry all four loads of linens across two lines in the yard.  Holla!

I folded everything neatly (stopping just short of ironing the pillow cases, you'll be happy to know) and decided that two of the sheet sets for our bed, and one set for the boys' beds, were ready for retirement.  I'll repurpose them for the fabric.  This turned out to be a good thing, because it left me with what I feel is just the right amount of "sheets on hand":  1 flannel set and 2 cotton sets, plus one guest-quality set, for our Cal King and 4 sets for the 2 twin mattresses in our kids' room.  That's a lot of sheets, actually!  Perhaps I could get away with fewer, but that would probably require me to launder more often then I'm strictly prepared to commit to.   I cut some lavender from the bush in the front yard (sorry, bees!  they LOVE this thing!) and tucked a few sprigs in with newly washed and folded sheets. 

You know what?  A thorough linen closet spring-clean (in the middle of summer) while apple-cinnamon fills the kitchen...it's exactly these kinds of "chores" that make me so happy with making a home.

Also...Happy 4th of July!

On Sunday, we packed up the van and headed up to Anna's lake house.  It's a condo actually, which I can't recommend with five children under the age of 9.  You know, because of all the loud and all.  But, I do highly recommend having a family friend who lets you use her lake house condo for free on a holiday weekend.  The property is just above Strawberry, so it's about 2 and half hours.  Or, if you're traveling with my sons, around three years.  Stop talking.

 

I wanted Tommy to jump off the dock.  He was a little hesitant, so I showed him how it's done...

...then I did it with him....

...and here we go!  Once he was off and running you just couldn't stop him.  It sure made me miss the 4th of July's from years gone by (Tra:  We drove right past Don Pedro on the way up!!!) but it was also nice to be on such a small private lake, with no motor boats allowed.  It was incredibly safe and serene, with a sandy beach and surrounded by the mountains.  Heavenly, really.

Scotty was pretty excited too!  I also remember riding on my dad's back like this in my Aunt Patty's pool when I was little.  (Yep, Moose, it's true!)  He would swim down to the bottom,  and we'd wrap our legs around his tummy and go down there with him.  I used to pretend I was riding a dolphin!

Seeing Erik playing with the boys in the water reminds me of how safe it feels when your daddy is around, making everything all right. :)

Lucky for me, my daddy was there too!  My mom and dad surprised me by coming up with my brother and me.  My dad has been working so much (he's on this crazy Solyndra job, and it's nuts; the most time off he got was when the President came and they shut everything down for five hours!) and my mom has turned into a hermit.  Getting her to leave the house is like prying teeth.  She'll trot to the grocery store...if she has to, but forget everything else.  She had a rental for three days when my dad's truck went into the shop.  She returned it with 20 miles on it.  It's 8 miles to the rental place.  Each way.  

So, anywho, it was a treat to have them out and about!

Good times.

So  many new experiences!  Scotty just didn't want it to end.

Oh my goodness.  That nose!