Happy Hippie Homemaker

Merry Christmas to All and to Blog a Good Night

2015-01-04T10:40:00.003-05:00

After a lot of procrastinating, writer's block, and soul searching, I've decided that I've come to the end of this blog. The idea of babbling to the world about my life and children seemed much more creative and unique when I began this blog.
I've often wondered if my whisper is heard among the din of social media. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. If my printed words never reach a wider audience than my own eyes, this blog has been amazing practice. I am a better person when I write.
I will probably start another blog. Probably not today. I hope I can be more creative, more insightful, more funny, and even more heard.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for bearing through my bad writing and enjoying my good. Thank you. I hope you'll read me again soon.

Back on the Slug Wagon

2014-11-21T12:47:00.002-05:00

Summer really threw off my running schedule. Then, school started, and I had to find a new routine. Then...then...then... Well, I am finally starting to run again, and it feels good not to be a slug. I have never been one to go "work out." I am immensely surprised that I like running as much as I do. Sometimes, however, I have to remind myself that I like it. This is the almost daily conversation I have with myself when I feel the treadmill calling my sluggish name:

Should I run today or should I eat some Halloween candy for lunch?
I should run, and we already ate most the good candy.
I am seriously debating this. Candy for lunch? How old am I? Thirteen?
No, I'm almost thirty-one. I am a responsible mama who is going to eat a big, old plate of vegetables for lunch...after I run.
I'll run after I write, throw in a load of laundry, unload the dishwasher, call the vet, and feed Tibby.
My knee kind of hurts. I am thirty-one, after all.
Seriously? It doesn't hurt. Slugs don't even have knees.
I know I will feel better afterward. Besides, my butt hurts from sitting at the computer too long. Apparently, slugs do have butts.
I'll just go run.
Okay...okay...Here I go.

If I Won the Lottery

2014-11-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

On long car trips, Bubba and I frequently fall into the same lengthy conversation. Our talk is sparked by the ever present lottery billboards along the highway. We follow a predictable script.
"What would you do if we won $120 million dollars?" I wonder aloud.
I wonder in spite of the fact that I don't buy lottery tickets.

Bubba's first answer has the tedium of an old man's favorite joke. "Well, you wouldn't actually win that much. After taxes, you'd only get like 65 million."

Undaunted, I roll my eyes and ask, "Well, what would you do with $65 million?"

Our answers also vary little. I would immediately pay off our house and our car. I would like to start my own environmental education and wildlife center. One of my most frivolous desires would be a private plane, so that we don't have to make the long drive we are inevitably making when this conversation arises. Of course, I'd want to make sure our kids never had to worry about money. I have a few other frivolities and travel adventures at which I'd love to throw a bunch of money. I also know that I'd feel obligated to give most of it away.
One thing is for sure: If I won the lottery, my life would be different. I could buy salmon when it's not on super sale. I could replace all my dilapidated windows with a wave of my magic wallet. It sure would be nice to spend without worrying or even thinking.
However, I am not so naive as to think that a winning lottery ticket would solve all my problems. While I admit that an exorbitant amount of money would solve quite a few, I know that life is unpredictable. Appendix burst, and legs break. Cars crash, and families argue. Things happen no matter what is in your checking account.
Until my imaginary ticket is pulled, I do my best to be grateful for my family, the mossy roof over our heads, and the payment plan cars that haul us around. I will do the best with our pennies and enjoy the daydreams the lottery gives, if not the dollars.

Good Job, Mommy

2014-10-14T15:42:00.002-04:00

I lost something. Something important. Somewhere along the road in my adulthood, I have completely and totally lost the ability to take pride in my job. In my life before kids, I worked at the nature center. I could look at something I did and think, "That was cool. I did that, and I did a good job." Whether it was a program I taught when I knew that the kids were really engaged or a wounded heron that I helped heal enough to be released, I felt great about what I'd done. I knew I'd done a good job.
I've lost that.
My job now is just being a mom. I've set my own maternal bar so high that I can't reach it.
My dad frequently answers my self doubt with the same advice. He says, "You know, nobody's done it perfectly yet." While intellectually I agree with his statement, emotionally I feel like I should be better. Better than better. The best. I should be the perfect parent.
And I can't be. And I know that, but I can't figure out how to give myself and my kids a break.
I love being a stay at home mom, but I will admit that there are days that I see no gratification in it. Some days no one says thank you for their Cheerios. I have days when I feel like everyone in the house has better things to do than talk to me. On others, my kids are literally pulling on me and talking over each other to get my attention. Everyone's unending laundry and dishes are cleaned and put away with only my hands touching them. Sometimes, I feel invisible.
My kids will never be perfect. By default, the product of my job can't be perfect. Does that mean I can't take pride in my imperfect, lovable monkeys? Of course. Unfortunately, I take too little joy in their successes and too much fault in their failings. I think I need to work on that. Even if I was the perfect parent, my kids can't be perfect. They are human, after all. I need to judge myself based on myself, not them.
Yesterday, we didn't do anything too special. We shopped for Nora's friends' birthday presents. Then, we enjoyed the wet afternoon watching Halloween movies and dinosaur shows. But I didn't lose my temper today. I listened to their stories and answered their questions. I fed them. I hugged them. I read to them. I kept them safe.
Since I will probably only hear it inside my own head, I have to say: Good job, Mommy. You did a good job. Thank you.

Weekends

2014-10-01T15:03:00.002-04:00

"What do you guys want to do today? You have some choices. We can..."
My conversation with my children starts this same way every Sunday. Since we have all but abandoned finding a home church and Saturdays are ruled by the soccer schedule, Sundays have become our family fun days.
Unfortunately, I get three different answers to my Sunday morning question. Nora is always ready for an exploit. The only time she is actually excited to play at home is if she has a friend over. On the other hand, Gray chooses a "lazy bum day" every single time. Although he is such a sociable little man that I believe he is destined to be a minister or a politician when he grows up, he misses home. I take it as a supreme compliment. Biking, hiking, swimming, museums, and fishing don't sound as fun as time at home with Luke Skywalker fighting pirates on the living room floor.
I feel pressure build with every approaching weekend, however, to have dazzling adventures with Nora and simple time on the couch with Gray. I feel like I need to maximize every minute with memories while still getting the laundry done. I'm still learning to balance two school kids and two weekend days. So far this school year, Saturdays are for Nora, filled with soccer games, festivals, and sleepovers. Sundays are Gray's day of movies, hugs, and home.

Fruit for a Year

2014-09-20T06:36:00.001-04:00

I thought I missed peach season this year. Mid-August marks the tail end of local, ripe peaches, but, lucky for me, the season ran late this year. We stopped by the orchard in Charlottesville. Their "scratch and dent" half price peach boxes were almost empty. I knew it wouldn't hurt to ask, and the staff was delightfully accommodating. We picked through peaches. Even with very high standards, we still ended up with two full bushels.
In just a few days, I canned thirty-six quarts of peaches and eighteen quarts of applesauce.
I love canning, despite the sweat of steaming pots, the blood caused by the slice of a lid, and the tears of doom when there is still one more half bushel to peel. Once, Bubba questioned my commitment to canning. Truthfully, applesauce isn't even much more expensive to buy than my homemade. Then at dinner, he dipped his spoon into a bowl of the smooth, yellow pulp. He couldn't believe how much better it tastes than the store bought stuff. He hasn't questioned it since.
I gave myself a break after the three bushels of fruit I did at once. I overdosed a bit. I'm ready to jump back into applesauce next week, though!

Pepper Preservation

2014-09-07T09:55:00.000-04:00

I've probably picked a peck of peppers out of the garden already, and more are ripening every day. I hate to admit it, but I was kinda getting tired of fajitas and pico de gallo.
I decided to preserve some peppers for future preparations. Normally, I am quite a snob about frozen vegetables, and Bubba is even worse. However, I plan to put the peppers into chili, soup, and maybe even salsa. All the peppers in those dishes are pretty darn mushy anyway, so freezing shouldn't do much damage. Nora and I quartered and seeded the bell peppers. We sliced the jalapenos and cut the banana peppers into strips.
I've never done this before, but I'm hopeful that my pepper plan will pan out perfectly.
Do you know the perfect way to preserve peppers? What are your favorite pepper recipes?

What To Do with a Bat on the Porch

2014-09-05T14:48:00.001-04:00

Most of the time, I get along well with the local colony of bats. They screech at us from the vents in the attic and poop on my porch, but mostly we ignore one another. However, once in a while, our world collide.
I noticed a fuzzy blob on the wood below our front door while I was stepping across the threshold.
"What are you doing there?" I asked the small bat. The kids were playing on the front porch, so I added, "Guys, do not touch it, but there is a bat right here if you want to see it. Don't touch!"
Bats are small, and their teeth are tiny. Unfortunately, they are also a rabies vector. Only one in about 200 bats actually contracts and carries rabies, but possible exposure means some awful consequences for the human and the bat involved. The human has to have several vaccinations while the bat has to be euthanized so that the health department can look at its brain.
"Don't touch! Just wait here. I'll move him and let him go. I'll be right back."
I stole back inside to grab my bat removal tools: a plastic container with a lid
"Okay, ready." Six wide eyes watched as I placed the container over the still bat, placing the opening over the bat and flat against the wall to create a little cage.
"Is it alive?" Nora wondered. In response, the bat screeched and flopped itself to the bottom of the container. I slid the lid between the wall and the container and snapped it in place.
Voila, a bite proof bat transporter! I chose clear plastic so the kids could see the bat's thin, stretchy wings and sharp, tiny teeth up close.
When the kids' curiosity was satisfied, I walked our friend over to the woods. Carefully, I opened the lid and tilted the bat onto a tree. Bats usually take off in flight from high places and swoop down as they fly. The kids couldn't believe how fast the bat climbed up the tree and away from us.

When bats or other wildlife seemingly invade our space, we usually panic, asking, "What should I do?!" Usually, the answer is that don't need to do anything. The skunk in the trashcan will leave when it is done eating or the raccoon on the back porch will wander off when it gets bored. However, if a bat is hanging out on your front door, on your ceiling fan, or coffee table (all places I've had bats), the plastic container removal is easy and safe for both human and beast.

Two Thirds Quieter

2014-09-02T08:30:00.000-04:00

My house is so quiet. Almost hauntingly quiet.
Two of my three little monkey kids are at school. Lily and I wander around the house. We're both trying to remember what we do without them.
I vacuum. I scrub the toilets. I watch Project Runway. I look at the clock.
I have a new "to do" list pinned on my cork board. I spend nap time ticking off boxes, feeling like Super Mom. I look at the clock again.
Gray boarded the bus on his first day with teary, wide eyes and his tiny hand in his sister's. She confidently pulled him to his seat in the front. Per my plea, she diligently sat with him on the ride to school and home again. They both came home beaming.
I am so happy that they love school. I'm thrilled to hear their stories of their life without me around. I know they need time away from me to grow. But it's still hard. The school bus is now taking two pieces of me away.
When I was eighteen, Bubba convinced me to do a 180 foot rappel off the side of a mountain in Tennessee. The descent was terrifying, thrilling, and all too short. Sending my kids to school feels like I'm convincing them to rappel. I provide the harness, the helmet, and the ropes. I've done it before, so I know it's safe. It's not something that they have to do to survive, but I know they'll love it and will grow from it. They have to take the first step off the ledge, into the air and the unknown. Then, they have to slowly work their way down the whole cliff. I can talk them through it and support them, but I can't do it for them. They can't quit halfway down, and they can't come back up. They have to make it to the ground. When they do, they'll decide where they want to turn and what will happen next.
School is my kids' first step away from me. It's terrifying, thrilling, and the time will be too short. But I know we will grow from it.

Thank Goodness for Pigs

2014-08-07T16:40:00.000-04:00

The worst thing about canning and preserving my local summer peaches and tomatoes is the mess they leave behind. Both need to be peeled before they are stuffed into mason jars, and the mountains of sweet smelling detritus they leave behind can leave me overwhelmed.
Luckily, we got new pigs just in time. With the last few ham steaks of John Lee and a few packages of Sage's sausage still in the freezer, we brought Hermione and Handsome to the farm as their tasty replacements. And thank goodness for pigs.
So far, they've already gobbled up my tomato and peach remains, as well as some stale cereal the kids swore they liked, corn husks, and the bits and pieces of unrecognizable leftovers Bubba hoarded in a desperate desire for real food he didn't have to make while I was at the beach with my family.
I hate throwing food away. It wastes money, which I try very hard to never do.
It wastes my time. After all, I'm the one who prepares all the food in our house.
And it wastes nutrients. When we don't have pigs, during the interval months when we've slaughter's last year's and this years haven't been weaned, I compost. However, our little composter has a hard time keeping up. Pigs, on the other hand, never fill up. Instead, they magically transform rotten peppers into bacon. Thank goodness for pigs!

Kids Feeding Kids

2014-07-15T12:19:00.000-04:00

It is a very humbling experience to realize that my own kid may be a nicer person than I am. When we visit my family in Ohio, Nora volunteers at a non-profit that my mom helps run. They distribute toiletries and household items at no cost to people in need. My normally shy, quiet daughter glows with confidence at "the office", which she has also taken to calling "her job in Ohio." She talks to strangers and absorbs every second of the attention she receives there. I've often wished she had a confidence boosting, benevolent activity closer to home.
A few months ago, while picking out seeds for our garden, she asked if she could have a corner of the garden for herself.
"Why?" I asked.
"I thought we could have a stand and then give the money to Grandma's office."
My first reaction was not admiration or humility; it was dread. "Well, we'll see..."
My mind flashed with images of hours sweaty garden labor. I knew she'd never weed and water frequently enough to keep the garden alive. I knew the labor would be solely mine, with the exception of a few halfhearted watering attempts which usually end with her spraying herself with the hose instead of the plants.
Nora persisted with increasingly grand plans her stand. She brought it up every time I talked about my garden. My answer was the same. "We'll see..."
Finally, I started to cave. After all, my garden usually produces more than we can eat anyway. I proposed a different plan, however. "How about if we do the farmer's market? And then, maybe give some of the money to charity? Maybe half?" I also explained that we should find a charity a little closer to home and brainstormed ideas for a place to give the money specifically to kids. In the end, we agreed on "the backpack program" at her school. The backpack program sends kids in need home with a backpack of healthy food for the weekend.
I completely refused to give her a corner of the garden. Instead, I offered to share the produce from the whole thing. My garden is very personal to me. I am the only one who chooses what we plant and where. Once it is initially tilled, I do most of the work on the soil and fight the weeds myself. Although the job is sometimes overwhelming and I curse the lack of help, mostly I enjoy it being mine...all mine. I knew her corner would frustrate both of us. The day would come that the work wouldn't be fun anymore, and the corner would fall to weeds or come to me. No, I decided it was better to share, but I secretly hoped the idea would dry up like my pathetic cantaloupe plants. Then, I could be greedy without guilt.
The idea was here to stay, and she continued to bring it up. She questioned why we couldn't give all the money away. I wanted to split the money with the charity, because it was my blood, sweat, and tears that grew the vegetables. The guilt of my own selfishness ate away at me. I decided that the stand would be Nora's and that she could do what she wanted with it, despite the fact that she still is not enjoying actually gardening at all.
After the busy Saturdays of June gave way to an open Saturday in July, I found myself asking my daughter if she was really, really, really sure she wanted to sit at a hot stand all morning. She nodded solemnly and assured me she wouldn't be shy or grumpy.
"Yeah, right," I thought, "just like you were going to help me grow all this stuff."
The day was hot and tiring at the stand she'd named "Kids Feeding Kids" as I had predicted it would be. Although she had wilted as badly as our chard by the time it was time to pack up and go home, she was absolutely elated that most of what we'd brought had sold. She was thrilled that the other vendors seemed to adopt her. I'm sure it improved her mood to hear over and over how awesome she was from workers and customers.
It helped me to hear it too. It reminded me that it is pretty awesome that she came up with this on her own. Despite it being my hands doing the work, it was her heart. I'm glad she forced me be generous, and it looks like we'll be at the stand again in just a few days. In the meantime, I'll be watering and weeding and wishing she would ease my workload as much as she eases my conscience.

The One and Only by Emily Giffin

2014-07-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

I was insanely excited to see the cool teal cover of Emily Giffin's new book waiting for me in the "new books" section of my local, beloved library. Emily Giffin has a knack for creating characters with hopeless flaws that you can't help but celebrate. The first book of hers that I'd read was Something Borrowed about a woman falling in love with her friend, who also happens to be her best friend's fiance. Somehow, she made me root for the impending marriage to break up and cheer for the cheaters.
The main character in The One and Only was Shea, a football addict, with an inappropriate crush on her best friend's dad who is a famous college football coach. Once again, Emily Giffin hooked and surprised me by seamlessly weaving sports through a chick lit book. The plot didn't drag through overtimes and fumbles. Instead, she had me captivated on every page and unashamedly rooting for her Shea.

Summer

2014-07-07T15:01:00.001-04:00

It's exhausting being fun all the time. Now that Lily is old enough to tag along with just about anything and Gray will start school in the fall, I am determined to have an exorbitant amount of fun with the kids this summer. I refuse to let this summer slip by.
So far, we've been swimming and hiking. We have visited Appomattox National Battlefield, Bear Creek Lake State Park, the Farmville Visitor Center, and Longwood Center for the Visual Arts. We have caught dozens of fish, including this monster bass. We've picked a mountain of kale, lettuce, and spinach and chomped on freshly picked peppers, peas, and beans.
We have not had one day of being homebodies. During all this merriment, the laundry has piled up. Our dishwasher remains unloaded for too long, and I spend copious amounts of time searching for new adventures.
I am flying through summer with my Supermom cape trailing behind me. What's crazy to think is that they probably won't remember my efforts, especially Gray. He's only four, and these days will blur together. Meanwhile, I will try my hardest to remember every summer smile.

Conversations with My Son

2014-06-19T18:07:00.001-04:00

Him: Mama, I got a dead bug on me. I don't know what it was, but it had wings.

Me: What's your favorite vegetable, sir?
Him: Peppers. That's the only one I like. I only eat broccoli when you make me.

As he is drawing...
Me: What is that sir?
Him: It's orange.
Me: I know, but what are you drawing?
Him: It's a three color rainbow that's whirling around.

Him: Have you seen my pirate?
Me: No, I haven't. If I did see it, I would have put it in the pirate box.
Him: Well, I looked in there and it was nowhere to be seen. It vanished!

My First Sleepover

2014-06-14T07:55:00.002-04:00

Nora stayed with at a friend's house Friday night. It was her very first sleepover without any family. I really wasn't sure I was ready for it.
I try very hard not to be a "helicopter parent" despite my unfortunate habit of obsessing about my children's behavior. I trust Nora, though. She's a very responsible, self aware little girl. I know that if she had misgivings about spending the night away from how she'd tell me. She didn't hesitate. She wanted to go.
The sleepover was the talk of the week. Everyday, she let me in on their plans and preparations. She could not have been more excited, while I tried not to have an ulcer.
I was a terrible sleepover friend as a kid. I could never fall asleep, and I was always up early. I had my blurry eyed parents pick me up in the middle of the night a few times. If I made it through, I was always anxious to get back home as soon as the sun was up. Maybe I've always been a hermit.
I hugged Nora goodbye on the big day, praying that she wouldn't follow in my footsteps.
I went to bed early, anticipating a late night call. When I opened my eyes to the dawning sun, I smiled. She made it.
Although she got almost no sleep, that wasn't really surprising. How many kids actually sleep at a sleepover? She had a ball and can't wait to do it again.
She made it! And what's even more shocking, I did too.

Greens! Greens!

2014-06-10T12:54:00.003-04:00

We're finally getting a chance to enjoy the fruits of our labor from the garden. The rainbow chard was quite a hit with the kids, although I found out that they greatly prefer it fresh. I tried sauteing it in with garlic, which I thought was magnificent, but I was the only one at the table chomping it down. Everyone else seemed to be choking more than chomping.
My kale has been stupendous! I still can't convince Bubba of its virtues, but I have enjoyed a ton of kale chips.
I've had salad after salad of fresh lettuce, endive, spinach too.

Garden goodies still to come include:
Peas
Carrots-including orange and purple
Eggplant
Peppers-including one ghost pepper, banana, yellow, green, red, and jalapeno
Tomatoes-including grape, cherry, and a mix of random others
Brussels sprouts
Watermelon
Beans-including yellow and green
Squash-including yellow, spaghetti, and zucchini
Cucumbers-including pickling and burpless

Book 21: Five Quarters of the Orange by Joanne Harris

2014-05-29T07:00:00.000-04:00

When Gray reads a book or watches a movie, he likes to know who the bad guys are. He needs a clear cut conflict such as Voldemort versus Harry Potter or Jedi versus Dark Side. (For those of you who know Star Wars, he was sobbing and got so upset that he had to turn off the end of Episode III. He could not accept that Anakin would turn to the Dark Side.) Therefore, my son would not enjoy Joanne Harris's books as much as I do.
Joanne Harris's characters are complex. She has a way of making you cheer for the bad guy or at least feel sympathy. She has a brilliant way of making her characters feel real by making them flawed. Her characters often have knowledge of food, the environment, or people as their biggest asset. Since her main characters are often female, this is a welcome change from a woman having only beauty and a man to get her through a conflict.
You might remember Joanne Harris as the author of Chocolat, which was made into a great movie; made all the more beautiful by Johnny Depp. The book is very different from the movie and much more complex, but I like them both. However, I loved Five Quarters of the Orange in a completely different way. Be careful if you start reading one of Joanne Harris's books. They are more addictive than chocolate!

A Whale of a Fish Tale

2014-05-25T14:48:00.000-04:00

The weather was warm with a gentle breeze taking the edge off the heat of the afternoon. Since soccer season has ended, our afternoons have become ours again.
"Bike ride or fishing?" I asked the kids as Nora finished up her homework.
"Fishing!" Nora cheered.
"Bike-no fishing!" Gray called, looking at his idolized big sister.
"Yay! Go!" said Lily, who is up for any adventure in which she is included.
Nora loves fishing. I'd taken all of them twice already this spring, but we hadn't caught anything yet. Not even a darn nibble. She hadn't lost hope, however, and with our fishing poles stuck out the back window, we headed to the nearest state park.
Even with three kids, I only bring two working poles. The only thing I have to help Nora with is baiting the hook. She isn't squeamish about touching the worms, but it disturbs her to stab the hook into their squirmy bodies. Unsecured, the worms fly off the hook when she casts, so it's just better for me to do it. I have to cast for Gray, who enjoys wandering around and digging in the dirt more than actively fishing. I give Lily a length of cane pole without a hook or line, which she slams into the water giggling. I bounce from kid to kid making sure everyone is dry, happy, and un-pierced.
My favorite part of fishing is watching the other wildlife around us. We were in awe of a bald eagle catching a fish only a few yards out in the water from where we stood. We guessed where a diving cormorant would surface. We heard the music of far off cricket frogs.
I had just cast Gray's line when I heard a splash beside me. I inhaled one gasp, loud and long enough to make Gray and Nora freeze. Lily had fallen in the lake. Luckily, she fell in bottom first. She was soaked, but her head never went under. I grabbed her arm before she could slip trying to stand up.
"Watt-y! Watt-y!" she sobbed. (This is her word for "water". I won't use it back to her, hoping she will eventually drop the "y" and add the "er". However, it was a pathetically adorable sound as she sat in the mud at the lake's edge.)
I had just planted her on dry land when Nora shouted, "MOMMY! Help Grayson! He's got a fish!"
With my arms around Lily, I turned to see a small bluegill dangling in my face. Gray stood beaming, holding the pole with the fish still attached.
"Help him! Help him!"
"Watt-y!!"
I took a deep breath. "Okay." I carried Lily to a picnic bench. "Just hold still, sir. You are okay. You want to put some clothes on?"
"Yes!" Sobbing.
Forgetting any attempt at privacy, I started to peel Lily's soaked clothes from her body. "You are okay. Nora, put some water in the bucket. Hurry. Just hold still, sir. You are okay. Look, baby, your dress is dry. Do you want to wear your dress?"
"Yes!" Sobbing.
Nora plopped the bucket beside me. "Okay. We're going to put him like this..." Still hugging Lily, I dunked the fish, hook, line, and all into the bucket. "Just leave it while I get your sister." Gray stood in awe of his trophy, giggling. Dry clothes seemed to dry Lily's tears. "Do you want a snack?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Okay. You are such a big girl. You fell in the water, but you're okay. Come sit by me and have your snack."
Within minutes, Lily was content with the universe again. She batted her pole in the water, terrorized the bait, and pointed at every bird that flew by. I got the stubborn hook out of the fish's mouth with determination and a few mumbled swear words. The upheaval was over quickly, and we returned to the steady, quiet rhythm of fishing.
Just one thing was wrong. Gray's fish remained the only prize in the bucket. Even with all her diligent persistence, she still hadn't caught a fish.
Gray left his pole to Lily and me, trading fishing for exploring. I cast again and again with the intention of handing my line to Nora to reel if I felt a bite. "Please, let her catch one...please..." I thought.
"MOMMY! HELP ME!" Nora was holding her bending pole with white knuckles. "I've got one! Help me!"
I laughed, in spite of her desperation. "You're fine. Just keep getting him in. You're fine." With every crank, her smile grew larger. The fish she hooked was three times the size of Gray's. In fact it was so big that a grandpa who was fishing next to us brought his granddaughter over to see it. Nora proudly showed her prize.
Soon after that, it was time to head home for dinner and baths. Dinner did not include fish, but it did teem with fish tales as the kids relayed the excitement. Fishing with three kids keeps me on my toes, but it also keeps me smiling.

Free to Be Free from Weeds

2014-05-23T15:18:00.000-04:00

I thought it was me and my black thumb.
I thought I was doomed.
I've planted a garden for years, and every year I have lost the battle with weeds. Pigweed and grass have crushed my dreams for too many seasons now. This year, I have a new weapon. Look out, weeds. I have a tiller that's looking for you.

When our old tiller broke, it sat at the edge of the yard for so long a blackberry bush grew up through it. I tore at invading weeds with hoes but tried to poison them with nothing more toxic than my own disdain.
When Bubba finally freed the machine from its thorny prison only to declare it dead. And when Bubba finally admits that something cannot be fixed, it REALLY cannot be fixed.

He begrudgingly picked up a tiller which he called tiny. I argued that a smaller tiller would allow us to plant rows closer together. (Secretly, I was also intimidated by the big, old tillers. I only learned to use the lawnmower a couple of years ago!) Price was on my side, and it was love at first sift.

Right now, my garden is the garden of my dreams. Weed free rows are gorgeous! This is the year that the tide will change. Do you hear that, Pigweed? This is the summer of no surrender!

Field Tripping

2014-05-21T16:13:00.003-04:00

The four charter buses clunked into the buffet restaurant parking lot like an alien invasion with extraterrestrials poured out chattering and bouncing excitedly. It was time for dinner on a second grade field trip.
When I signed up to help chaperon, I did not dread two and a half hours on a bus with these kids. I brought a book. And I was looking forward to the Virginia Living Museum, but the buffet... The buffet haunted me.
Oh me of little faith.
I was responsible for Nora and one of her friends. They flitted from exhibit to exhibit with enthusiasm and speed. Although I would have preferred a little more time with each enclosure and display, I was impressed by how engaged they were. Being the naturalist nerd I am, I kept up a streaming explanation of nictitating membranes, biodiversity, and natural histories. The day passed in a flurry of feathers and fur. Much too quickly, it was time to head for the buffet.
A buffet restaurant was the best way to feed a bazillion hungry eight year old and half a bazillion frazzled adults. However, it did present more than a few logistic challenges. The invasion didn't make my dinner more appetizing, but on the whole, it wasn't repulsive either.
After the last bite of cotton candy had been eaten, the sticky handed kids boarded the buses. I told Bubba when I got home, "Well, I don't think it could have been less chaotic. And that's pretty darn good."
I commend our school for taking on such a challenging trip. The kids were given a heavy responsibility, and they rose to the occasion. I'm in no rush to repeat our buffet extravaganza, but I am thrilled the kids appreciated the smorgasbord of an experience that the field trip served them.

Frozen Philosophy

2014-05-15T13:23:00.000-04:00

We were late to jump on the Frozen bandwagon. Before her birthday, Nora informed us she was the ONLY kid in her class that hadn't seen the epic film. She told us the entire plot, relayed to her by sympathetic friends, and begged to listen to the soundtrack. Finally, my mother-in-law gave her the dvd, and the world was as it should be.

I was completely unimpressed by the trailers. We don't go to the movies often, anyway, and Frozen didn't seem to be worth it. However, we didn't mind the movie. I might even go so far as to say we liked it.

My dad burned the kids the soundtrack, and they have been letting it go almost every day.

Although I often get mocked for reading too much into the lessons of silly cartoons, frozen has some excellent philosophical (and dare I say feminist) messages. Here are a few of the things I'm glad that Frozen is teaching my kids:

Family is important. Sure, Anna could run to the strong arms of Christoph for a kiss while the bad guy is trying to kill Elsa, but she doesn't. She saves her sister.
Sisters can be jerks, but you shouldn't give up on each other. I grew up pestering and chasing my older sisters around like Anna bugs Elsa. Now, though, my sisters and I are happy to spend time together. They are two of my best friends.
You can't change people, but you can love them. When Anna and Christoph go see the trolls, the trolls advise to throw a little love at grumpy, stressed people. I agree with this advice. We can't change people, but loving them is one of the best ways to make them think of changing on their own.
Be yourself. Let it go. Covering up your feelings and emotions will only cause anguish (or eternal winter). We have to learn to feel our emotions without letting them control us. Pretending to be some one we're not won't help.

I am usually skeptical when movies are extremely popular, expecting cheap humor and brain numbing dialogue. Frozen surprised me, and I'm going to try to become less fatalistic about kids' movies. I'm really going to try to let it go.

Birds on My Brain

2014-05-12T12:52:00.004-04:00

Last week, a short thunderstorm blew a few welcome, but wayward surprises to my yard.
Normally, we are too low in elevation for these gorgeous rose-breasted grosbeaks. However, we were visited by two males and a female. I couldn't stop admiring them.

I was thrilled enough with my grosbeaks, when I spotted something red flitting through the treetops. Excitedly, I grabbed my binoculars to confirm my inclination, and I was right! It was a scarlet tanager!
Neither of these birds are tremendously rare. They aren't life list birds for me either; however, they never fail to thrill me.
Last year, we saw or heard 37 species of birds on our two acres. In 2014, we've already seen 34! I will certainly be keeping my eyes and ears open to beat our old record.
Happy birding!

Rachel's Big Adventure

2014-05-05T14:51:00.001-04:00

I have lived six hundred miles from my family for nine years. In all that time, I have never made the trek back to the Midwest by myself. With our cars aging past 100,000 miles, neither Bubba nor I felt comfortable relying on them for such a long, solo journey. I've flown, met my parents halfway, or drug Bubba along with me on every trip.

This year, spring break timed out poorly for Bubba to come with us. Chickens were leaving. Goats were kidding. There was no way for him to leave his beasts. With the safety and reliability assured in the new car, I decided that nine years of being dependent on rides was long enough. I drove myself and my kids to Ohio alone.

I survived one bout of kid carsickness, six rest stops, one huge traffic jam, the Appalachian Mountains, and a bazillion miles of road construction. Our big adventure reminded me how great my kids are. They were helpful and happy for about five hundred and ninety-nine miles of the trip. To thank them, I played the Frozen soundtrack about thirteen times.

My big adventure turned out to be not much of one. Sure, it was a long day in the car, but the whole excursion was easier than I thought it would be. I'd certainly prefer company, but it's nice to know I can rely on my car and myself.

Into the Garden

2014-04-29T15:00:00.002-04:00

My Garden

Dirt

Unwelcome rocks

Chicken and cow poop

Hope

So far, I've planted spinach, kale, radishes, carrots, peas, endive, and peppers, and I haven't killed any of them! After the master gardeners' plant sale this weekend, my wallet will be lighter, but the garden will be full! I can't wait!

I Can 5K

2014-04-25T18:00:00.000-04:00

The day before Easter I ran my first official 5K. My two sisters, my mom, and I ran a benefit 5K at the nature center where I used to work. I'd run three miles before. I'd even run four, but this run wasn't in my treadmill cave in my dismal basement. I ran in front of other people. I ran with other people. I ran with people in the sunshine. It felt good to come out of the running closet.

At Christmas, we hadn't even talked about doing a 5K. Run three miles? Are you kidding? I hadn't run since seventh grade track, where I avoided running at all costs. In fact, until about a month ago, I'd never run further than two miles in my entire life.

My middle sister has been on the fitness train for years. She gets up at 5:23 for workout classes that would make me keel over in the first two minutes. While I'd admired her tenacity, I admit that I'd scoffed at all exercise. Then, my other sister started to work out. Finally, my mom started talking about starting a Couch to 5K program. I wasn't about to be the only slug on the couch, so I started too.

Three months later, with muddy shoes and a very red face, I crossed the finish line of my first 5K with my sisters and mom. We did it! We didn't win; not even close, I ended in 214th place out of 283 runners. However, we finished. We did it! I did it! And I can honestly say, with surprise bordering on astonishment, I'm not done running yet.