My Life Amongst the Hippies

The past lives of Maisie Beth

2010-07-04T06:30:00.001-07:00

When Maisie was in Kindergarten, her very Waldorf teacher (like you could look up "Waldorf Kindergarten Teacher" in the dictionary and this woman's picture would be there) told me that she thought that she and Maisie must have known each other in a previous life. She said that she reacted unusually strongly to Maisie and that Maisie could get under her skin in ways no other child she'd taught could. She also said she thought that Maisie must have been royalty in a previous life because she had a funny habit of proclaiming things as though there were servants or peasants waiting to do her bidding.

Um, okay. I adored this teacher, so I just nodded and smiled. Sure. Maybe there is some merit to the past life theory. Who am I to say someone else is crazy? I'm sure not very many people consider me too sane. So, okay. Interesting idea to shelve in the back of my head.

Fast forward to now. We were invited to a dear friend's daughter's Bat Mitzvah. I had never been to a synagogue, never been to a Bat Mitzvah and adore the tenacious not so little girl who had busted her backside learning the Torah and Hebrew for her chance to come of age. We had to go. We drove the 6 hours to the city where the event was to take place, got everyone ready and I gave the standard mother lecture about what to expect and how to behave. Julia was for sure going to go to the service (2 hours in length) because her bff is the younger sister of the girl we had come to see. Maisie wanted to come too and insisted she was capable of sitting quietly for 2 hours. Fine. I felt I could provide enough entertainment in the form of books and paper and a pen to help her make it through.

However. We found seats in the synagogue, inadvertently sitting in the wrong section - someone give this oblivious me a map next time! - but the woman we sat next to was lovely and chatted with Maisie for a moment before the service started. The service began and we pulled out the Jewish prayer and song books, which read right to left and are in Hebrew and English. There were lots of songs, but only the words, not the music, was in the book and nearly every song included a lot of repeating certain lines and skipping around. I was lost and settled for just smiling and enjoying the sound of everyone around me singing. Oddly, there was an extra voice I was not expecting. Maisie. She happily sang most of the songs. She knew the tunes and a fair amount of the words. Hebrew words. Huh? At one point she noticed me looking at her (and not singing) and asked me in her not so quiet voice "Am I supposed to be singing?". I whispered that I didn't know the words as well as she did but that she was to carry on. She did. Beautifully. It was one of the more bizarre experiences of my life.

Well. I suppose it is possible that Maisie just is musically gifted enough to be able to wing it when she is in a situation like a Bat Mitzvah in an unfamiliar language. But how did she know the words? And the mystery of when and where songs repeated? I have no idea. None. Some things defy logical explanations. The best I can figure, is that some time between being royalty and being Maisie, this girl was Jewish. And though she has developed an intense love of pork products, she has kept the part of her that knows and understands Hebrew and old songs. It's definitely in the realm of weird, but it seems possible. What other explanation is there?

Last Child in the Yard?

2010-07-01T11:55:00.000-07:00

If you haven't read "Last Child in the Woods", you should. However, kids in nature is one thing, what happened to kids playing in the yard? My children are the only voices on our street on any given day. No one else of any age is even outside. It's like a ghost town. Occasionally a silent adult will walk by with a dog or two. Or a bike will pass. That's it. Where is everyone?

My college age neighbor came up to complain last week about how loud the kids were. It was 3:00 in the afternoon on the first really warm day this summer and the kids were whooping and hollering in the sprinklers on the lawn. Actually the neighbor first screamed "SHUT UP!" from her yard. I had no idea she meant us, I thought there was a boyfriend or roommate spat in progress. Anyway, this person informed me that we were bad neighbors, I should be ashamed of myself for being such a terrible parent as to allow my children to be loud outside and I couldn't possibly know how hard it is to study physics and calculus when people are being loud.

Huh. I didn't even know what to say. Still don't. Obviously she was kind of right. The peace and quiet of the neighborhood is broken daily and regularly by my kids. But, and it's a big but, they're kids. They are supposed to be loud. They are supposed to be outside. You cannot play in the sprinkler quietly. Or inside. You can however, study at the library. Guaranteed to be loud child (and loud adult) free. So. What to do? Do I micro-manage the kids outside so that they only make appropriately loud noises. No fighting, no screeching, no loud games of Harry Potter or howling animals? Do I proceed as if she never came up and let the kids do their thing, letting them work out their arguments loudly when necessary, holler if the get ambushed with the hose, and play whatever games the dream up, no matter how loud? What do my elderly neighbors next door think? The older neighbors next door with grown children, what about them? I don't know.

Right now I am gently reminding them about not screaming at each other if they are angry, a good skill for inside and outside play. I am not asking them to say "Expecto Patronum!" quietly when they are playing Harry Potter, if the noise level is necessary for their play, I'm not interfering. I'm not asking them to play inside. Kids will be kids. It's kinda their job. I cannot and will not discourage outside play. I can only hope that people are tolerant and understanding or in this person's case, eventually grow up, have some children of her own and finally get it.

Musings of an angry Mom at Midnight

2010-06-10T00:06:00.000-07:00

My daughter was poisoned for $4. Four dollars. The difference in cost between a mercury free single dose vial of vaccine and a multidose vial with the mercury based preservative, thimerosal. Four dollars. My prefect, already talking, funny baby disappeared before my eyes. In her place was a child who did not speak, make eye contact, smile at you, play with you or even play at all. She preferred to be in her room alone. In the dark. Alone.

I have often said that Maisie was not on this planet when she had autism. Just joking of course. I certainly remember cleaning poop off the walls and hours and hours in therapy offices waiting and worrying. However, as I learn more about the Anthroposophical Waldorf model of development, I wonder about the theory of children "not being fully in their bodies". It was as though Maisie had left her body completely. Her soul or spirit or whatever just floated out during that time. Where did it go? Why, when so many children don't recover from autism, did Maisie make a full recovery?

The Waldorf teachers talk about choice. Children choosing to come to a particular family from the angels. I can't say I really understand it, but still. The idea that Maisie left and then chose to come back - it just floors me. She came back. Somehow, by choice or luck or faith or Divine intervention, my daughter came back from her personal black hole. She came back. To chronic stomach pain. To a family stressed and wrung out from the unthinkable of having a tragedy explode with the diagnosis - "incurable, untreatable autism". She came back to a mother who had become a completely different person. She came back. And I feel, as the one who dragged her back down into her body, back to this planet and tied her feet to the earth, so much responsibility to make sure that she does not regret it. I am her mother. It is my job.

Maisie's teacher and I had a very circular conversation this afternoon. For the first time ever, Maisie has a teacher who does not "get" her. She just doesn't. Waldorf teachers stay with their class from 1st to 8th grade, so this is a big problem. Maisie's teacher told me today that the first time she saw me, I was angry. And she feels I've been a flood of negativity ever since. She's kind of right. I was angry the first time she saw me. I have not been steadily mad since then, but nearly. This woman and I do not speak the same language. She is hearing dolphin clicks and squeals when I talk. And I am completely unable to find a way to explain anything to her. The teacher feels that the problems come from my relationship with her - she and I don't get on, so Maisie is suffering. I feel that she and I would not have a problem if she an Maisie did not. Chicken or egg, which is it?

So now what? It seems I ask that a lot. I don't have a plan B for educating Maisie. She is not an easy child. She's an opinionated old lady, mother hen, stalwart soldier with an iron will and a little girl. I am starting an attempt to move her up a grade to another class. I don't know if it will be successful or not. In some ways, Maisie would be fine - she is almost certainly a genius. Literally. She's amazingly gifted in math, she reading fluently, and thinks much farther outside "the box" than most adults could dream of. But I worry about her socially. She is fiercely loyal but has a low tolerance for groups. She always has. She loves 1 really good friend at a time, with casual friends occasionally thrown in. Would she be able to bond with the older kids? In which way will I do her the least harm? Move her? Or leave her where she is?

Julia's class studied Native Americans of the Willamette Valley as part of her curriculum this year. One of the topics was "totem animals" (look it up - google can explain it better than I can, I bet). I was with some friends last weekend and someone said something about weasels. Out of my mouth came the spontaneous thought "weasels are my totem animal". We looked it up. Whoa. "The weasel is the most ferocious of all mammals and will even attack humans when it's young are threatened". Guess I was right.

I wrote a chapter in a book called "Mother Warriors". I am the weasel. And I am going to keep fighting for my daughter. I am her mother. Angry or not, it's my job.

Wildflower walk

2010-05-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

It was the annual Wildflower Festival at Mt. Pisgah (still can't say that without giggling) yesterday. I found out too late to plan to spend the day there. I had sent Dave and the kiddos off on a bike ride, as I was once again, having a moment about the Waldorf school. (I'm not quite sure why that organization can piss me off so fast and easily. Obviously I need to work on this.) Anyway, long story short, I sent the family off, with a minor detoured meet-up at Old Navy (whole 'nother post there) and ran my errands (WHAT? Still no organic GFCF chix nuggets at either Safeway! Crap! Now I have to actually try to cook some myself?) and came home around 1:30 for lunch. Sat down at the computer and saw that the Wildflower Fest was on until 4:00. Should I go? By myself (nice and not so nice at the same time)? Could I stand to be amongst a flock of people right then? Could I "just look" at the plant sale? Did I really want to take a guided wildflower walk or just take a solitary unguided walk and find my own flowers?

If you guessed "not go" - ding, ding, ding - you're right! I rustled up $10 from my "emergency" piggy bank just in case I changed my mind or the trail I wanted to walk was too crowded up with crazy people (or worse - someone I knew from the -dun, dun, dun, dun - Waldorf school). But I was in luck. Mine was the only car at the trail spur parking and I only saw 3 people the 2 hours I walked. No one I knew. I did however, as it was my intention, see lots of wildflowers. The fawn lilies were past, I saw seed pods and leaves, but no more flowers. I made a mental note to come back for seeds in a couple weeks. I saw trilliums, nearly past but still lovely by the creek. Lots of camas, Oregon iris, Siberian candyflowers, inside-out flower, rose checker-mallow, lupines, wild roses, red columbines, checker lilies, the uncommon, unusually furry flower called "Elegant Cat's Ear". But the most lovely of all was the lovely "calypso orchid" aka calypso bulbosa.

For a better view of this native Oregon orchid, I waded knee deep into poison oak, which, truth be told, is quite pretty this time of year as well. Shiny new red leaves and waxy, glistening green leaves just waiting to get you with their toxic poisons. Kind of like the Waldorf school (just kidding, couldn't resist). Anyway. Ahem, back to topic, the calypso orchid is just gorgeous, tiny and delicate and not sturdy enough to transplant - it has some sort of symbiotic relationship with the soil fungi it grows with. Plus, it seems to enjoy having poison oak as a neighbor, which is an effective security system, to say the least.

All in all, it was a fabulous last-day-of-the-weekend-before-the-rain-starts-again walk. I have not, to my great surprise, come down with any poison oak rashes. I was as careful as I could be but off the trail getting closer looks at flowers far too often to be truly safe. I don't recall ever having poison ivy as a child in the south, but surely I did. Perhaps enough time has past for my immune system to have forgotten the toxic oils of the "Poison" plant family and my rash will come in a few days. Or perhaps, not likely but one can dream, maybe I am one of the few who are immune to urushiol oils. (Stop laughing - it could happen).

Weirdness of technology

2010-02-17T12:01:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning and sat down with my cup of coffee at the computer. I got on Facebook and found out a friend had died. Her husband had posted that she was cremated yesterday. She passed on Saturday. I had no idea. I thought it was a weird status update joke. Then I read the comments and letters people had written on her page. I'm in shock.

Tracy was an Autism Mom friend. We met through a mutual friend whose daughter was one of Maisie's first therapy friends. Tracy has a son Maisie's age. He's not recovered, but close. When I was in the thick of the autism community we emailed, read each others post on the yahoo autism groups, shared ideas and inspirations and referred parents of newly diagnosed parents back and forth between us and our fellow parents in the storm. The autism community's best resource has always been parents. We are how we stay sane, informed, enlightened and educated and we teach and pray for recovery. For every child.

Tracy found me on Facebook last year. It was nice to hear from her and catch up. We shared how our kiddos were doing. Shared funny stories. She sent me a new parent to mentor.

Would I have ever found out she was gone without Facebook? How long would it have taken for me to cross paths back into Seattle's autism community in a way that I would have met someone who knew and knew I didn't know? How strange to find out about a friend's death on a social networking site. But how would it have been to have gone on for years not feeling the loss and hole she has left behind?

Tracy, I will miss you. Thank you for being my friend. Godspeed.

Birthday!

2010-01-30T15:29:00.000-08:00

Here's Julia's party:

Opening presents from the fam. Look at that poor tiny dog hitched to the dog sled!

Uno Spin!

She wanted the AG "get better" set so she could play triage with her dolls. Crippling injury, how fun!

Julia wanted an ice cream cake. Maisie and I made this:

Craft project at her slumber party - AG doll pillows and sleeping bags.

Jess and Emily had too much wine.

Strawberry shortcake for the friends party.

A random shot of Tate-o. He always wants to play Star Wars with the girls when they play AG.

Depressed?

2010-01-30T15:19:00.001-08:00

I was wondering, am I depressed because:

a. it's rainy winter in Oregon?
b. Andy Wakefield was vilified by the dastardly UK General Medical Council?
c. there is no good produce to buy in January?
d. Tate refused to cooperate, as in sit quietly, at the past 2 school assemblies and I had to miss the girls performances?
e. my name means "dark" ("dark truth" even with my middle name)and I was born on a Wednesday ("full of woe") and thus a touch of melancholy is unavoidable?
f. all of the above.

Thank you to free radio on last.fm for giving me October Project, Susie Suh, A Fine Frenzy and Corrinne May to listen to this week. Good music makes everything better.

That and a glass of wine.

"That" kid

2010-01-19T10:19:00.000-08:00

Usually, it's my kid who is "that kid". You know, the one that you cringe when your child wants a playdate with them. Not because the child is difficult, or because their parents are wackos (well, maybe you do when it's me) but because - what the heck do you feed them? I have seen the panic in parent's eyes when Maisie is dropped at their house, having a child with allergies visit is fraught with danger. What if they accidentally eat something they should not have? What do I have that they can even eat? What about birthday parties when "that kid" is coming but can't eat the cake or the ice cream? It's stressful and complicated.

So, of all people, why am I so annoyed about the little girl Julia is inviting to her party? This little girl is on a macrobiotic diet. Or variation of that. She's vegan and cannot eat sugar or garlic. (Why garlic?) Until recently she was not even allowed to eat honey, since it came from animals. Or fruits and veggies that were out of season. Really?

I guess my problem is because the choice. This little girl's parents are choosing to limit the foods she can eat. Maisie doesn't have a choice. It's not fair. I'm obviously not a gracious, kind person for being irritated by one parent's choice for their child, I'm sure plenty of people don't support all my parenting decisions and choices. I should get over it. But still. It bothers me.

So, while I will send Julia to school with organic honey sticks instead of cupcakes on her birthday and while I will make a vegan, sugar free pizza for Julia's party and buy a vegan sugar free ice cream, I may be grumbling under my breath. But I'll try not to. Because of all people, I should know (and do) better.

Tough Decisions

2010-01-13T13:12:00.001-08:00

I've been lost in thought lately and not in the mood to write. We are facing some tough decisions and no resolution is in sight. It is pretty much all my fault. I had a brilliant idea to move to this Hippietown 2 years. Dave took a new, commission-based job. It's a better job than he had before, for a better company. We love to town we live in and the kids are happy in the better school down here. I was not going to have to work, which made me happier.

And then the full extent of the economic situation became apparent. This city has a 15% unemployment rate. The state is hovering around 11%. People aren't eating out, and Dave can't sell his customers what he expected he could when he took the job here. We got killed selling our house up in the Land Of Microsoft and can't buy a new house down here. My brilliant idea is not looking so good anymore.

So now what? I can't find a job that I can work with the hours I had in Seattle. Everything closes earlier here and the few jobs that would work are taken and in high demand by the plethora of college students who have better availability. So do I give up looking (it's been 6 months) and take a day job, possibly something in my field even!, and put my sensitive, difficult preschooler in day care? Tate "doesn't like being a little kid because he doesn't like other kids". He dropped out of Kindergarten 2 months ago. Would he adjust to daycare or get kicked out for hitting, biting and being obstinate?

Do we take the kids out of private school for a while? Taking them out for the rest of the rest of the year would pay off the car and then some. But they'd miss their friends, get behind in their lessons in the subjects I can't teach (like Spanish, flute, violin) and they'd be devastated to miss their class Spring camping trips and the class plays and assemblies.

Do I take them out of private school forever? We'd be rich then. But the kids would be in public school and loose so many classes I find vitally important: eurthymy (creative movement), handwork, Spanish, flute, stringed instruments, games, gardening, painting, form drawing, etc. And they'd start listening to Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers or something equally awful. What would public school do to Julia who is surely ADD but thriving in her small, cohesive class with a fabulously gifted teacher? And what would Maisie do to public school? She's the sort who just needs a lot. Space to escape from crowds, empathy for her stubborn refusal when she has to really try hard to learn something, a teacher who understands the serious problem cross contamination of gluten is for her.

Do we move out of this wonderful, big house and into an apartment or smaller, crappier house? Could we find some other place that we could afford that would even let us bring our 3 cats, a 100 gallon aquarium, 2 rabbit hutches and a box of pet snails?

What is more of a priority, this house we love and want to buy or the private school we love and whose community makes up 99% of our friends in this town?

I have no idea. For now, Dave is on the road trying to track down some new business and I'm scrimping, saving, cutting back, reading coupon blogs and grocery circulars, clipping coupons, googling for sales and trying to channel my thrifty Scottish ancestors for some guidance. The economy has to get better sometime, right?

Christmas in pictures

2009-12-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

This Christmas:

we made cookies for Santa,

visited the Mall Santa to give him our gift requests,

and thought long and hard about what our hearts desired.

And Santa came!

And the kids were totally excited!

Even Josie got something.

Tate got a confetti blaster. Thanks, Mom.

Tate got more Star Wars stuff,

and Rooster got Peeps.

Tate was full of cheese,

and my in-laws got him a gun. And a helmet.

My sister and her husband showed up, surprising everyone.

We burnt off some Christmas crazy hiking Spencer's Butte.

It was a long walk,

but we made it to the top

and posed for pictures.

The kids had to get to the tip top and scaled some high rocks,

and stood at the highest point in town.

And then we hiked back down.

The End.

Life around here...

2009-12-17T15:10:00.000-08:00

What we've been up to:

Growing calico potatoes. These are almost ready for baking!

Fighting off attacks by dinosaurs - look out behind you!

Starting a snowman AA program. This guy has obviously fallen off the wagon.

Decking the halls. Fa, la, la, la, la...

Accessorizing with monkeys. Always fashion forward we are.

Watching the "catnip channel". Check your local listings for more info.

Baking food that looks like poo. Quite tasty and currently chilling in the fridge.

Cultivating the crazy.

Happy Thursday, ya'll!

My Santa Lucia buns freak out

2009-12-13T15:11:00.000-08:00

So, I was tasked with making the allergy kids' Santa Lucia buns this year. Great. It is the 2nd Grade's job to hold this festival at the school. No idea why. Maisie signed me up to do the baking for the kids with food allergies (like there was anyone else who would do it). For some reason I was totally stressed by having to make these buns. Something about making egg free bread and having to make them "pretty". Pretty is not something I am good at. Tasty treats, yes. Pretty, not so much.

Anyway, long story short, I got some advice from gluten free friends and googled up this recipe:

Challah Bread

Ingredients:

1/3 cup warm water

1 package rapid rise gf yeast

1 tsp. granulated cane sugar

1 cup vanilla dairy or non-dairy (soy or coconut yogurt) at room temperature

1 tsp. apple cider vinegar

5 large egg yolks at room temperature (slightly mixed)

1/3 cup canola oil

4 Tbs. honey, agave nectar or molasses

4 cups Jules Gluten Free All Purpose Flour*

3 Tbs. + 2 tsp. granulated cane sugar

1 ¼ tsp. kosher salt½ tsp. baking soda

2 tsp. gluten-free baking powder1 large egg, mixed

Poppy seeds, sesame seeds, raisins, or other topping or mix-in (optional)

Directions:Preheat your oven to 200 F, then turn it off; if you have a warming drawer, you may set that to low/moist setting instead. Prepare a baking sheet by lining it with parchment paper.

In a small bowl, mix together the warm water, yeast and 1 teaspoon of sugar to proof the yeast; set aside. In the bowl of your stand mixer, add the remaining wet ingredients and mix until combined. Whisk together the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. After 5 minutes of proofing, stir in the yeast-water mixture into the wet ingredients (note: if your yeast isn't bubbling at this point, throw it out and start again with fresh yeast). Gradually stir in the dry ingredients until fully integrated, then mix 2 minutes more on medium speed.

Once the dough is combined, divide it in half and divide each half into three equally-sized balls. Roll each ball out into a coil or long log on a clean, flat surface dusted lightly with Jules Gluten Free™ All Purpose Flour. Pinch together one end of each coil, wetting them slightly with water to help them join together at the top, then braid them, finishing by connecting them to the top of the other end in order to form a crown, or circular shape. You will then have one round challah loaf. Gently transfer it to the parchment-lined baking sheet. Repeat for the second set of three balls. In the alternative, you can simply divide the dough in half, roll out into a flattened coil, then twist upon itself and join at the ends to form a circular loaf; repeat with the other half of the dough ball.In a small bowl, mix the extra egg together and brush over each loaf well, coating the entire top surface.

Sprinkle the seeds or any toppings at this point, then place the tray (covering the loaves with wax paper sprayed with cooking oil) in a warming drawer set to low heat, or into the preheated oven for approximately 20 - 30 minutes. (Don't expect the bread to rise much at this stage).Once risen slightly, place the uncovered tray in an oven preheated to 350 F (static) or 325 F (convection) for 20-25 minutes. Remove to cool on a wire rack and cut after slightly cooled.

Of course, the recipe was just close to what I needed some ingredients didn't work with the food allergies I had to work around or were things I didn't have in my kitchen. So I had to wing it. Instead of yogurt, I used potato milk. Instead of egg yolks, I used egg replacer for 3 eggs,. Instead of canola oil, I used coconut oil (to help the the texture lost from not using yogurt). Instead of Jules' Flour I used Bob's Red Mill. Who's Jules? "Everybody know Bob!" (Nana quote) Instead of Kosher salt I used regular old Christian/Devil Worshiper salt. Maybe it was Lot's wife. Or would she, as a Jew, be Kosher?

The thing about cooking this way is the prep work. you have to mix and let sit the egg replacer. Then heat the coconut oil up so it's not solid. And you have to mix the potato milk up (it's powdered) and let it set up. Plus the normal setting of the yeast. It makes for a lot of dishes. Hey look! It actually made a giant dough ball!

Then instead of braiding the dough into a loaf which would need to be cut I made individual mini buns. No cross contamination issues with sharing knives, cutting boards. They're heart shaped. 'Cause I had a heart cookie cutter. And because that was as creative as I could be in that moment. Maisie's teacher suggested I use some sort of a something-er-other to make an impression in each bun. Huh? I just nodded and smiled, not having any idea what I would use and not about to go hunt down and buy something I'd use once. I did sprinkle the buns with a little cinnamon sugar before sticking them in to bake. Cinnamon sugar makes everything better. And brushing the tops of each bun with egg replacer didn't seem like that great of an idea.

My cookie cutter has Sharpie on it from a previous adventure cutting out felt hearts for Valentine's Day. But hey, it still cuts cookies and can shape dough!

Here they are, going into the warm oven to rise. Not that gluten free bread really rises much. But whatever, I was trying to follow the directions (I do that occasionally).

Fresh out of the oven. Did you notice I forgot the saffron to color the dough yellowish? Oops. Oh well, it saved me the trip to the store. I don't own saffron. I've never used it in a recipe before. I had a thought yesterday to use turmeric, but I forgot the plan about the same time I forgot about having to go get saffron.

Rooster comes in to do a taste test. Her hand is freakishly red from cold. She was outside helping Dave and Julia put up the Christmas decorations.

See - they're kinda, almost pretty. And, what's more, they taste good!

Finally, I bagged and labelled the buns with each allergic child's name and class. Dave said "Maisie gets to hand those out right?". Uh, probably not. Only the oldest girl in the class gets to be Santa Lucia. The rest of the class have to be her groupies. It's lame. One kid gets all the glory. But whatever. Dave's decided Maisie gets to had out the allergen free buns. He thinks he's going to go to school tomorrow and tell Maisie's teacher this. I'll believe it when I see it. I've got plenty of other things to argue about with her teacher. Next year, 3rd Grade, is the gardening year and Maisie's teacher thinks she might have the class grow, harvest, and bake with wheat, oats and rye. I'm working on altering the lesson plan to rice, potatoes and corn.

So my freak out is all done. One less holiday thing to do. Now to wrap the presents, mail crap, try to make the kids pose for a Christmas picture, bake, clean, shop for people who are impossible to buy for, drink...

Onward Waldorf Gnomes, Marching as to WLF...

2009-12-12T19:44:00.000-08:00

Like a mighty army moves the church of God;

brothers, we are treading where the saints have trod.

We are not divided, all one body we,

one in hope and doctrine, one in charity.

--------------------------------------------------------

Hey, look! A post I forgot to post! Oops!

I made these 200 gnomes for the school's Winter Light Faire. It was my first ever paid commission. No one has ever paid me to make anything before. No one probably ever will again. I made the princely sum of $1.50 a hour. Although, I could have just charged them in itunes gift cards. I was perfectly content sitting on the floor of my office sewing gnomes and listening to new music downloads.

The Pocket Wizard at the Faire had these in his/her pockets for children to choose with a ticket. Which is weird when you think about it - are we teaching our kids to be pick pockets? I meant to get a picture of WLF and the Pocket Wizard. But I didn't. Ooops. I was to busy and crazy from the baking for Cake Walk and the Crystal Cookie Cave, decorating and re-merching of the school store. And boy was I glad I pulled Tate out of Kindergarten, otherwise I'd have had to add baking for the Bakery Booth to my list of WLF tasks! There are not many families at our school with more than 2 kids, maybe this is why... (well, maybe tuition is part of it too.)

Jesus freak

2009-12-09T18:14:00.000-08:00

Tate is obsessed with Jesus. Why, I have no idea. He has never been to church. Well, he's been to the UU church occasionally, but refuses to attend any religious education. Heck no, he won't go! We are not religious people. The kids know some Bible stories as stories only. The same way they know Greek myths. However, since I have a weird thing about Mary, at Christmas I set up a nativity and we read First Christmas books and listen to Christian music. Tate helped set up the nativity. Maybe he heard me say "Jesus" then. Although why that made more of an impression than "Gaspar" and "Melchior", is anyone's guess.

So we are back at the Jesus obsession. Jesus this, Jesus that. "Does Jesus have Elvis in him?" Stories about Jesus and the Jedi Knights. "Did Jesus fight with a lightsaber?" "Well, he should have, then he wouldn't be dead!" Who told Tate Jesus was dead? And that he was killed? Today he went on and on about how the Grinch killed Jesus. Really? It became a little disturbing and I had to tell him to "STOP TALKING FOR 5 MINUTES, PLEASE!". Because it was too weird.

Sometimes I think Tate rides the short bus, he's just not the sharpest tack in the box. He can't remember his friend's names. For real. Even when repeatedly reminded: "That's not Aaron, Tate. It's still Rain, pay attention." And then he says weird, philosophical things like "if another meteor hit the earth, would the dinosaurs become un-extinct?" and goes on about how the Grinch killed Jesus. And I wonder, if maybe he's not so simpleminded afterall.

Song of Tate (or how to torture you child effectively)

2009-12-08T10:39:00.000-08:00

Tate is all sorts of difficult these days. So much so that one day he was kicked out of the school's aftercare program for non-compliance and since I was in a meeting and couldn't get him, by friend's husband, Mike, came for him. Tate was not happy with the carseat situation in Mike's car and took off running across the parking lot. Long story short, Tate was caught and wrestled into the car and the "I Don't Want To" song was started.

The original words were just "Tate doesn't want to, Tate doesn't want to..." but this morning after another chasing, wrestling match I added some verses. Here's a reference only Jenn will get: "Wrote a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it goes:"

The "I Don't Want To" Song

I don't want to put on my shoes,
I don't want to go with you!
I will try to make you late,
I don't want to - I am Tate.

I don't want to share my toys,
I don't want to stop making noise!
I don't want to 100 times 8,
I don't want to - I am Tate.

Chorus:
I don't want to, I don't want to,
I don't want to, I don't want to!

I don't want to go to school,
I don't want to follow your rule!
I don't want to clear my plate,
I don't want to - I am Tate.

Now the benefits of torturing your children through song are many. It's legal under the Geneva Conventions and CPS won't object. It's all sorts of fun. It makes the kids so mad at you that they often retreat to their rooms, giving you some peace and quiet. It makes the situation a little more tolerable AND it's a sure guarantee to get your child to stop saying or doing whatever you are singing about. When Mike wrote the original song, Tate went to great lengths to not use the phrase "I don't want to". He obviously relapsed today, but my fine singing skills and song writing technique will certainly make for at least a week of "I don't want to" free days. Maybe longer if I add more verses. And you know I will. :)

Thanksgiving (in a nutshell)

2009-11-29T10:36:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Thanksgiving. A traditional holiday to do traditional things. My sister and I joke about the Thanksgiving menu, no deviations allowed from the original one my Mother set in 1970. I was hosting the mayhem this year, so my Mother sent an menu and shopping list. Organized by item type and section of the grocery store. Nothing like a little crazy to start the holidays off properly.

My Mother came down early this week to visit the kids' school for Grandparent's Day. Also so she could make the turkey. And make sure no one skipped the important step of boiling the giblets on the stove all day. Only my Mother eats them. And identifies each part before adding it to the pot ("hey, this turkey has no heart! And two livers? Do they just scoop up random parts to stuff in each one?").

I got to make the mashed potatoes. Because, well, I love potatoes. And they love me.

While we were waiting on the rest of the family approaching on I-5 from the north and south, we worked a puzzle. One we've had since 1980. My Mother was worried that we'd not be able to finish it "What time is Jenny coming again? We need Jenny for these hard parts!", but we managed just fine. Perhaps because we've worked it 5,000 times.

Dave took it upon himself to make Crispix mix. And stay out of the way. And try to ignore us all by watching football on his giant tv and his laptop at the same time. He's talented that way.

Tate hid out in his room. He had had his Star Wars toys taken away due to a small problem keeping his hands to himself. He finally made it one whole week without hitting and got them back. I also let him watch tv in his room in an attempt to keep him mellowed out and somewhat sane.

After Thanksgiving dinner we played an exciting game of ElvisOpoly. (Nothing weird about that, right?)

Guess who won?

The sun came out for the weekend so we attempted to worked off some of our Thanksgiving gluttony with a hike up and down Skinner's Butte.

How can you tell you live in a college town? They have a giant letter on the hillside. This is what Maisie scornfully calls"that big dumb O".

Finally, since it was my family holiday, everyone came prepared. Three bottles of wine from Oregon, two from Washington and three came from California. We didn't make it through them all, but like all family events "my advice to you is to start drinking heavily". A glass of wine makes it all so much more tolerable. :)

Moment of irony

2009-11-22T20:30:00.001-08:00

I was in a bad mood toward the end of the week. Mostly due to the 3 phone calls in 2 days. One from each of my children's teachers.

Julia was having a twitch with her bff about a bird nest she wanted out of a tree and her bff, who is tall, was willing to admit the obvious problem with trying to get it down. Julia was furious that said bff was not trying harder. Also, Julia, being her Mother's daughter, joined in another friend's made up rude song about the eurythmy teacher. Julia doesn't have an issue with this teacher, but good friend she is, she had to support her friend's vengeance through song. And she got busted.

Maisie was in the dog house for being loud. Imagine that. There is some girl drama in her class and Maisie has no patience for any of it. Oddly, the day before the teacher called to say Maisie was rotten all week, we'd had our parent-teacher conference and the teacher said she had been doing fine lately. (insert sound of banging head)

Tate, meanwhile, has had some issues this year keeping his hands to himself. Again, not shocking info. His best friend is a little boy with whom he tumbles head over heels with and growls at. They get on great because they are not children, they are puppies. This doesn't work so great at school though. Tate's lead teacher was gone on Wednesday and he apparently terrorized the class acting like a maniac. And a steamroller. With predictable results. I think his day would go better if I could attach some SCUBA ankle weights to his legs before sending him into class. It would slow him down and pull him down into his body and back onto this earth. He is so completely oblivious to anything going on around him. He doesn't mean to hurt or freak out other kids, he's just more testosterone than he knows what to do with. Shame you can't bottle that to sell to lazy, fat old men with erectile dysfunction. I'd be rich. And get less teacher phone calls.

Anyway, long story short (like that ever happens with me), the crafty ladies were working on a project for Winter Light Faire (school thing, of course) on Thursday and called to see where I was. I was home with the banished Tate, but they talked me into dragging him out to the come join them. As I was getting ready to go, I glanced out the window. And saw this:

Woah. Twelve wild turkey, giant birds, in my backyard. I've seen a few turkeys around town but never in my yard, and never that many at once. Twelve! I called to Tate was we watched them for about 10 minutes. The cats watched them too. One of the turkeys decided he didn't like the looks of Julia's cat and faced off with her, puffing up and sidestepping towards her until she backed off.

Once the wonder wore off, I started to wish I had a shot gun or a bow and arrow or even a handy baseball (and better aim) so I could catch one for dinner next week. As my wish was hanging in the air, the door bell rang.

It was a ham. A Honeybaked Ham. ? A Thanksgiving ham? (insert twilight zone theme song)

Turns out that they are one of Dave's customers. And they have a small problem with all the turkey consumption on the 4th Thursday of November. And the gods of turkey fowl saw fit to send us one. Personally, I think it's the turkey version of this cow ad, and a darn good story.

Shame I can't photoshop this with turkey heads and different signage. So, as Sesame Street says "You'll just have to use your imagination".

Mental Health Day

2009-11-20T08:43:00.001-08:00

We are taking a mental health day today. Completely skipping school and all our responsibilities. Well except for Dave, who doggedly trudged off to work in the pouring rain, muttering about maybe coming come for lunch. Too bad that someone had to be a responsible adult today.

Our plan is pretty simple. Veg out and watch PBS (why they still like these dumb shows. I have no idea) in our jammies. Eat pancakes. Drink chocolate milk (cow or potato depending on preference and needs). Eventually get dressed. Go to WalMart (yes, we know they are the devil, but it's hard to have principles when you are broke). Rent some movies from the redbox or buy one from the $5 display. Buy some "junk food". Pick up a pizza on the way home. Veg out some more.

Now, you should know that our definition of "junk food" is pretty loose. Julia will chose something like tortilla chips as her treat. Or something bread based. She loves bread so much I'd wonder if she's allergic, except I've tested her twice, and she's not. She's just weird. Tate will want drinkable yogurt because, as always, he'd rather drink than eat. And $50 says Maisie will choose satsumas. We've not had them yet this year. She'll want to carry the box through the store, no way will she put it in the cart. And when we get home I'll have to keep reminding her to slow down and not eat them all at once. She'll still eat about 10 today.

Easy Peasy Gluten Free Vanilla

2009-11-19T14:30:00.000-08:00

This is one of those "duh!" moments in my life. I have been hunting down and buying expensive gluten free vanilla for 6 years. I JUST found out how easy it is to make your own. Right in time for Christmas even.

So here ya'll go. GF vanilla extract recipe:

You need 3 things.

Vanilla beans:

I bought these online for $20. 12 of them from Madagascar. Supposedly superior to Mexican vanilla beans. Someone pointed out I could have bought them in town for cheaper. Too late. I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that.

Vodka:

You can get potato vodka at the liquor store. Then it's gluten free. Maisie will be thrilled about this one day.

A mason jar with lid:

Look someone even started putting the beans in already! Cut the beans in half up the long way, leaving them attached at the top. They'll look like those long pine needles. Stick the cut beans in your jar. I used 7 even thought the recipe called for 6. I'm just like that.

Put the lid on. Stick the jar in the cupboard. Wait 6-8 weeks. Remember the jar when you are trying to cram groceries into your crowded pantry. Voila! Gluten free vanilla extract! I bought 6 little extract type jars to package my vanilla in for gifts. If you get one, act surprised.

Halloween version 09

2009-11-11T19:53:00.000-08:00

Ah, Halloween. What can I say? Excessive amounts of candy eaten, rain and darkness, running and giggling, hair sprayed, costumes gathered and worn.

My Mom couldn't stand to miss the fun and tried to come down and visit. The original plan was to drive down with my Dad for the weekend. No such luck. This is a college town and every hotel was full up with rabid football fans. Fine. Mom decided the heck with my Dad, she'd just come alone on the train and crash in the bottom bunk in Julia's room. Who needs a hotel anyway?

The train arrives and grandkids go running!

My kids refer to my Mom as "Cracker". Nine years ago my poor mother was trying to decide what she wanted to be called when her first grandchild was born and came up with "Gram". My gma is Nana, my Dad's mom was Granny and Dave's folks are Grandma and Pa. Gram lasted about 3 weeks into Julia's life before Dave started referring to her as "the Gram Cracker". Cracker was one of Julia's first words, and now it's stuck. The kids will be horribly embarrassed one day. But that's the job of family, isn't it?

We spent Saturday morning before trick or treating like this:

And at the art museum on campus. Living in a college town has some benefits - free admission to the art museum and natural history museums on game days. This was the fabulous current exhibit:

How perfect for Tate!

Back home we carved our pumpkins. Maisie insisted on carving a little one from our garden patch. I grew a small variety of pumpkin since we have a pretty small garden. Rooster didn't care. She had fallen in love with this pumpkin when it was still a seed.

Tate was grossed out by the pumpkin guts and only posed working on his. He decided observing from afar was the best plan. He can totally sneer like Elvis. I'm so proud. I need a better picture of it, but you get the idea.

Julia was not so put off by the "eeew" factor.

Here are the finished jack-o-lanterns. Can you guess whose is whose? Hint: the middle airplane thing is actually an X-wing. Google it if you are not dorky enough to know what that is.

That's hair color spray next to the small pumpkin. Had I not had a lighter, I could have utilized my Camp Fire Girl training to start a fire with it. (Think survival in the 1980's - what resources would you have? Aquanet, of course! Who needs flint?)

Here's Rooster getting her hair done. She was a little weirded out by the process. Oddly, the hair color only showed up in natural light outside and looked just blonde inside. I had to take this picture so she'd believe me that her hair was green. (I was too lazy to re-set the date on the camera, btw. Ignore it.)

Hey look! It's Glinda the Good Witch and Anakin Skywalker! (Guess who commandeered the camera? Hint: they cared enough to reset the date.)

And a witchy Roo!

I was not impressed by the funky green face paint, but Maisie insisted it was necessary. Personally, I think she looks like she's in the witch ROTC.

Here's Glinda and Dorothy. Can you tell we live in rainy Oregon? Dorothy wouldn't need an umbrella in Kansas!

Anakin has ditched his lightsaber for a lollipop. The Force (of sugar) was obviously with him.

"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

After the fun was over and the grouchies set in we went home, tortured kids through hair washing (hair dye + rain = not so nice) and sent everyone to bed. The kids left out their candy for the Sugar Fairy. She's a nice little sprite who gathers up all the leftover junk and leaves a surprise in it's place. The kids are always so stuffed by bedtime and sick to their stomachs that they are happy to leave the remains to be gathered up. And the gluten/dairy/artificial colored/can't-eat-it-anyway candy problem vanishes. No begging, no sneaking. Just one crazy night. That's what it's all about anyway, right?

A gift

2009-11-04T12:01:00.000-08:00

I am going to mediation tomorrow with 1/2 the Waldorf school and a woman whose son said he'd shoot Maisie with his (unlocked) gun. I have spent a lot of time being absolutely furious about this. The incident was small and solution simple. It didn't work out that way. The whole thing has become a hornets' nest and my attempts to take the high ground and ride it out have failed. I finally agreed to go to mediation because I wanted something from the school in return. But I was still mad. Livid. Flames coming out of my head.

But I'm not mad any more. In the past week, I've felt an incredible, prodigious amount of support from friends and community members. I've found a goal to work toward. I've rediscovered my good intentions. I have stacks of emails and notes which show my attempts at reconciliation and contradict any statements otherwise. I have support people who will come and be with me during the mediation process. I have all I need. And I have peace.

A dear friend told me today that I was reminding her of the Hindu Goddess of Durga. I had to look it up to understand what she meant. Wikipedia says:

In Hinduism, the Goddess Durga (दुर्गा, "the inaccessible"[1] or "the invincible") or Maa Durga (Mother Durga) "one who can redeem in situations of utmost distress".[citation needed] Durga is a form of Devi, the supremely radiant goddess, depicted as having ten arms, riding a lion or a tiger, carrying weapons (including a lotus flower), maintaining a meditative smile, and practicing mudras, or symbolic hand gestures.
An embodiment of creative feminine force (Shakti), Durga exists in a state of svātantrya (dependence on the universe and nothing/nobody else, i.e., self-sufficiency) and fierce compassion. Durga is considered by Hindus to be an aspect of Kali, and the mother of Ganesha, Saraswati, Lakshmi and Kartikeya.[2] She is thus considered the fiercer, demon-fighting form of Lord Shiva's wife, Goddess Parvati. Durga manifests fearlessness and patience, and never loses her sense of humor, even during spiritual battles of epic proportion.

I can't claim to have maintained patience and serenity during all my battles, I do strive to be fearless and keep my since of humor. Tomorrow I will ride my tiger into what will hopefully be the end of the "get out of the tree or I'm going to shoot you in the face" drama. I have made my peace with it, I just want it over now. Wish me luck.

The results are in!

2009-10-27T22:57:00.000-07:00

At the Mt. Pisgah Mushroom Festival the PC Alice in Wonderland caterpillar scarecrow won the prize for "most beautiful". There were 30ish entries and 4 other prize categories ie: "funniest", "best kid entry", etc. I'm not sure what the prize is yet, last year it was a family membership to the Museum of Natural History which PC donated back to the school as part of our auction basket. So, yeah us! Go PC, go PC, it's your birthday...

PC does some PR at the Mushoom Fest

2009-10-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

So, we live in a Hippie sort of town. You might have guess that from the blog title. Well, you wouldn't be surprised to hear that we have Hippie kinds of festivals here. And what's more Hippie than a 'shroom fest?

It's out at Mt. Pisgah Arboretum. Every time I say that I can hear my cousin, Bobby, in my head in his little boy voice saying "you said pis-gah! *giggle*". Of course, Bobby is now 20 something and taller than me. But he probably still likes words like pisgah and pantyhose. My family is crazy like that.

This mushroom festival, a addition to being a groovy good time, has a scarecrow contest. Last year the Eugene Waldorf School Parent Council took 1st prize. Will we do it again? Only time will tell. Ask me tomorrow. Regardless of win or lose however, the exposure for the school is all good, and we parents enjoy tickling our creative side with some nature sculpting.

Our theme for the scarecrow was Alice in Wonderland's caterpillar. Like this one:

Or, since the school promotes a tv free lifestyle, probably more like this one:

How do you make a giant mushroom scarecrow? I had no idea. Fortunately, the entire population at the school seems to be made up of those far more artistic than I could ever hope to be, and there was no shortage of ideas. First, get some natural materials. Or as Carolyn said "Bring nature, just bring a bunch of nature. And be there at 10:00!" I brought evergreen boughs and a garbage bag full of red leaves. This photo of someone else's contribution is much prettier than my black plastic bag and cracked laundry basket of stuff was:

Supplies also needed: a giant U of O umbrella (no other kind will do!), wire fencing, hay bales and a jumbo roll of chicken wire.

Set small children to work stuffing frame with leaves. Next use florist's and chicken wire to sculpt a caterpillar frame:

Here's the work in progress. Stem of mushroom has been stuffed, top is getting filled, painstakingly, with red leaves (we made an amanita, aka death angel, mushroom. Don't try to eat it!).

Here are some old ladies workin' on the caterpillar. Notice I'm the only one wearing gloves. Yes, they all laughed at me about it. But hey, I was the one who ended up doing the prickly work with the spruce branches and cut wire ends!

So, wonder where did all those kids ran off to? What do Waldorf hippie kids do when their parents are otherwise engaged? Climb stuff. Build forts. The usual. There was also a giant hay pile the little boys enjoyed rolling and wrestling in.

Behold, the finished scarecrow! And some of the folks who worked on it.

BTW, of course we couldn't give our 'pillar a hookah! We'd have no problem finding one in this town, but we'd be in a wee bit of trouble come Monday for putting a hookah on the school's project. So, what to do? Well, since it was a Waldorf caterpillar - what would it most likely be doing up on his 'shroomy home? Knitting. Of course!

Here it is, in all it's glory. EWS scarecrow #27

Here's some of our competition. Cross your fingers that we win, or better yet - head out to Mt. Pisgah yourself and vote for the PC!

Boo! at the UU

2009-10-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

I took Maisie to the Unitarian Universalist Church Halloween party last night. I would have taken Julia too but she'd already weaseled herself an invite from her friend and called Dave at home (sick) to get me to bring her costume to school. That way she could just go directly with all the bffs to said friend's house after school to prefunk, 4th grade style, before the par-tay. Fourth graders are just cool like that, ya know. Super hip.

Anyway, the party was pretty fun for the kiddos. There were cake walks, games, a haunted hike, craft projects, fortune telling and donut eating. Here's a bowling, witchy Roo:

Madame Zolankja will read your cards, for a small fee. (your soul. Buhwaw-ha-ha!)

Do clowns dress up as laser physicists for Halloween?

Julia goes into sugar induced coma:

Maisie has the opposite reaction:

Donut eaters gobble dangling delicacies. How fast can you eat suspended food?

A good time was had by all. Julia and the bffs headed over to yet another friend's house for a slumber party (not mine this time - yippie!) and Maisie and I went home. Maisie was not bummed out by her lack of slumber partying because she won a door prize. Ooh, ahh! What was in the selection of fabulous door prize at the UU Halloween party? A gel like plastic spiky dog collar full of blinky LED lights. Jealous much?

Baking day!

2009-10-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

I spent about 4 hours standing in my kitchen yesterday afternoon. It was one of those cozy fall days when cooking doesn't seem to be a chore and the kids and Dave are happily busy with their own pursuits elsewhere in the house. I made myself a cup of coconut chai, turned on some Dave Matthew for motivation and got to work.

First up, Dave's promised chicken pie. This is the ultimate fall comfort food for me, my Mom used to make this occasionally from a recipe in a giant plastic olive green 1970's recipe file. It goes well with the mashed potatoes that I made Friday and thought were still left over. No such luck, Dave ate them on Saturday when I was up at Swallowtail Waldorf School's Fall Harvest Festival with some crafty friends who had a vendor's booth. The loss of the potatoes was worth the chance to get away with the girl friends and hang out in the late fall sunshine. Of course, I didn't realize the potatoes were gone until I was 20 minutes away from dinner so rather than make more, we had the last of the (frozen since July) peas from my garden. Note to self: next year, plant more.

Bonus points to anyone (besides Jen) who knows whose famous logo is on the pie!

Second up, Maisie's favorite pumpkin muffins. There has been a pumpkin shortage this year and canned pumpkin has been hard to find. I've looked for weeks and found nothing. Now I could sacrifice some of the pumpkins from my garden to the muffins, but I only managed to get 5 this year (well 6, but some animal gobbled one when we were on vacation this summer). Also, I am lazy. What to do? Ask Dave. He heard me griping about the lack of canned pumpkin and Maisie asking for me to make her muffins and took matters into his own hands. The result? Two jumbo cans of Libby's Pumpkin mix. Pumpkin deficit problem solved. Pumpkin excess problem created. Long story short, here's Rooster's favorite pumpkin muffin recipe. People are always asking me for GF recipes (stop laughing, Amy!). This one's gluten, dairy, soy and (provided you use the right brand of xanthan gum) corn free. You can make it egg free by using this: http://www.ener-g.com/store/detail.aspx?section=8&cat=8&id=97. I swiped this recipe from celiac.com but had to change it up since it was not dairy free and included "pumpkin spice" as an ingredient. Pumpkin spice? Even I'm not that lazy.

Size comparison mixer vs. can of pumpkin. Ignore the cluttered counter. I do.

Rooster Muffins:

2 cups gluten free flour. Bob's Red Mill works nice. Authentic Foods' flours are better, IMO, but I have to order them. No one in this town carries it.

1 tsp xanthan gum.

1 giant scoop of pumpkin from a huge can (probably about 1 1/2 cups)

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp cloves

1/2 tsp ginger

1/2 tsp nutmeg

2 eggs

1/3 cups coconut oil. Virgin coconut oil will have a coconut flavor. Regular oil will be coconut flavor free.

1 c water or dairy free milk of some kind.

Enjoy Life chocolate chips. Dairy and soy free. Thank you, Enjoy Life!

Throw it all together. Stir it up. Add more flour or liquid if it's not just right. Use one of these things for greasing the muffin tins from William's Sonoma since you can't get store bought cooking spray without soy or gluten: http://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/sku9278516/?pkey=x%7C4%7C2%7C%7C4%7Coil%7C%7C0&cm_src=SCH. It's only $15 and worth every penny. Cook at 350 until they look nice and golden on top. I like mini muffins since they are more easily stuffed into Rooster's mouth and less likely to become a pile of crumbs. And they cook faster. Mini muffin tins were are fad thing for a while and now you can find them at the thrift store fairly often.

Now it was about this time in my baking afternoon I realized I was out of potatoes. And then Dave can sniffing into the kitchen dropping not so subtle hints about the possibility of a pumpkin pie for dessert. Fine. Only 1 veggie served with dinner will be okay if we have 1 for dessert, right?

Does anyone remember the year Libby's didn't put their pie recipe on the can of pumpkin? I do. It was 1980-something and my Mom was dumbfounded for about 20 minutes trying to come up with a Thanksgiving plan B. Hmm, I wonder if that was the same year the cats knocked the stuffing off the counter? Ah, memories...

Don't you love my square pies? I broke my pie plate this spring in a fit of PMS induced clumsiness and the replacement Dave and the girls bought for my birthday from a local Saturday Market artist broke in the oven while it was baking a blueberry pie. The replacement's replacement (surely it was just a fluke, right?) broke a few weeks ago baking a cherry pie. It was not a good day in my house. Now the artist is MIA from Saturday Market and I have no pie plate. Oh well, square pies in Corningware taste just as good.

Now, who's going to come do the dishes?

How to Freak Out Your Conventional Husband in 5 Easy Steps:

2009-10-16T23:33:00.001-07:00

Step 1. Eat a chicken for dinner. Not chicken breasts out of the styrofoam package but a real, dead bird. With it's neck chopped off and stuffed down it's hollowed out abdomen. Along with other nasty unidentifiable parts. (Really, I'm a science dork and I can identify the liver and heart, but what's the rest of that junk?) Conventional Husband will be mildly concerned by the unusual presentation, but placated when served a nice slice of white breast meat. Especially if Norma's famous mashed potatoes are one of the distractingly delicious side dishes.

Step 2. Pick all meat off cooled chicken carcass. Even the meat off the back, legs, wings and other non-boobie parts. Some of it will be stained by the bones and some other pieces will have to be separated from slimy fat and sinewy bits. Conventional Husband will look a little squeamish at this point, rush through doing the dishes and retreat hastily to the living room with laptop.

Step 3. Chat with girlfriend on the phone. Drop words like "and the cartilage too?" and "what about skin and fat?" Make loud banging noises while removing infrequently used things from the back of the cabinets.

Step 4. Set large cauldron of bubbling bones on the back burner. Act like nothing unusual is going on. But don't emerge from the kitchen. Anxious Husband is sure to lose to curiosity and impatience and come investigate. Admire the horrified look when he discovers this steaming, rolling, boiling science experiment. Giggle when he says "I'm not eating that!".

Step 5. Just when the coast looks clear start new even weirder project. Use the blender and cheese grater. To the fearful question "What are you doing now?" Answer: "Oh, just making homemade laundry soap...". Do not be surprised when there is no reply. Conventional husband will be silent for the rest of the evening and go to bed early.

Congrats! Now you not only have a free evening to blog, facebook and surf the net to your heart's content, you also have (free!) chicken stock and the world's best, cheapest laundry soap.

And don't worry, Conventional Husband will make a complete, well rested recovery when his empty laundry basket magically transforms into a mountain of clean clothes and a chicken pie appears on tomorrow's dinner table.

The difference between boys and girls-

2009-10-15T22:05:00.000-07:00

When I send the girls to clean their rooms they either sit in there and wail about how it's "tooo-o messy/hard/boring" and they'll never be done -or- they just go in there, sit amongst the clutter and start up a new game of pretend with what ever assorted junk happens to be out.

Now the Y chromosome seems to prevent all of that from happening. Send a boy (or man for that matter) to clean a room. Tell them they can have dessert when they are done. What happens? Five minutes later they come running back - done. Why? Because they are smart enough to figure out how to do a 1/2 assed job and make it look good. Even at age 4. Throw it under the bed, hide it behind the door, pile it up in a big lump on the shelf. Out of sight, out of mind. Done. Tate can clean his room at light speed. It'll serve him well. And drive his wife absolutely crazy.

Where ya' been?

2009-10-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much to say here this week. Why? I've been in the middle of some ugly bs and had flames coming out of my ears. It's not been pretty. I've been trying to keep my mouth shut. Not an easy task. I was at a meeting last night and knitting in order to stay quiet. My stitches got tighter and tighter until my needles started squeaking. It was nice to have a giggle about that in the middle of a tense situation.

Without further ado, however, here's what we've been up to:

Maisie came in this weekend clutching a handful of grapes: "Mom, look what I found!". Yup, there is a grape vine behind the climber between our house and the neighbor's. I thought it must belong on the other side of the fence and had just sent some runners over to our side, but it turns out it's ours. Huh. Who'd have thunk it? We certainly didn't notice it last year, but someone must have planted the grapes - there is a post that looks like it might have been part of the vine support at one time. Now the vine goes across the fence, through blackberries and ivy and up into the neighbor's cherry tree. We were able to haul the ladder over, through the St, John's wort and brambles and harvest a large basket worth of organic (no one's touched the vine in years - it's certainly pesticide and herbicide free), yummy grapes.

Can you see the grapevine? Can you even say "grapevine" without your feet wanting to do a "grapevine"?

No? How about now?

And lookie what's in the cherry tree!

Also this weekend, the girls got their ears pierced. Maisie chose ruby studs, since her birthday is in July and she played a character in her class play last year named "Ruby".

It's not a very good picture, Maisie doesn't photograph well when asked to pose. She either looks like she's pissed off or like a total cheese ball (dairy free cheese, of course).

Here's Julia. She wanted little flowers made from pink and white jewels.

And she's been a victim of demonic possession. Don't look at the red glowing eyes!!! You'll be blinded and under her spell! Of course, a Julia spell would be something along the lines of (put your Transylvainian accent on here) "you will buy me every Littlest Pet Shop ever made, buhwah, ah, ah, ah!".

Here's a snippet of how to tell your child goes to Waldorf school. They do this to their brother's trucks:

Yup. Trucks covered in gnomes, silks and woven fairy crowns. (Hmm, that's the second "yup" in this post. Time to buy a thesaurus.)

Lastly here's some Oregon fall colors for you:

Shooting stars and dogwood putting on a show. (You can click the pictures and make them huge, FYI.)

Alright that's it for now. I'm off to pick up my bridesmaid's dress - yup, (hey, there's that word again!) I get to be a bridesmaid! Alison won't let me be the flowergirl. :( And then I need to deliver some chick music and a crayon color bracelet to a pregnant friend who, after we read her cards at Tea and Tarot yesterday, was discovered to be too low in yin and in need of some feminine energy. (Just when you thought this was going to be a normal blog entry! Ha - welcome to my Hippietown life!)

Funny, funny, funny.

2009-10-09T18:14:00.000-07:00

I love this internet film. If you have not seen Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, come out from the rock you've been under and watch it. It's 42 minutes of spoofy fun. Of course, I'm partial to evil geniuses ever since Maisie decided she wanted to be one when she grew up. And I love musicals. And funny movies. Just watch it already! It's free. Have a Horrible day!

http://www.hulu.com/watch/28343/dr-horribles-sing-along-blog

Nana moment

2009-10-06T12:14:00.000-07:00

My Nana is ... Well, how to explain her? She's my Mom's Mom, and the matriarch of a whole lot of wacky people. My family, on my Mother's side, cultivates eccentricity like an heirloom tomato patch. We love the uniqueness of little kids enthralled with heating and cooling systems and adults who are slightly off step with the rest of the known universe. My Great Aunt Lois is has been gone for many, many years yet my kids holler her famous: "Don't raise the bridge, lower the water!" when we come to draw bridge. Some things we do and say without even remembering who the original nut was who coined the phrase. Sometimes we don't even realize that no one else has any idea what we're talking about.

My favorite Nana memory is from when I was about 7 or 8. We had pulled off the highway at a very windy viewpoint, admired the view for a while and then Nana wondered allowed "I wonder how far we could spit?". Turns out you can spit a long way with the wind at your back. Nana introduced me to Alfred Hitchcock movies, took us to Six Flags and patiently waited until we got our fill of rides and junk food. She bought us fancy dolls from Macy's or Rich's every summer which we lovingly named "Georgia dolls" but which never survived long once they returned to Washington State with us. Nana ran over my sister's fire engine red American Tourister suitcase with her Buick. Nana had a house crammed so full of knicknacks and doo-dads that you couldn't turn around without knocking something over ("oh, so-and-so gave me that when we went to...") they probably had to open a new Goodwill to hold them all when she moved into a retirement home.

I had some folks over the other day and as I was stuffing the breakfast dishes frantically out of sight in the dishwasher, I was overcome with the need to unearth my 1/2 (my sister, Jen, got the other 1/2) of one of Nana's sets of dishes. She had regular "everyday" dishes and 3 or 4 sets of fine china. (The South, you know requires multiple types of dishes to be on hand at all times for DAR and Junior League emergencies.) They've been packed up for years first in a storage shed in Tryon, NC. Then in my garage, first in Seattle, then in the first rental house we had here. They were ready to come out. So here's my little bit of Nana-ness. Nana's Blue Willow china. I just added it to the stacks of my china, a Villeroy and Boch pattern if you were wondering, which makes the cupboard fairly crowded but solves the problem of weekend sleepovers when we run out of bowls or plates.

Check out my groovy, original 1960's counter tops! Jen, you must have the cream pitcher - I just have the sugar bowl. (My Mom had a boyfriend her siblings refered to as "Sugar Bowl" due to the unfortunate size of his ears. Just saying "Sugar Bowl" makes me giggle.) Right now I'm eating crackers and cheese on a Blue Willow plate. A little bit of Whiteoak (that's the name of my Grandparents' house) makes every day a little nicer.

Halloween - Hippie Style! (or not)

2009-10-02T16:25:00.000-07:00

How to drive your Mother crazy:

Have her scrimp and save, work 2 jobs and give up all hope at ever having a vacation/maid/desperately needed therapy so she can send you to the media-free, protection of childhood determined Hippie School. Then ignore all the creative thinking, media-freeness and request to be a *gasp* tv or movie character for Halloween. And explain that you DO want to go the school Halloween party. Could it be worse?

Well, really it was not so different last year. Julia asked to be this:

It involved a long search for black fur in a town sold out and made my sewing room look like a cat exploded, but it was not too hard to make and a perfectly Waldorf acceptable choice. Julia's 2 friends showed up at school as Laura and Mary Ingalls and Julia got to be their cat "Black Susan" (re-read Little House in the Big Woods for the reference).

Maisie asked to be a turtle. How does one make a turtle costume? This is the best I could figure out:

And then there's Tate. Little Mr. WalMart special. No one said anything at school, but we got some good looks. It made me laugh, I felt like I needed a sign "my tuition = money wasted". Or a Mastercard commercial:

Cheap-ass Walmart costume - $20

Face paint set: $10

Tuition to ultra media un-friendly school: $15,000

Showing up at the school Halloween party as Spiderman: PRICELESS

So this year the kids had until Oct 1st to decide what they wanted to be. There would be no frantic searches for the last scraps of black fur or frustration trying to last minute a turtle costume. There was a lot of discussion and mind changing but the decision is now made. Julia wants to match her bff who is going to be Dorothy. Julia originally wanted to be Toto, but switched to Glinda the Good Witch when I started twitching at the thought of buying more fur. She's a smart girl. Here's the start of her costume. Ebay search for "pink pageant dress":

I'll have to trick it out with some silver sparkly skirt bling and make a crown and scepter. I can handle that. Not too complicated. So far, so good.

Tate wants to, again, be a cheap WalMart costume character. Fine. Meet Anakin Skywalker:

Tate did not understand why Maisie and I were rolling on the floor giggling hysterically at him. That mask is so ridiculously real, it's a trip. And Tate's voice coming out of Anakin's face is something else. "Hey Mom, I can't pick my nose when I'm in a mask!"

And Maisie? I'll give you a hint - this is what we bought today:

Any ideas? Okay, another hint. She didn't want Tate to "be alone" and decided against being a baby (thank goodness - I did not want to try to sew footed baby pjs. I know I could buy them in her size, but then they'd be flame retardant. Or as one of the famous crazy Gymboree customers told Sarah: "they're poisonous!"). No idea?

Here ya go:

R2D2 or Roo2D2 since it's to be Maisie, the Rooster's, costume. I think (knock wood) I can pull off a decent costume with paint, foil, cardboard and a little luck (also known as "google"). Will we go to the school party dressed in our media-centric finery? Will we wilt under the pressure to conform? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll let you know. And we'll have fun regardless.

St. Michael's Day

2009-09-29T14:10:00.001-07:00

The great thing about going to the hippie school is that there are all sorts of festivals and events I've never heard of. At this school which is more "traditional" (as in "We're 30 years old - why would we change?") the events, holidays and festivals are very Eurocentric. Our old school had some fun Hindi festivals - including one involving spraying each other with colored water - so the festivals here, like Whitsun in the Spring for comparison, where you wear white, sit quietly and hear a long story, is not so appealing to children or the adults who have to sit through it. But I digress. So, without further ado - here's Michaelmas----

Michaelmas

The celebration of Michaelmas commemorates the Archangel Michael and the archetype Michael represents. He is a well known figure in icon painting - usually shown with shield and lance or fiery sword, gazing outward while subduing the dragon underfoot.

Taking up a new task has long been a theme for this season. The task Michael offers us all, when he casts the great dragon into the earth, can become very real in our lives whenever we wish to take a new step on our inner journey, to raise ourselves a little above our nature. Then we discover that into the earth means into us also, for we are immediately caught in in a battle with the weight, the inflexibility and the intractability within our own being.

Michael beckons us to find the spirit to come alive through the dying year. The flashing meteor showers are said to be the sword he wields for us; each falling star is made of iron, the iron we need to strengthen the resolution of heart. The seed-thoughts of summer can be harvested now as deeds - to find their place in the world among people and to generate a life of their own which goes on into the future.

swiped from the school newsletter who swiped it from "All Year Round" by Ann Druitt.

Cuteness: The first grade and their teacher prepare for their part as the gnomes who forge Michael's sword.

The cast begins to enter the stage. Fourth grade royalty arrive...

"psst - Hey B & Z, there's my Dad" or maybe, since they are 4th graders now, it was more like "psst, B & Z, look at Mr. Hess! He's wearing another purple tunic!" *giggle*

Second grade farmers take their places...

And the play begins! "la, la, la... we are the farmers..."

"la, la, la, skip in a circle and find your partners..."

But all is not well for the farmers. They ask the royal family for help. The royal family offers the following advice "we can't help, just sacrifice someone, everyday, to the dragon. That might work". (See - politics were no better back in the day either.)

But now the royal family is in trouble. The princess has drawn the shortest straw and will be the next sacrifice! What to do?

Oh crap! Here comes the dragon! Shrieking, horror, mass panic!

But who is this? It's Michael, come to slay (or at this school "tame") the dragon! (Personally, I think the dragon needs to put up a bigger fight. More drama, more action!)

And Michael leads the dragon off. All is well in the kingdom again.

The End.

Well not really. There are several pieces missing. There were other grades who were the meteors and other parts of the cast plus the cute little gnomes didn't get into the photos either. Next year I'll take pictures and Dave can wrangle the wiggly boy-child.

After the play the older grades created an obstacle course for the younger grades. They had to go through a "howling tunnel" made by the older kids, ride a "galloping steed" (8th grader) and climb up and down different pieces of playground equipment. There was, of course, treasure of some variety at the end. Neither girl has reported to me what is was, which makes me think it either wasn't that cool or edible. In any case, a fun time was had by all and the rain held itself to a sprinkle during the play and games. Happy Michaelmas!

My 10%

2009-09-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

First go to itunes.

Type in Joan Jett.

Choose "Bad Reputation".

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Not me, me, me, me, me, me, me.
Hell, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Not me, me, me, me, me, me, me.

Download it. It's only $.99. I'll pay you back.

Listen to it and read this post.

Think about your 10%
-------------------------------------------------------------

When I was in a parent-tot program a few years ago, one of the women mentioned in conversation that there are always going to be about 10% of the people that you know who just don't like you. Nothing really can be done about it. They just aren't gonna like you for once reason or another. Or no particular reason at all. I was completely floored to realize that she was absolutely right. It is so liberating to me to be freed from trying to get along with everyone and "be nice". Sometimes you just can't.

I had an arduous day. There were meetings and discussion. There were attempts at compromise. Dave left work to help. It was not pretty. I had to knock some heads, as my Granddaddy would say. I added a few people to my 10%. But I did what was right and what needed to be done. My kids' days will be easier because of it. So "I don't give a damn, 'bout my bad reputation". You shouldn't either. Go forth and kick ass.

The time has come!

2009-09-24T11:25:00.001-07:00

This is why my kids go to the Waldorf school. Strings class 3 times a week. Art, music, movement are all as important as math and reading. Julia was a proud peacock to have gotten old enough to finally be a 4th grader and play flute and a string instrument. Bff is playing violin too so Julia took it upon herself to call up arrange practice sessions on Monday and Friday after school with her. I'm excited for her to learn so I can put her on the street corner with her case open, playing to raise tuition money. (j/k)

The "Secret Club" - sshhhh!

2009-09-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

Julia came home yesterday with two envelopes. "Please open at home" and "Please keep secret".

One was from her bff. It reads:

Dear: Julia
we would like you
to join are club. it is a
webkinsclub. We Will meat
at the garden at reces.
only on Monday and Friday.

From: (bff) @ Julia
To: Julia

The other envelope was from two 5th graders Julia knows. It is two pieces of paper. The first reads, in beautiful cursive:

we would like you to join our bike group.
we will hopefuly have a group of people to ride
to the park with. we will need a permission
slip siged by your perents. please respond

The other paper reads:

name:

Gendar:

do you have a denom or lether jacket if you dont please get one.

you maust were a darck colored shirt, and jeens!!!!

you maust have a sick bike!!

listen to your capten!!!!!!!!

stay rite bhind your capten in less they say so!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

please were good shoes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Julia is thoroughly excited to join both clubs. I, on the other hand, am getting a good chuckle over the whole thing. Secret bike riding clubs? "Sick" bikes? The spelling and enthusiasm of 4th and 5th graders are so wonderfully sweet and absolutely hysterical.

The secret club idea has permeated down the hall to the 2nd grade as well. Last year as first graders the idea of "clubs" was certainly out there but it seemed to be more about who was playing with whom on any given day. Things have definitely evolved since then. I had to stay after school last week and talk to Maisie's teacher about an "incident" that had happened that day.

Apparently Maisie and at least 2 other friends decided to arrange a secret club meeting in the bathroom during Spanish class. The first friend asked to be excused and squirrelled herself away in a stall. A few minutes passed. Next Maisie need to visit the facilities. They were gone for a while before a 3rd child started to insist that SHE had to go to the bathroom as well. Maisie and said friend were not back. Maisie's teacher, not having been born yesterday, went to the bathroom to see what was going on. Maisie and friend were together in a stall giggling. "What are you girls doing in here together?" asked the teacher. "Umm, we were, umm... just looking at the toilets!", explained Maisie. Teacher, of course, does not buy this explanation and Maisie's friend confesses to secret plans. Foiled, the girls returned to Spanish class. They will of course, make more secret plans another day. And I will, almost certainly, have to stay after school again to hear what trouble Maisie has gotten herself into.

Art, art everywhere!

2009-09-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

The day goes along well enough until "Mom, I made this for you". More art. A gorgeous (or not) picture, sculpture or thing which now is mine and needs a place. I have 3 storage bins under the bed crammed full of paintings, drawings and workbooks from the past 7 years of schooling. It overflows the kitchen counters, my desk, Dave's briefcase and every flat surface. My walls look like a gallery. I've stopped buying tape in self defense. I thought a bulletin board downstairs would help contain Julia's creations but she just filled it with her friends' phone numbers, written in large print and elaborately cut out. I've tried smuggling art out the door in between old newspapers and junk mail. They always find out. Can't you hear the horror in their voices? "Mom, why is my picture in the garbage?".

So without further ado, here's a smattering of our decor.

This Littlest Pet Shop picture was a 2 day Spring Break project with colored pencils and stickers left in eggs by the Easter Bunny.

This one's on my bedroom wall. "To Mom" and as an afterthought in red:"and Dad". Animals are usually Julia's favorite subject.

More Julia art:

Tate and Dave make Lego sculptures. Thankfully no one expects these these to stick around long.

Yesterday we had to get out left over clay from Maisie's birthday after Julia came home in a snit. Her last two clay sculptures had cracked at school. A relief map of the Willamette Valley and some type of, you guessed it, animal. Tate and Maisie were, of course, glad to sculpt with her. Unfortunately Julia got even further bent out of shape at her clay's reluctance for perfection and stomped downstairs to work on her spelling homework. No matter, Tate and Maisie had a lovely messy time and created more pieces:

This is a young artist at work on one titled "Dying Holes of Dinosaurs".

Maisie commandeered Julia's non-cooperative clay and made a giraffe. No idea why. Perhaps a wedding present for her cousin Alison?

Maisie is no stranger to sculpture. Her pieces are all over our house. Raiding the recycle bin is a favorite pastime for her. She tears and cuts, tapes, glues and rubber bands. This is what my dresser looks like:

A hippo from Alison. She might have been 13 or so when she bought it. It was right after my cat, Fuzzy - aka Big Fat Hippo, died. It's from the best junk store ever: The Beach Mart in Holden Beach, NC.

Maisie made the piggy bank for Mother's Day (thank you Dave, for labelling that - I'd not remember otherwise).

The tall thing is what became of a paper towel roll and old party supplies.

The flower pot coaster is an advent garden Tate supposedly made in Preschool last year. I find it hard to believe he did much. He spent most of his time last year finding things worth constructing into rockets and jumping off of things which aren't supposed to be stood on.

The rest of the table holds some little do dads from my Nana, two mice in yellow glass, a green frog and a praying child in porcelain.

Two jewelry boxes holding jewelry I don't remember to wear.

A box with more jewelry in it. Things I don't remember I own. They landed there when I unpacked, and there they stay.

My Mom made the ladybug rock. It was a Camp Fire Girls project I was suppoed to do. I remember not being very interested in anything other than gabbing with my friends.

Here's a close up of Maisie's interesting abstract of our house. There are beds for all of us including Maisie's little sister. Maisie insists that she has one out there in the ether waiting for me to let it come. She also made out cats.

I just noticed this next to my computer in my desk. The envelope is slightly to small to hold the letters and reads "TO*MOM*LOVE*MAISIE". No idea what the inspiration for this piece was. Maisie just does these. My friend, Penelope, says she sees Maisie in 20 years in her studio, sparks flying as she welds her next piece. Maybe. Maybe not. The only thing certain is that I will be always making more room for the flood of artwork.

Penelope's memorial

2009-09-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

Penelope's memorial was today. Quaker style, in a circle. People would stand and share a story of a moment or two of when their life and Penny's ran parallel. Her unusual way of seeing people, her passion in advocating what was right. The night Logan was born, college, lambs in slings and spinning wool into yarn on the school playground. We sang and there was food. I didn't eat or speak. I watched and listened and marvelled at someone I'd known such a short time. She came to my life as a sonic boom. Resonating then gone. My friend whom I will miss.

And last, as always, is the Tate

2009-09-20T10:50:00.000-07:00

Poor Tate-o. Always last and drug along behind his sisters. Not only is he 4 years younger but as the only boy he is forced to play American Girl dolls, Littlest Pet Shop and be the afterthought when planning sleepovers, and riding back and forth in the car while I drive them hither and yon. Fortunately he's grown enough into his own unique soul that he gets to go to school by himself and make his own friends and adventures this year.

Tate has fists of steel and likes to show off how hard he can punch. He is sunny and easy going and can be quick to temper, but has a moderate amount of self control. He is famous for having punched out another child's tooth, but the tooth in question was already loose and luckily for both of us, the rough housing was consensual. It was a close call that required a lot of discussion about using one's Super Hero strength for good, not "eee-vil". Tate fully believes he is a Super Hero. He does "action moves" (Action is his reward, ya know. Just ask Spiderman) for anyone holding a camera.

Tate is a Mama's Boy, the only one of the kiddos who didn't want to go to preschool: "It's no fun without you, Mom" and the only one who ever left their bed in the middle of the night to crawl into mine. Tate has a great way of mis-pronouncing words in hysterical ways. He has a pet "nakey" and eats "damn crackers" with Nutella and drinks "nalky". His loves to drink any beverage, he'll be a great frat boy one day. Watermelon is his favorite food "'cause it has a drink in it, Mom". Every sentence starts with "Mom" and ends with "Mom". My morning routine starts with "Mom, I peed in my bed, Mom" or "Mom, tan you det me someping to eat, Mom?". Tater loves all things reptilian and amphibian. He likes bats and spiders. "Don't kill it, Dad!!!" is his frequent holler when there are trespassing insects underfoot. Julia unfailingly rescues the offending arthropod or vermin and flings it outside. Tate loves bugs only from afar.

And then there's the Rooster...

2009-09-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

Ah, Maisie Beth. How to fit this kiddo into words on paper, I have no idea. Maisie is what my old boss at the Preschool used to refer to as "a piece of work". My friend Carolyn thinks she's really an old chain smoking French lady; raspy voice and scathingly accurate commentary. She's an enigma - old beyond her years but still wants to hold hands while crossing the road. Maisie courts controversy to her like yellow jackets swirl over your late summer barbecue. She gives away her toys, taunts her brother by belittling his favorite Super Heroes and conspires with her classmates to skip Spanish class to attend a secret bathroom rendezvous. She will not be tamed, is insusceptible to peer pressure and never changes her mind. She can hold a grudge and love unconditionally. She's the kid teachers adore. Or the one who causes teachers to rethink the wisdom of their chosen occupation's effects to their sanity.

Maisie is a recovered autistic child. She can't touch, eat or even breathe in gluten. She hasn't had it or dairy in 6 years. She gave up soy last year. Maisie hates being different and loves being different depending on the circumstance and sympathetic ears in range. She adores American Girl dolls, monkeys and camels. To be completely honest, she is Kipling's camel. It's one of her favorite stories. I alternate between wishing Maisie was easier, softer, more pliant less complicated and being fiendishly proud of her. She's on an intense journey in this life, but with her comedic wit, perfect timing and iron will, she'll get on all right.

Meet the Doodle

2009-09-20T09:25:00.001-07:00

This is Julia. Also known as "The Doodle" or as her brother pronounces it "Eea". Or if her siblings are being silly or trying to get a dig in, "Eea-Peea". Julia is living in the wrong day and age. She belongs on a farm. Or in a zoo. She's the kid who loves everyone's dog, cat, fish, lizard, hampster and wants one or six of her own. We're working on it. She's gotten herself a cat and a couple bunnies in the past 2 years. She wants a dog next. I'm not ready for that.

Julia loves to get along with everyone and be part of the group. She's what we,in my family, call a "Fun Girl". Always up for an event that requires giggling, hanging out and if she's very lucky, chocolate. She's a girl's girl. Stuffed animals and doll clothes liter the floor of her room. She is young at heart and still likes to run on all fours like an animal. She is the one who really needs to be in the Waldorf Hippie School. She would have been crushed by peer pressure and trying to be cool at public school. We tried it in Kindergarten. She made it three months. I yanked her out and we've been wierd-o Waldorf parents ever since. But that's another story. For now just enjoy the Julia-ness of these pictures.

Meet Conventional Dad

2009-09-18T16:17:00.000-07:00

I married a guy named Dave about 10 years ago. Why? Because I knew he'd be a great Dad. Because he is always on my side when I am righteously (or not) angry. Because he's the easy going one who lets me have my way when I really need it and gets out of the way when I'm in a twitch. Because he is not an animal person but never once mentioned he had a hard time with the 3 cats I had when we met. He even took one of them to the emergency vet across town in the middle of the night. Because even now when he comes home and has to face his proud son standing next to an aquarium with a pregnant snake in it he does not scream, argue or even groan inwardly at the fates for aligning his phobic star with our zoo.

Conventional Dad thinks nothing of driving an extra 5 hours after attending his sister-in-law's wedding so his wife and daughters can visit the American Girl doll store. Conventional Dad happily drops them off, clutching dolls and debit cards, cheerfully hollering as he pulls away: "We'll be at the beach - just call us when you're done. Have a good time. No hurry!". Conventional Dad only required an In-And-Out Burger hat as a souvenir. Conventional Dad is a little wigged out by some of the unusual (and even the not-so-unusual) goings on at the kiddos' Hippie School, yet he trusts that even without a sports program, his kids are getting a great education. Conventional Dad fears dirty feet, foods near their expiration date and public bathrooms. Life Amongst the Hippies is not easy for him, but he does all right.

Who this heck is this girl?

2009-09-18T11:52:00.000-07:00

Who am I? Why am I writing a blog? Uh, well I guess the answer is I'm a funny short person too old to be hip and too young to be matronly. I like to write. I think better in print than I do in conversation. I've got some kiddos who do things and a husband who doesn't. Or vice versa. You never can tell what all's gonna happen in a given day. Humor keeps me sane or at least out of Happy Dale Sanitarium.

I'm a housewife. I wash things, fix things and cook things. It's not all bad, but not all that fun either. I've got a bunch of wacky girl friends who are more amazing than I could ever hope to be. They are healers, bronze casters, singers, actors, dancers, Mormons, Hippies, meth addicted Republicans, and everything in between. They buy me coffee when I'm broke, take me out for $10 cake orgies when I've been publicly called out by a pissed off, gun buying snatch potato and come help paint my patio and install light fixtures. I try to return the favors when I can and even when I can't. You got nothin' if you ain't got friends.

What else is important enough to write? I volunteer for a bunch of different groups. The autism ones who kick ass - TACA, ARI and Gen Rescue. I had a few seconds of fame when I wrote up the true story of my middle daughter for Jenny McCarthy's book. Being a chapter of a book on the NYT bestseller list was a odd but exciting. I'm kind of a dork about autism and vaccines. I get a little pissed off when people poison my kids. There will be a vent on that coming later, don't worry.

I also volunteer at the Hippie School where the kiddos all go. But only where I can actually get stuff done without a load of bureaucracy or bull crap. I am sadly lacking in patience when it comes to being diplomatic and spouting the party line. I would not be a good spokesperson for any group. But if you want someone to organize, re-arrange, problem solve or write a scathingly direct email - I'm your girl.