Listen

My today involved two (2) recitals for Apple-Apple's day camp. It was hot, someone kept shushing the babies, and I tossed crackers non-stop at my offspring, but hey, it was worth it. Here is the link to Apple-Apple's first piano performance (be assured, it's short). And here is the afternoon group singing a canon that I found very moving (plus Fooey mugging for the camera; she thought I was taking a photograph and offered a variety of facial poses ... umm, what am I doing to my kids by photographing them so often? Which reminds me that this afternoon, while we were eating popsicles in poetical formation on the front porch, recovering from all the bleeping lovely recitals, Apple-Apple cried, "Get your camera! You need a picture of this, Mom!" and I said, "No. I need to sit down." And so I did. Because sometimes, sometimes, I don't need a picture. Which is long enough, methinks, for a parenthetical aside).
And, yes, that's a gratuitous photo of CJ completely unrelated to this post.

Let Us Eat

Yesterday, our awesome contractor fixed our back porch, and built these brand spanking new steps, with railings included, so we no longer have to worry about CJ crawling off the side of the concrete bohemoth that stood here previously.

In other news, I whipped up some pretty tasty picnic food for our pre-soccer-in-the-park meal tonight. On the menu: tortillas stuffed with home-cooked mexican red beans and grated mozzarella, baked till melty and crispy, halved into finger food, with yogurt for dipping, and a topper of avocado (not local, nope, never), halved grape tomatoes, grated carrot, and Lettuce; and a totally homemade chicken salad scooped into Lettuce boats; because The Lettuce will not defeat me, no, we will eat it, every crisp insipid crunching raw leaf. (The kids chose our CSA box this week: strawberries and peas paired with heaps of Lettuce; on the vegetatian consumption scales, clearly the most coveted must be balanced out by the most prolific).

I didn't follow a recipe, but the chicken salad was pretty delicious (if she does say so herself). Here's how it happened: Boiled a whole chicken yesterday (the last of my Nina chickens); we ate some of the broth in a soup last night, froze the rest. Pulled the meat off the bones this aft, and chopped it, not finely, added chopped green onion and fresh basil, mayonnaise, salt and pepper and paprika, cider vinegar, and a pile of smushed tortilla chips. I suspect that curry powder would be a successful addition, but kept the flavours very simple for our outdoor outing.

Self-Serving Petition

Consider signing this petition, which protests the federal government's plan to cut grants to small magazines (those with an annual circulation under 5,000). Or, consider subscribing to a favourite Canadian arts/literary magazine, because geez, how pitiful is it that virtually all Canadian arts/literary mags fit into that category?

Found and Lost

"Bocs, bocs, bocs," says CJ, and his big siblings go to play blocks with him. CJ is showing such excitement about communicating. I think of him as being a late talker, but in fact he does have words, they just aren't always immediately recognizable. It gives him great joy to snort like a pig, woof like a dog, run to the door to shout "Dada!" and a sound like haaaaa! that means Hi. I remind myself to explain everything to him (this helps slightly with tantrums), because he understands a great deal. The other night I took all four kids to the little park after supper, riding in the wagon, and CJ took along his talking doll ("didi"). He cradled her all the way there, handed her to me when he wanted to go play, and collected her when I said, "Don't forget your baby doll!"

Yesterday, of necessity because Kevin had our vehicle, I ran while pushing the stroller, with Albus on his bicycle, all the way to Apple-Apple's daycamp to pick her up (Kevin had dropped her off in the morning with her bicycle so she could ride home). It's not a small distance, and I was dreading the errand, while talking it up to the kids as an adventure. We currently have no working way to transport small children via bicycle; so I had to run. New running shoes helped, but what surprised me was that I felt pretty fit. I arrived somewhat red-faced at the daycamp site, but much earlier than anticipated. We took the long way home, stopping by our favourite City Cafe Bakery for a treat. I'm thinking we'll repeat the experience tomorrow (today we're combining camp pickup with CSA box pickup, since it's nearby).

The bike stroller ... this is a story that keeps brewing. You will recall that our former stroller was stolen off our porch several weeks ago. Much mourned, then we moved on as friends supplied us with a replacement (for which we've yet to purchase a bike hookup). Well. End of story? If only. Last week, our neighbour (the one who gave us a little red wagon awhile back) knocked on the door early in the morning. He'd found our stroller, could we come and confirm that it was ours. Kevin went first, came back ages later looking confused. He thought he'd recognize it, but it was so changed, he wasn't sure. I didn't really want to go, but of course this stroller was my fifth baby, and I was the one who'd spent all that time strapping children into it ... Fooey went with me. I saw immediately what Kevin meant: it was hard to tell. The fabric was already sun-faded, there was green mould on the inside, it had some new rips and tears, had been stripped of many of its parts. Our neighbour flipped it over to show me the squirrel holes (a squirrel ripped through the bottom seat netting last summer to get at some cookie crumbs; pretty distinctive). Yes, they were there. Then I looked inside at the straps. They hadn't been adjusted, and were set up, as always, for CJ on the left, Fooey on the right. CJ's strap was always twisted, I could never figure out how to untwist it, and that was the final confirmation. Our neighbour had quite a story about how he'd recovered it, but suffice it to say the stroller was being used to transport beer bottles and other junk.

I brought it home, though I didn't want to. The smell that now permeates its fabric is astonishing, and despite a concerted effort by Kevin and me involving bleach, scrub brushing, the hose, plain old soap and water, vinegar, et cetera, the scent doesn't budge. Though at first we'd thought we could still hook it to our bicycle, I can't imagine putting my children into this stench, and while scrubbing the other afternoon felt almost murderous rage toward the person who had taken our stroller and ruined it. But that emotion is so fruitless and destructive. Who am I, that I'm so privileged I can throw away the thing stolen and then returned? I wonder if I'm a wasteful person. The stroller's return has made me reflect on how much easier it is to cope with something that is permanently lost to us; it's almost as if absolute absence invites acceptance. I was at peace with the loss. It didn't bug me. Seeing that stroller, what had happened to it, how it had been abused and destroyed, now that bugged me. But I'm not entirely sure why. Is it because I feel an emotional obligation to this wrecked object, an obligation which I resent? Makes me admire the father of the prodigal son who welcomed him back with open arms. Or maybe I'm investing too much emotion, value, and meaning into a Thing.

In any case, for now I will be running instead of biking with children, because it seems wasteful to buy a bike hookup for the new stroller when we have a functioning stroller that we could hook up to the bike; that I will, however, refuse to use. How dumb is that? Except the run was so good yesterday, maybe it's a fine thing. I find it so much easier to exercise, to make the time, when it's somehow encorporated into my children's lives and to their direct benefit. This is why I so enjoyed being pregnant: I could take special care of my body and feel I was taking care of someone else, too. If it's just for my own benefit, it feels ... selfish (and, yah, I get that having a mom who is strong physically and emotionally benefits them too, it just doesn't compute in the same way; but you're looking at someone who actually feels guilty using the bathroom some days).

Apparently typing this blog doesn't apply to the guilt factor.

We are having our back porch ripped down and rebuilt right now. CJ is engrossed. "Will they find any rat's nests?" Albus wonders.

Blue Sky Getaway

Would you guess the temperature is 18 degrees Celsius, and the water in Lake Huron approximately two degrees above freezing? But our afternoon on the beach was entirely summery, with awkward sunburns to prove it (under one eye? backs of knees? the exact spot where Kev applied sunscreen to my spine?), and included burying each other in sand, searching for fossils in tiny stones, building a castle/moat, eating ice cream and french fries, and ending the day at my brother and sister-in-law-to-be's nearby farm. The surrounding fields of canola are stunning, fluourescently yellow, glowing in the dusk. We finished the day with a campfire.

Now it's Monday morning and I feel Monday morning all over ... the kids are outside in the hammocks having the following conversation: "What's Mommy doing?" "She's inside." "Do you know what she's doing?" "She's playing on the computer." "No, she's working on the computer." "No, she's playing." "Grownups don't play on the computer." "I think she's checking her me-mail." Now that's a good word for it.

Can anyone see CJ?

Morning o' Boredom

The weather isn't cooperating with my great Outdoors Summer Plan. So we're getting into trouble indoors instead. Actually, I think that's okay. Things picked up after this, at least briefly, and for some of us. CJ maintained a non-stop screeching, complaining riff (could be the new tooth pressing against the gum), but the big kids dragged themselves off the floor to play Jr. Monopoly together. We ate what amounted to lunch. I had a cup of coffee. Could be worse. Boredom is good for the soul, in the small tolerable doses, that is. Pushes its sufferers toward creativity. One hopes.

I've had requests for my granola and quiche recipes, so will post those at some point in the near future. Meanwhile, it's Siesta Time. What am I doing standing here typing?

To: Tooth Fairy

Dear tooth fairy,
Can I please have a Book like Bone or something, or some pokemon cards.
You can have this rock [arrow] if you let me have the pokemon or the Bone Book.
PS. are you real, or are you mom and dad.
What do you do with all the teeth?????