Stylin' Trike

Grandpa Joe brought this extra-special PINK Schwinn Roadster tricycle down for Ellie, and the girl thinks it's the best thing since sippy cups. Of course, so does her sister.

That Looks Like My Papa!!!

I have discovered a fundamental difference between Jay and me. I would be happy with a finite and easily-accessible music library - for example, an iTunes library that I can view and navigate without a hassle - or even - although I know how archaic this sounds - a bunch of CD's located in one place in their cases so I can see what I've got and browse the whole thing just by looking. Based on my observations, Jay is out to be master of a much larger chunk of the musical universe than I am. In his quest, I guess he asked his dad to bring down a large portion of his classical musical library for Jay to borrow/copy to wherever it is that we save such things.

So, Joe brought down boxes of CD's. Jay sorted them into piles of wheat and chaff - and then didn't think to put the chaff pile out of Maggie's reach. At the top of the pile was one "Please Play a Polka" by The Magic Organ. Although The Magic Organ could be a name for an edgy alternative band, there is not actually meant to be any phallic undertone here. No, this CD was produced by "Ranwood Records, Inc. - A Welk Record Group Company." As in Lawrence Welk.

Maggie saw that CD, swooped it up, and exclaimed: "That Looks Like My Papa! Look, Mama!" Sometimes it's twisted and fun to see an actual image that illustrates just how our children view us. Hopefully, if Jay ever loses her in a mall or something, she'll find a friendly security guard and describe her father as a cheerful pink-belted pirate with a puffy shirt who enjoys a good organ polka. Shouldn't be hard at all to track him down that way.

In case you've ever wondered: Organ polkas + Young children = Hours of fun.

The Manliest of Mantools

For the modest sum of $80, my husband was able to spend two days burning off his excess testosterone with an impressive piece of equipment dubbed the Billy Goat Outback Brush Cutter (check out the video on "mowing obstacles" on the website). He could have rented it for a few hours or even just for one day, but he went for the whole weekend adventure. Thankfully, we do not have a small yard, or we would probably have no standing vegetation left.

He was able to carve out a "campsite" in the big trees which I am especially psyched about - somehow satisfying a childhood desire I never knew I had to be able to camp in my own yard. Then, he took out the blackberries between the trees out back - and I'm not sure what all else. I know that the neighbor-men were sufficiently impressed and it was enjoyable enough that we have begun envisioning an annual "Billy Goat Weekend." The thing's got too much potential for destruction to consider having it on the property more frequently than once a year.

Holy Bad Hair, Batman

One look at the pictures from my day with Maggie, and I knew I had once again let my own general upkeep fall by the wayside. I called and got myself trimmed up (hacked off) over the weekend, and now feel not only about 5 pounds lighter in the head area, but also about 10 years younger. Crazy how a haircut can do that. Now, I just have to make the time to go back and get rid of the gray roots.

Edited - Speaking of heads and hair, I took Ellie to her 2-year check-up early in the week (yes, a little late), and found that while her weight is at the 90th percentile and her height is at the 60th percentile for her age, her head exceeds the 97th percentile, and is, in fact, completely off the chart. My beautiful daughter has a watermelon for a head. I am pretty sure that the measurement (which the nurse came back and took for a second time to be sure) is due in part to the glorious head of hair she's got. Really, when you're talking centimeters, doesn't the bouncin' and behavin' hair come into play?

Clark County "Hidden" Treasure

Nautilus is headquartered in Vancouver - right near one of my favorite local shopping areas. If you look at the signs as you're driving around the parking lot, you see an arrow pointing to something that says, "The Backyard." The Backyard includes an artificial turf football/soccer field, softball field, track, basketball courts, bleachers, scoreboards, picnic tables. There's plenty of parking, and it's open to the public (you can even reserve the fields if you want to plan ahead). I've been there a few times with the girls, and yesterday the whole family went - and at no point have I ever seen more than one other small cluster of people there. Now, I don't know that Nautilus really aggressively advertises that this wonderland is available for any old Joe off the street and his rugrats - but it IS. (It's kind of hard to find much to link to that explains the Backyard - here's something at least. See the lower right-hand corner of the page.) And, with the kids - anywhere you can take them where they have the freedom to run around an open space at will, it's awesome.

It's funny to see the personalities come out when we do this type of thing, though. Ellie picks up a ball and starts running around laughing and "playing fetch." Maggie picks up a ball and pretends that she's a princess holding on to a precious egg that must not be dropped, thrown, kicked or otherwise abused. She likes to twirl around and get lost in whatever little fantasy she's dreamed up in the moment. Meanwhile, Ellie's running laps, kicking field goals, shooting three-pointers... well... Don't want to start pigeonholing anyone, now do I? But, we have decided that Ellie will be a soccer player and Mags will probably be a Jazzercise instructor. (I got her a pair of black leggings the other day. Today she wanted to wear them and her sneakers so she could pretend to be just that.)

Big Girl Day

Darling Maggie,

Yesterday we downed a quick breakfast at the Cafe with Ellie, then took her to Portland to hang out with her father. You and I continued south to Tigard to see the Broadway Rose Theater Company's version of The Little Mermaid. It was over 100 degrees outside, your first experience with the thea-tah and your first close-up encounter with an actual mermaid princess. You were a big girl on sensory overload, and I want to tell you how it went, so when you have a young daughter and decide that you want to get her showered, dressed up and expose her to a little culture that you have something to compare it to.

You woke up with the single-minded focus of a fighter pilot. "Maggie, you need to take a shower this morning." "But, I thought we were going to see The Little Mermaid." "Yes, but first you need to clean up and get dressed." "Oh, okay. I'll wear my black skirt and my princess shirt. I'll go get them." (And then you DID. And you showered in record time, calling out "Mom, I'm done!" before I even had time to comb the unruly curls from my hair which had air-dried overnight squashed into my pillow. This may not seem incredible unless you are reminded that on a typical day, you profess yourself completely unable to select your own clothes. Also, your showers generally wrap up minutes after the household supply of hot water has expired.)

Once you were dressed and ready, we had to get Ellie up and get some food into us. To get us out of the house quickly and save time, I suggested going out for breakfast. ("...but Mom, I thought we were going to see The Little Mermaid." "Food first, Mags." "Oh, okay.") So, you were a good kid at the Cafe, helping me prepare my coffee and trying to keep Ellie content, which was nearly impossible yesterday morning, for some reason.



















We got to Portland on the early side of when I had planned, which surprised me a little since we are always on the back end of on time and usually actually kind of late. Then I realized that we were making good progress because you were actually facilitating our forward movement instead of your usual tendency toward well, slowing us down. Anyway, we got Ellie dropped off, you announced to your father that the two of us were going to see The Little Mermaid(!), and we made our way down I-5.



















We arrived at Tigard High School at about 10:20 - the play had open seating, so lines of children displaying all kinds of manners and attire congregated at the closed doors waiting for the magic time when the doors would open and we would have the chance to stampede into the auditorium and scope out seats. You waited patiently. You had been clever enough to think of bringing your favorite Little Mermaid book, so we were able to sit and read quietly while we waited. I don't know if you noticed the envious glances of little girls and mothers alike as a happy glow emanated out from the pages of your book and possibly from the contented mother-daughter tableau that we presented. You sat on my lap, happily entertained.

When we got into the theater, lots of good seats were taped off for clusters of daycare kids, including a large group of KinderCare tots in their blue summer t-shirts. We ended up in the VERY front row. I looked around and noticed the orchestra pit right below us. I suggested at that point (knowing how much you DETEST loud noises) that we might want to look for other seating. You resisted a bit, but then listened to what I was saying, locked your hands over your ears to keep from hearing anything too loud, and kept those darling little hands locked in that protective position for the next 30 minutes. (To those of you who think loud fireworks don't leave a lasting impression on children, think again, my friends.)

We found seats one row behind the middle aisle in the middle - probably, actually, among the best seats in the house. Great view - and easy in and out. The rows were wide, and you were able to comfortably sit in my lap (which was nice, because you don't get to have my lap to yourself for very long all that often). After a while - and much convincing - you agreed to remove your hands from your ears. I'm so glad we had that time before the play to get you situated and comfortable. You even moved over to your own chair for a while, and did a great job trying to keep it from closing in around you as auditorium seats are wont to do. When they turned the house lights off and got things started, you were a perfect little lady - sitting up straight and clapping ever so correctly and delicately at the end of each musical number. You didn't seem concerned that the Broadway Rose people had created a version significantly different than the Disney version - It didn't phase you that instead of King Triton, we had King Neptune or that Ariel's friends were two fish sisters instead of a crab, a seagull and a boy fish. Yeah, the storms and the Sea Witch were loud, but you handled it like a pro.

Afterward, the characters assembled outside in the unusually hot afternoon to sign autographs. Based on my experience, I asked 7 or 8 times if you REALLY wanted to go see the characters, and you insisted that yes, you did. Of course, when I say "characters," what this really means is, "Ariel," since the other players were merely accessories to Ariel in your mind - and certainly not worthy of autograph seekers. So, we allowed ourselves to become part of the ever morphing girly circle that was engulfing the fair Ariel. You grasped your program in one sweaty hand and my fingers in the other. You would not push forward - stuck, I think, in between WANTING to see Ariel and abject terror. I tried gently nudging you ahead, silently cursing the oversized grandmas who, with complete disregard for other guardians or children, had to snap the PERFECT snapshot of their little angels sidled up to Tigard's version of a make-believe princess. Eventually, as the crowd thinned a bit, you ended up getting close. I scanned the crowd for other children with a hint of fear or trepidation in their eyes. I wondered what I might have done at some point to foster this kind of double-edged discomfort/fascination in you. I thought about when I was a kid and if I would have even dared to TRY to get Ariel's autograph. And, I held onto your hand and stroked your hair and told you to hold your program up so Ariel would notice you. Sweetheart, you held that thing up in the air directly over your head - and Ariel took it from you and signed it. She asked you if you enjoyed the play. If you could have turned yourself inside out, I know you would have. When Ariel handed your program back to you, your little legs collapsed under you and you began to sob. I'm still wondering if it was just the unspeakable heft of the moment that left you completely undone - as if you were a teenage girl in 1964 and you had just witnessed the Beatles arriving in America.

























Even after removing you from the situation, getting you back into the air-conditioning and lovingly changing the subject - it took a bit of doin' to get you back to your good old self. Even then, you were unable to even look at the piece of paper that Ariel had signed - as if that blue program brought all the emotions flooding back. Darlin', I have to tell you. I think when I was a kid, I was so shy that I probably wouldn't have even tried to get that autograph, and from what your Papa says, so was he. So, maybe that's your shy gene acting up - sorry about that.

We stuck around long enough that by the time we left, we saw the guy who had played the prince come out a back door dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. I think you kind of liked getting that behind-the-scenes look at him and having your a-ha moment around that - however exactly you interpreted it. I actually think you just decided that the prince had changed his clothes, not so much that it was just a kid who was acting in the play, but whatever.




















We went out to lunch at Pastini Pastaria Bridgeport Village, and you announced that you didn't want any food - just lemonade. And, well, big girls make their own decisions - but I ordered you some food anyway, and guess what? You didn't eat it - just drank lemonade. (Do you like the picture we took when we realized that the camera strap was dipped into Mama's wine glass?) Normally, eating exactly no food at lunch would not have led to gelato, but it was over 100 degrees and we were having a special day, and you only live once. So, we went to the gelateria and you chose the blue mint gelato which was very sparsely sprinkled with little mint pastille chips. Your treat had exactly two pink chips, and you ate that gelato around them leaving two little pink mint pastille towers which reminded me of an illustration in a Dr. Seuss book. Then, you reached for a napkin and knocked the bowl off the table and the gelato right onto the floor. You could almost hear the music from your book about Elmo's feelings - "What makes Elmo feel sad? Bye-bye goes the ice cream. Waa waa waaaaa." Do you know what goes through a mother's head when two prized pink chips and a bunch of blue mint melted gelato hits the floor of a crowded gelato place? Do I even need to say that I wondered if I could rescue at least one chip and maybe it hadn't actually picked up any of the dirt off the floor? Quickly, my mom senses noted that, while you were devastated, you were not about to make a scene. I concluded that indeed, it would be too gross to allow you to eat off the floor. I also noticed that outside, there was a free-standing Sweet Factory store. Rolling the dice in my head, I decided that we'd leave the gelato place as quickly as possible and that I would walk my oldest daughter into the Sweet Factory in search of a few mint pastilles. Know as I write this that under normal circumstances, I would be as likely to walk you into a candy store as I would be to walk you into a biker bar in a bad neighborhood in LA. But, it was Big Girl day, and it was over 100 degrees out, and well... we went in.

After going in, I immediately began scanning the containers and (mercifully) quickly spotted exactly what we needed. I scooped about 20 of the little candies into a bag and asked if there was a minimum purchase. The nice lady (with the red hair, as you noticed) told me that I had selected the "Mommy Amount" and could have it for free. FREE, Mags! As in "somethin' for nothin'!" And, she was happy about it. And, so were you. And, that might have been the best moment of my entire day - a happy kid, and a restored faith in the kindness of strangers.

Then, we stopped at Borders and had not one, but two encounters with an evil self-flushing toilet, but that's a story for another day. I hope you had a fun time. From the way you're telling people about what we did, I'm pretty sure you enjoyed yourself. I love you, and I understand all about being shy, even if I don't really tell you that for fear of reinforcing your reluctance to engage even with people you've known your whole life unless the circumstances are JUST PERFECT. I also know that for me, it's generally been the case that my shyness goes away when I'm on a stage - whether it's been training a room full of people or dressed up in a silly costume in a dance recital. That's one reason why I want you to get to go see plays and stuff like that whenever we can. And, just so you know, even if you have to share it with your sister sometimes, you can always sit on my lap if you're feeling a little unsure of yourself or just if you want to feel appreciated and safe and comfy.

Mama

Give Me the Simple Life

Filling up an afternoon reading in the "Fort."

My Blueberry could Kick your Blueberry's Ass

Take a look at these. I picked 10 3/4 pounds of them in a little over an hour yesterday morning. I didn't bring my iPod headphones, so I got to listen to the buzz of other people's kids saying, "I have to pee." "I'm hungry." "That little girl was mean to me." It's remarkable how pleasant it is to hear the children of other people as they go about their daily whining... My angels were at KinderCare, and I was all alone - in the Blueberry Zone. Sneaking into the tiny nooks and crannies under the bushes to get the Big Ones that standing adults never see. And I was richly rewarded, my friends. My goal is to freeze them in little baggies so we can partake in the dead of winter. Good thing I have so many, because I have no restraint, and my daughters are following my lead. At least it's blueberries and not gigantic bags of Cheetos. (Sorry, nice folks at Frito Lay.)

Which reminds me of when I was pregnant with Mags and we had Frito Lay for a client. One of the last business trips I took was down there to Texas to work with their customer service folks. Let me tell you, they were the nicest people you'd ever want to meet - Gave me a little impromptu baby shower and embarassed me with gifts including little Chester Cheetah onesies, which I gracefully accepted without so much as saying, "My Baby's gonna know about Bobby Banana and Polly Pepper Waaaaaayyyy before I introduce her to your slick orange feline, sisters." But, yeah, they're really nice down there at Frito Lay.

Where the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and the children are above-average.

This week:

• I have moved up to my 7-pound weights (well, at least my 6's with the occasional foray into 7-land). Tonight, if it is as hot as I think it's going to be in that blessed oven, I mean grange hall, I may do without weights all together.
• Jay is getting used to either biking to work (no small feat) or running at lunchtime combined with a sensible Subway lunch (a la Jared). He has trimmed off 7 pounds so far. (Although since the weather is over 100 at the moment, he may have lost another 5 in water weight just sitting in traffic on the I-5 bridge this afternoon).
• The girls have successfully moved up to their respective new classes at KinderCare. Ellie hit her new teacher the moment I handed her over the first day, but she came home with a groovy new hairdo that involved EIGHT ponytail holders and a zigzag part down the back of her scalp that afternoon, so it was pretty clear that she and Ms Renae had had some real quality time. Maggie keeps asking, "What class do I have to go to TODAY?" And when I say, "Pre-K, Mags. That's where your cubby is now." She just says, "A-gain?!"

Hanging by a Thread

A couple of months with hardly any rain, and it gets pretty exciting to go take some pictures of a wet spider's web.

Growing Pains

I am going through some mommy issues, fueled somewhat by lack of sleep and more than average discombobulation this week. I had a self-imposed work deadline on Wednesday - which always tend to coincide with slow computer issues and greater than anticipated work on the proofreading front. So, when 4:20 rolled around and I had to pick up the girls that day, I was already stressed out and not looking to do anything other than scoop up my two little angels, hurry home, plunk them in front of The Little Mermaid and return to work. I grabbed the green paper that was stuck in their attendance folder, and kept going - There are often papers in there, so I was like, "green paper, yada, yada, yada... will just throw it in the car to be discovered next time I clean things out of there..."

So, I go into Ellie's class and Ms Amanda (Ellie's teacher/Maggie's best friend (betrothed)'s mother) is all, "Did you read the paper you have in your hand?" And, I'm like, "What? No, of course not. WHY?" "Because everyone is switching classes as of Monday. We just found out today, too." And she's not very happy because she's not only losing all of her current kids (who are being forwarded on to the Two's room), but also because her son Carter is being moved out of the best room in the world - Ms Cheryl's room - and into a Pre-K class that is not the same class that Maggie is being moved into.

To say that I am not in a mental state to process this information would be like saying an ice cube is not a glacier. So, by the time I read the paper and start the process of collecting my children, I am nearly crying in KinderCare. I would not have been able to explain WHY I was crying other than "Change is hard - especially when you don't see it coming." So, I go home, (drink some wine), continue working (drink some wine), have more computer problems (shout obscenities at the monitor, drink some wine), to to the neighbor's for a break (chit chat, drink more wine), come home and work until midnight to get the documents sent out. I had told the client they'd go out on Wednesday never really anticipating that "Wednesday" would mean 11:55 PM, Pacific time.

By the time I had taken the kids to KinderCare yesterday, I had tried to sort through things in my head - separating the emotions from the objective stuff and trying not to "adult-thromorphosize" the situation - I realize that the way I would react in a given situation is not necessarily how my children will or even how I'd LIKE my children to. So, here's what it came down to:

• Although I truly love Ms Amanda, I am okay with Ellie being moved up to the Two's class. She is two, after all. It had not been that long since she had been moved to the Toddler room - since she walked so late and because, as I came to find out, the quickest way to move a kid up is to just be a parent and advocate and ask for it to happen. But, at that point, I was so in love with Ms Kim (in the Wobbler room) that I didn't want to leave her either. I think Ellie is pretty much on target with the other kids in her class, and if they're all moving up, then so be it. She's a flexible kid, and the teachers love her. I am not too familiar with the Two's teachers and there is a higher kid to teacher ratio in there, but it should be fun. And, I may end up loving them like I love Ms Kim and Ms Amanda.
• I am also okay with Maggie moving from Pre-school to Pre-K, although I must say that I had no real idea about the differences between them until oh, yesterday. They call the classes "Pre-A, Pre-B and Pre-K." Mags would come home and say, "I spent the afternoon in Pre-K," and I would say, "Oh great. Well, what is Ms Cheryl's class called?" She would invariably say, "Ms Cheryl's class," confirming for me that Ms Cheryl's class was so awesome that it resisted categorization into the "Pre-whatever" class naming conventions. So, I have learned that Ms Cheryl's class is "Preschool B," and in Preschool (be it A or B) the goal is to acclimate kids to daily routines and social interaction and to learn some basic fun stuff, and that in Pre-K it is more like actually getting the kids ready for Kindergarten - learning letters and numbers, etc. I think Mags is ready for letters and numbers, and she's been showing interest in all of those things lately. Also, all of her class (pretty much) is moving up to Pre-K, and I'd like her to stay with her friends.
• I personally will have to deal with my Ms Cheryl withdrawal. If giving up Ms Amanda will be unpleasant, giving up Ms Cheryl will be something like kicking an honorary grandma to the curb, and I am not looking forward to it. Ms Cheryl has been Maggie's teacher for as long as Maggie has gone to KinderCare (Ms Cheryl switched from doing Two's to Preschool at just the right time for Mags to stay with her all along), and she recognizes her little quirks as well as I do, and that is saying something. She knows everything about Maggie - where she likes to go for breakfast, how she freezes when strangers try to talk to her, how she needs to give me three kisses, three hugs and open the door for me when I drop her off... Okay, suffice it to say that I woke up at 2:45 last night and did not get back to sleep because I was having dreams about Ms Cheryl and how Mags will transition to Pre-K. God, I hope Maggie is almost in the realm of okay when I try to leave her in Pre-K next week. If not, I have left crying, screaming children in the able hands of KinderCare staff before, and I'm sure I will someday do it again, and maybe it won't be all that long until Ellie gets to hang out with Ms Cheryl.
• As for being put into Ms Chanel's Pre-B class while most of the names I recognized were in Ms Danielle's Pre-A class - Well, that was something that drove me bonkers because for one thing, talking to Ms Chanel is like communicating with a helium balloon that is constantly squeaking out a little air. It doesn't matter if it's rainy or sunny, evening or morning or if you're 2 or 39, Ms Chanel talks to you like she has just taken a little too much Zoloft. And, this would drive me completely insane if I had to talk with her every day. And, I don't think Maggie needs someone talking to her day in and day out like you'd talk to a newborn puppy. Plus, I have seen over time that teachers who come into KinderCare with that kind of "aren't I happy" facade typically burn out quickly and leave (usually sobbing, running out of the building with their hands clamped over their faces) - which would have a negative impact on Mags, should she decide that she actually like Ms Chanel. And, I wanted her to be with Carter and Lauren, who are consistently among the people she plans to invite to her "best birthday" - which is Maggie's highest form of compliment. So, yesterday, I mentioned to Ms Amber and Ms Darcie that I wanted Mags to be in the other Pre-K class, which is twice as big as Ms Chanel's class - but also has two teachers - so, if one leaves, there's still one around who will know the kids. And, she'll be with her friends. And, the classroom is even in the front of the building with more windows than the other room, yada, yada.
• So, Mags won't start kindergarten for another two years because she missed the deadline by a bit by being born in October as she was. How poor of us as parents to do such a lame job with our planning, huh? I learned yesterday that KinderCare also has full-day kindergarten, so next year, she wouldn't be stuck spending a second year in Pre-K. She can spend one year in KinderCare Kindergarten and (probably) another in public school Kindergarten, but such is life. At least that's not something to worry about right now.
• So, why am I awake at night? Good question. I think I've made the best choices I can. I think it would have been so very much easier if they had given us all more than a few days' notice. They are switching classes early (during the summer) to avoid having the change coincide with a visit from some accrediting organization - so that everything will have returned to "normal" by the time anyone from the outside comes to observe. I'm just thinking if they'd been planning this for a while, as I'm sure they had, they could have told us so we could prepare the kids (or maybe just prepare ourselves) a little better.

You Can Lead a Girl to a Pony, but You Can't Make Her Ride

Sunday morning we made our annual trek to the Clark County Fair. We (the girls and I) are planning to go again with neighbor Susie on Friday, but this was our family outing for the weekend. The fair is fun - I'm getting used to it after a few years. It's different from and similar to the Sussex County Farm and Horse Show (which has morphed into the New Jersey State Fair - You go, Sussex County!)

While you won't find waffles and ice cream (sadly), you will find LOTS of farm animals and farm people - which send the girls into extreme emotions - whether those reactions will be excited swoons and whoops or terrified screams and parental leg-climbing is sometimes very, very difficult to predetermine. This year, I'd say the big winners were the goats. I would not be surprised if someday we have little "naaa naaa" sounds echoing through our yard from behind the veggie garden (where Jay has already decided our goat area will be).

We were disappointed that due to insurance costs, (human) kids are no longer permitted to climb in and play with the baby pigs. They are pretty fun to watch, though, except if you can read. The hand-lettered sign above them says in four months they will weigh 295 pounds and be ready for slaughter.

Maggie was so excited when she saw the little ponies on the pony ride that she actually tried to cut in line. I was excited, too - I carefully kept myself from reminding her that she freaked out last year before her turn. This year, she was PSYCHED. I told her that we'd have a helper get her on the pony. She picked her pony. Then the man in the red shirt came to lift her up and FREAK OUT FREAK OUT FREAK OUT!!!!!!!!!!!! The legs were a-kickin', princess shoes were a-flyin', and she was screaming as if I had just thrust her into the waiting arms of a child molester. We recouped our $5 and went to the adjacent dairy barn for an ice cream cone and a breather.

Of course, Jay was holding Ellie during the whole escapade, and when we turned to leave, she started screaming "HORSIE! HORSIE!" So, Jay figured, "What the hell..." and got in line. And yeah, she rode the horse. She was about half the size of the next smallest kid. Then, to illustrate the difference between Dads and Moms - Jay stopped walking around in the pony circle with her. There's my BABY riding around on a pony without an adult holding on to her. I could not have felt more proud and scared at the same time if she went up in the freakin' space shuttle.

Poor Mags. We might try again Friday, and I'll see if I can get her up there without the man in the red shirt. She did, however, find a horse that she liked riding very much.

She also redeemed herself by riding a kiddie ride all by herself after we rode on the merry-go-round together. Oh my God, what am I going to do when it's time for them to get their driver's licenses?

View on What to Keep in your House

I ripped a page out of a magazine a few months ago, and it has been floating around the house getting crinkled and ripped and written upon, but the last sentence struck me as advice I would give (and take) if I was able and very motivated. If I write it here, I can both share the thought and throw out the scrap of paper.

It's from Country Home, March 2008. The article is about a retired couple who got themselves settled into a beautiful, smallish home:

"Her favorite floral painting holds a place of honor in the guest bedroom, awash in cool blues pulled from the canvas. It's one of the chosen few pieces that Joyce wanted in her life as she and husband Bill winnowed the accumulation of six former homes... "We don't feel like we gave up anything," she says. "At this point in my life, the simplicity adds to making everything seem bigger and more open. Now everything we need, we have. And everything we have, we love."

It's that last sentence that caught my attention. How novel to be surrounded by stuff that you either need or love. Not crap. Good for you, Joyce and Bill - enjoy your retirement.

A Mother's Greatest Fear

Yesterday, Ellie gave us a good scare. Suffice it to say that, given her activities and food intake for the day, we were a little afraid that this might happen. And, we wouldn't have had a magic flute, a juicer or any Oompa-Loompas on staff.



Edited: Lest anyone think my daughter was really in harm's way, here is what this post means: Yesterday, Ellie ate ALOT of bluberries. ALOT. She is fine. The End.