For the record: We've been out of town since last week. It was a working vacation, with the added challenge of going some place "new," and relaxing. (insert amused snicker.)

We are back, and we had fun, and Geoff did show up at the *summit,* and we did new things and we were in new places. Relaxing? Hmmm... a bit? Maybe not so relaxing, but that's asking a lot when traveling in an RV with four children. I missed blogging. I missed being able to record impressions, feelings, deep thoughts and other musings, and God help me, I have obviously become too lazy and dense to pick up a pencil and paper! So, now my head is swirling with half baked ideas and snippets and other brilliant reflections that I wanted to record for all time, but the insurmountable task of sorting it all, getting the kids to school, unpacking our conestoga wagon, doing huge loads of vile vacation laundry and trying to retrieve 1,000 photographs from the ailing computer... wait, what was my point... oh yes: I am in over my head.

For now, I will say: We LOVED seeing Dominic, Alison and Bill, and we LOVED being weekend water sports enthusiasts. We tube, therefore we are cool. We loved hiking in Big Trees State Park. Alex and I loved making a quick dash in to Gayle's Bakery, where we made off with the last olallieberry turnover. Mmmmm Gayle's. We loved waking up in the misty Monterey morning. I loved finding new subjects to point my camera at, which is why I ran out of memory... I can't wait for Geoff to figure out how to transfer the files, so I can start playing and sharing.

Okay. I got the kids to school, late, but fed. 2 points for me. Max did a lot of school work on the trip, but he is still tormented by what he missed. -3 points for me. Alex made it in time for the yearbook class photo. 2 points for me. He also suffered anxiety about what he missed and also expressed mild contempt for having to go back to school. -3 points for me. Tomorrow is some huge school Mother's Day extravaganza. 3 points for me, because I have never had the honor of a school/mom extravaganza. The boys are not enthused about the fanfare and orchestrated PDAs. -3 points for me. I had to promise Max that he would only have to move his lips during the singing part, and I would whisk him away when the time came for him to leave the stage, find me and dance with me in front of the entire school. We are shy people.

I have not forgotten my contest plans, and I see I have new messages from willing participants (?) I need to decide on a prize. Something decadent, yet classy, but not too classy, just sort of worthy of your interest and kind of whimsical, because I like whimsy. OKay, so get ready... this is going to be good.

I added a new link in my sidebar: Cream Puffs in Venice is Yummy. Seriously, even if I can't eat, or cook, like this, at least I can savor the images and words. So, if you think food and cooking can be art, poetry, and love, then buon appetito!

Busy, busy. Fun, fun.

I want to post today, because I have plenty to share, but because there is so much going on I feel too scattered and flakey to sit down, focus and produce.

Went to a party for MNO,
so big, so fun, so full
of laughter, spirit, light.

Expecting return of
traveling in-laws,
waiting to hear news,
see what's next.

Planning our own
escape
from work and school
and laundry, at home.

Downloading 347
photographs, memories,
sights and sounds,
like 80's music

Composing movies
in my head,
on my apple
and it consumes
my senses, neurons,
terabytes.

Cleaning, dieting,
walking,
mother, girlfriend,
me,
busy me, riding the
suburban wave in
my American Dream.

Mom, this is where your animals clips have gone... Maria likes to use them as accessories. She names each one as we clip them on her dress or shirt. She'll wear them all day. She loves them, thank you.


"Cow, cow. Piggy. Duck. Doggie. Cow."


On my way out to grocery shop I grabbed my insulated bag, and found Maria had been there first. She has a way of getting her stuff distributed throughout the house. Inside the zipped-up bag were her two babies, her bead necklace, a pen and some Lego bricks belonging to her brothers.


I think they look shocked.


Maria was delighted to be reunited with her twins and jewels. (Notice our *view.* Now you know why we are A.K.A. Garage Mahal.)

It's the Weekend, so let's play:

"American Science and Surplus" looks like so much fun.
We like visiting a place called Industrial Liquidators, but this place is so much easier to browse, since it is all online.

I found the link to this artsy-geeky shopping mecca at another blog I have been visiting... You probably think I would visit any blog with the word "chicken" in the name, and you might be right. "Angry Chicken" has been a fun blog to visit for more crafts and inspiration.

I seem to find a lot of interesting links when I am at "Angry Chicken," like the website "Crib Candy," which I think is a collection of stuff for the home. Okay, so I need to look in to it a bit further, but it was certainly intriguing at first glance. For example, where else are you going to find the tools and resources to turn rug stains into a giant carpet bunny?

After checking out all the inspired gizmos and home enhancers at "Crib Candy," I went back to see what else "Angry Chicken" likes and I found a blogger that asks "How About Orange...?" I smile and think of my sister-in-law, Alison, when I come across anyone that loves orange.

There is fun and creative stuff happening at "What About Orange...," like her excellent link to free clip art from Dover Publications. I think it's Dover that publishes those wonderful little dollar books with stickers, tattoos, puzzles, mazes, stories and art. I love those.

Now go play!

I've been taking photographs for the yearbook. It started casually enough. I am hardly ever without my camera. Now I am earnestly pursuing individual shots of each student in Max's class, and one of each student with his/her mom/dad, and also all middle school students. Max knows I am taking lots of pictures. He and Alex wait for me after school while I pose moms and kids, or capture the dance class in action. I can think of just a few more students I need pictures of... better lighting, a more flattering angle, but for the most part I have at least three pictures of everyone. Almost. Yesterday Max tapped my shoulder and whispered at the side of my head, the way he does.

He said, "Um, Mom? What about you and me?"
I turned to him, looking confused, saying, "What?"
He said, "Our picture Mom. What about a picture of you and me?"


Me and Max.

That's how it goes, I guess. The camera is available to everyone, but it usually winds up in my hands. There are not many pictures of me. You might not know I was in attendance at the Easter brunch, or our last camping trip. You would never guess that I make things, build stuff, or show up to help with projects. There are pictures of me; the ones I take, the close-ups, with my right arm extended and arced.

There are a lot of articles about the dynamics of photographs; what body language, expressions etc... say about individuals. Is there a gap between two people posing together, does someone avoid looking at the camera? People study the psychology of what a photograph reveals and conceals. Interesting stuff.

Last night Max read to me. He's anxious to get his final book report finished. He has to read an award winning book, and he chose "The Relatives Came," by Cynthia Rylant. It's long been a favorite book of mine. It's full of family goodness, messes and all. To have my son read it to me makes it more treasured than ever.


After Max read, I strolled around the yard looking for things to point my camera at, like the bougainvillea that grows in the entry area of Cramalot.


Though the flowers are lovely, bold and vibrant, I do not think it a very good plant to have at the front door. It grows long thorns and scratchy branches that reach out to scrape us when we walk up to the house. The red petals are actually leaves and the small yellow buds are the flower.


These little roses grow on two climbing shrubs in the backyard. They are Cecil Brunners. I planted these all over the Chica's henhouse at El Rancho. They generously bloom with a profusion of tiny, pink and fragrant buds.


Today I let my camera snap a few more pictures. I am still learning how to use it, and I've misplaced the owner's manual, so it's going even slower than before. Maria likes a little milk with her snack.


She likes local favorites Milton's Crackers. They are whole grain, free of trans fats, and they taste good.


I like how slowly and delicately she eats. It's lovely having lunch or snack with her.


Crackers, apples, pickles, cheese, grapes, strawberries, cashews? Yes.
Tuna? No.


"Tuna?!"


"Yes, please," says Benjamin.


"I love tuna."

Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens

I have a chicken coop, and on top of the coop I set my chicas, some roosters and a farmer too. I try to keep my chicken obsession corralled and contained. I don't plan on having a chicken bedspread, next to my chicken lamp, in the room with chicken wallpaper. Though I must confess, I have daydreamed about sewing a chicken inspired quilt.

I didn't have any serious crushes or obsessions growing up. For a time I feigned a Clark Gable infatuation. In junior high, several girlfriends expressed strong feelings that I was missing out by not having a celebrity crush. Jill had personal letters from both Robby Benson, and his mother. Kristy liked someone, Eddie Van Halen, I think. The point was to have posters and stickers and to get swooney at the mere mention of the obsession's name. I did happen to like old movies, so I pulled Clark Gable out of my hat and assured my concerned girlfriends that I did in fact "...like, totally like Clark Gable, 'cause he was so totally like hot. You know?" They gave me two super-sized posters of him for my 15th birthday. So for about 2 years I lived with a 40 something year old man looming over my bed... the ears, the mustache, the cigar... it was a bit much. Actually, he did have something of a rooster look, kind of cocky. Years later I read that he and his adored wife, Carole Lombard tried their hands at chicken farming. I like that.

Geoff knows that I get a little bit swooney about chickens. He liked our three chicas too. He thinks they were cool.



The days are getting a bit Summery, a little warmer, a little longer. It makes it difficult to concentrate, to get to school on time. Sometimes I wake up and think, "This is too nice a day. There can't be school on a day like this." But there is school, until mid-June. There is testing too. Alex and Max are taking standardized tests all this week and part of next. I've been making them extra spectacular breakfasts. Today is dance day with Maria, and I have to get to a yearbook meeting in a few minutes. William finished reading "The Long Walk." Geoff is at the office, hoping everything holds and trying to look busy. I think he reads a lot. He says he's busy stuffing my ballot. I always wonder what you are up to. Drop us a line, share your obsessions. Is it Summery where you are?

Pure Randomness

There is yet another Blog Award contest thingy going on. This is not The Bloggies, which were what shameless bloggers were clamoring for last month. No, this is a new way for people who post about their cute kids, pet peeves, favorite foods, destinations, sports and lotions, politics, Geek subjects, photography, humor, deep thoughts and musings, to get attention, and congratulate themselves. I hinted, none to subtly, to Geoff that he could nominate a certain headless chicken woman we know; she's been scratching and clucking for nearly 5 years. The playing field is already so full of more boisterous, talented and popular bloggers, that there really is no point in showing up.

So instead I will whine a little. It goes like this: I will gag if I read one more nominated blogger who casually refers to their nomination saying something like:

'Oh, who cares? I never pay attention to these silly things, and by the way here is a link where you can go and vote for Me in 5 categories, but only if you really think I am amazing, which I'm sure you don't, and it really makes no difference to Me anyway. Oh, and purely by coincidence, while I am mentioning it, here are more links to Me and My earlier posts when I was particularly witty, cute or talented.'

These people are so full of $@!* and false modesty! They have many followers and readers and people who regularly comment and sing their praises, so who are they kidding when they act surprised or humble? There is not a blogger out there that doesn't desire attention or recognition or validation. DUH! Or why would they have their words, talents, interests, photographs, links, recipes and drivel posted on public forums, on the World Wide Web?

Not me. If I were nominated I would be shocked, because even after 5 years of faithfully sharing and unabashedly vying for attention and feedback I still only know of 5 people who read Chickenblog. I would be shocked, because even when I, none to subtly, ask to be considered for possible nomination, it falls on deaf ears, and I only half think it was a good idea anyway, because Chickenblog is one of the longest running and most under the radar blogs out there. This isn't false modesty or sour grapes. I have been practicing self-deprecating humor, earnestly and faithfully, most of my life... I have no need of pretending I am unworthy of a big honking blogger trophy. If I were nominated I would be giddy and tickled. I would hope for lots and lots of votes and I would post a big icon button to the voting booth for the reader's convenience. And I absolutely would not pretend that I don't care.

Now, just in case that other stuff means nothing to you, I have included some highly significant and interesting pictures for your viewing pleasure, because even though I am ready to throw in the towel, I always think of just one more thing to share.


Like a truly huge strawberry. Just look at the size of that berry! Must be one of those San Onofre Nuclear Power Chi-Chi berries. A glow in the dark mutant.


Mutant berries make strong thumbs.


Anne and Adam came to our picnic and we brought Mitchell too. You missed a good time. You. Whoever you are. We saw turtles and ducks and skinny, fast moving squirrels. Maria and I loved the wholly wholesome muffins Anne brought. There was some hiking, exploring digging, laughing, and even a little lazing about... just the right balance of activities.


The ducks were pairing off and squaring off. One man duck in particular was very territorial and protective of his duck woman. He chased off the competition several times.

Sigh. It's back to school time now.

I decided to grant Max his picnic wish. Does eating Costco pizza in the car count? We got to the beach in time for this choice picnic weather:

Cold, grey, and incredibly windy. Undaunted, we decided to leave the sand out of our lunch and eat in the shelter. Good choice, because


outside it was actually colder and windier than we had thought. Southern Californians, true natives like ourselves, are so weather ignorant. Most other places in the country people would expect a cold, grey and windy day in April. Max had hoped to swim. Lucky for him towels come in handy for several purposes.


Maria acclimated, somewhat, and with her tights on her head like a Seuss hat, she was ready to dig in!


She patiently filled this pail, even while holding and sheltering her beloved "Guin."


Brrr. I can't believe we lasted as long as we did. I can't believe there were people wading in the rough surf. Poor tourists, eager to make the most of their spring break, no matter what.


Poor us, eager to get out of our house, no matter what.


We thought we came prepared. It's just as well you didn't join us. But what about today? Could you, would you join us on a picnic today? I thought I would send out a general announcement and see who will meet us at the duck pond for a 'bring your own tasty feast picnic.' Let's see how ambitious I can feel in the next hour...

Or... I could stay home and face the music:

There is not one square foot in this house that isn't negatively affected by our presence; not even the tile floor in front of the pantry, where Maria has tucked in her baby for the night. Some lax behaviors have evolved in to bad habits. Sloppy practices, undisciplined ways... we have slipped down the slippery slope.

My first instinct is to cry in alarm: Run Away! Run Away!
My second instinct is to cry in alarm: Run Away! Run Away! Run faster, faster!
Okay, any moment now I am going to crack my whip and stir my dozing crew of children and we will have a general meeting about personal responsibilities, chores and team effort for a greater good. It may look as though we were struck by a natural disaster, but the disaster is very localized; I will emphasize that our earthquake preparedness kit is off limits, so no more chocolate milk! We will clean house for no less than two hours, and then break for a picnic lunch and healthy outdoor play.

Meet Joe Rabbit

Joe is about 6 years old, so that makes him 99 in kid years.


A bunny's tongue is pink and rarely seen.


Joe's face, up close, is my favorite. His mouth and nose never stop moving. Maria likes to impersonate Joe.


Maybe petting Joe is my favorite.


Right behind his ears, around the nape of his bunny neck, he is particularly soft.


He won't sit still for long, though he's calm enough when he is sitting in someone's lap.


When he's done sitting, he likes to dig. He digs until he clears a patch of bare earth and then suddenly...


...he flips!


And he lies in the bare earth spot.


And he bathes his face, which is a very cute bunny activity.


Max loves Joe.


Maria loves Joe. She loves him like a baby doll and wants to cover him and tuck him in. "Night-night Joe. There you go."


Joe seems to like being tucked in.


Max and Maria like playing in Joe's bunny run.


They can visit with him and he can run and jump, thump and dig, nibble and doze.


Everyone loves Joe.

Bath supplies...


When Maria is going to take a bath, I have learned that it is very helpful to bring supplies. She loves her bath and she can't be bothered to entertain me the whole time. So, after she's scrubbed and had her hair lathered and rinsed, then she wants to be free to explore the depths of her personal water world... not unattended, but alone.

I bring the phone. Geoff may call and remind me to fax tax info a.s.a.p., or Angelina could be trying to reach me, looking for pearls of wisdom on raising four children, while her husband is away on assignment.

I bring a mini project, like my knitting lesson, mail to sort, a nail file and clippers, so I can tame my ragged claws, and today... pen, pencil, eraser and Rosie, my Rhode Island Red. Always dabbling in something. Jack-up all trades and master of none. I want to draw more gooder (more better?) My two weak areas (self analysis, you may find more, I'm sure) are haste and lack of skill/experience.


I tried to force myself to go very slooowly on Rosie's face... there are so many details on a hen's head.


Then Maria started splashing quite vigorously, and she even hurled a bowl of water at poor Benjamin. He may not visit her bath again anytime soon. I shouldn't have let it make me anxious, but I did rush through the feathers. After bath time, dressing Maria, soaking up spills, and faxing taxes, I took a look at the color print I was inspired by and realized that I missed a great deal of feather detail that was not evident in the black and white photocopy I had in the bathroom. Sigh.


Dare I color it?
Or, I could clean house, which is necessary, very necessary and yet utterly unappealing. It's just so pointless and futile. Max suggests a big, big picnic at the beach. If we leave the house, then at least it can't get any dirtier.

Hola. Today I am supposed to pay bills, clean the car and emotionally prepare to be a field trip driver for the middle school tomorrow. And of course I have my usual list of things to do. Before I throw myself on the Responsible Woman Train, I want to post a little weekend goodness.

Item One: New Shoes, Crocs actually. Cousin Dominic is thoughtful and generous, and I guess his mom told him how much Maria loves shoes and purple. She can spot a shoe rack from 200' and her feet start twitching when she gets near them. We are sending big hugs and thank you's to DomDee.

I think I mentioned that Max has outgrown his bicycle. A year ago we could see it was too small. We didn't get our act together to buy him one for his 8th birthday and Santa dropped the ball at Christmas. No matter. Just in time for spring break Max has his new, bigger bike and he is one happy boy.

He likes that it is a mountain bike and he loves that it is green. He has more gears too. Cool. Saturday night I promised to take him someplace besides our neighborhood corner. Sunday we walked over to the next block, slipped passed the chain link fence and in to the nature reserve of the suburbs, a.k.a. the power line easement. Maria got some off-road jogger action and Max and I explored the mysterious region that is both urban and wilderness. There is a perfect looping trail, interesting terrain, inclines and berms. It is a dog walkers paradise and Alex wants to take the RC cars in for a ride.

I found a patch of paradise, with real California plants growing and struggling in their little haven. This sage bush is healthy, but it's unfortunate that there is only one. It smells wonderful.

These tiny purple flowers are sweet, but I recognize them as the plants that produce little sword like seeds, with a spiral sticker at the end... a menace to long haired dogs.

There was a lot of buckwheat blooming. The flowers are dainty and by summer's end they will be dry and toasted, resembling a cluster of bread crumbs. Hans told me they are edible.

Here is a plant that looked familiar and smelling it confirmed that it is a variety of lavender, which is part of the mint family. It wasn't like any nursery variety, but I don't know if it is a native species. The bees were certainly interested in it's fragrant blossoms.

This is a Jerusalem Cricket, and he is big, a little creepy looking, but harmless. They burrow and eat decaying plant matter, and like crickets they "sing." Their song is a drumming they make by beating their abdomen against the ground; it's a love thing.

We hiked and biked the new trail several times yesterday. Eventually the whole family got to explore it. Ironically, Alex enjoyed riding the trail on Max's old bike!

Maria and I fixed dinner together. She climbs on to this counter stool and watches me, talks to me and tackles certain jobs, like spinning the salad. Maria loves to spin the salad. We had planned to watch Nature, but our public television station is fundraising, and they weren't airing their regular programs. William and Alex spent time making fun of the dinosaur program on the Science channel. They were laughing uncontrollably, which was fun to hear. Max and I were with Maria, and Max read his Milton Hershey autobiography to us. Milton Hershey was a very interesting man, and Max is enjoying learning more about him. Geoff worked until 11 p.m. If he weren't so sick I guess he would have worked later. Speaking of work... I think I have stalled long enough. Time for me to get to work too.

Something new. I love the "Button Movie" I found at

Colorfool. The self-described stay at home mom at Colorfool is very crafty and inspiring. Scroll down her web page and look at what she made for her daughter's kitchen. "Cute, Cute," Maria would say. I would agree.

Today started as a clean-up my house day. I was quite determined to turn the tide around here. I got started, which is good and I intend to continue, also good, but the cosmic farces have been against me, and for the moment my cleaning plans are stalled, again. Maria is very tender and clingy. Her eye looks much better, but she still coughs and gets fussy. She made a scandalous fuss earlier when I left her on the sofa. I don't hesitate to look the other way for a little crying, but she reached an inconsolable and pitiful state, so I gave up trying to collect laundry, and went to hold her.

She gulped her breath, she tried to compose herself, she clung to me and said, "Cryin', cryin'. I cryin', cryin.'" Then she threw-up, which scared and upset her so, she started cryin', cryin' some more.

Somehow we are both bathed, and in fresh clothes. She is asleep. I marvel at the coordination, the ergonomics, method, strategy, technique and skill it takes to overcome vomit, and vomit damage. First console the barfer, while simultaneously containing as much flowage as possible. Secondly, while containing vomit, transport everyone and everything to a nonporous surface, such as a tile floor or bathtub. Without alarming barfer, and away from open windows or public access areas, peel off all vomited apparel, including your own; set these aside for laundry triage at a later time. Get all slimed subjects to a tub or shower. A damp washcloth or baby wipes will never erase the *smell.* You need flowing, warm water and lovely fragrant bath gel; whatever good stuff you've been saving, use it now.

I could write a survival manual for all kinds of barf scenarios, trust me.

It may be time to step in to my alternate universe.
Yesterday I was open to the possibility of healing and balance, to magic and a turn of the tide. I didn't stay in bed waiting for the UPS truck to drop off a package of "All Better." I cleaned house and fed children. I unpacked the big box that was labeled 100% Easter, so that for once my children could hope to live in an appropriately and festively decorated house for Easter. I did affirmative things, and made daring steps toward my future, and I wrote letters, made phone calls, I hung some art on the bare walls, and bought groceries...


I continued to monitor the children,

to be sure they were keeping

healthy habits.

While I cleaned and organized I made the mistake of letting Maria explore in the Easter box and now it looks like spring and bunnies vomited all over the family room. I remained calm and philosophical, reasoning that the activity kept her happy and distracted. Maria woke from her nap with an eye sealed in gunk. She woke from her nap with the same congested cough Max has, Alex has, Geoff has. She woke from her nap sad and tender. Max threw-up, again. Alex sleeps or coughs, or coughs in his sleep. All the phone calls and letters, the daring steps? So far, I've got 'no reply,' and 'no comment.' The two boys are falling behind at school, and they'll be missing the school field trip tomorrow. I've been missing out too, like Yanina's surprise lunch and birthday walk, and seeing Anne's new yard and plants. And remember the "Easy Knitting" book by Klutz? I pretty much suck.


This is all very tired, random and pathetic and I'm not even disclosing all of our lows and burdens, but it serves to illustrate just why I am ready to visit my alternate universe. I am not going to bother describing it in any detail. I am going to close my eyes and think of all the ways things could be better, cleaner, nicer. After 20 minutes or so, I will open my eyes and start all over again; washing hands, cleaning, folding, unpacking, making calls, hoping, praying, mothering.

I got one email today, from "A Year in Bread. I want to play along and be a baker too. Later, after baking, I want to print this alphabet and hang it in our own school room. I love my alternate universe.

Max greeted Maria as she woke from her nap.

Garybob was here. Yesterday an insistent knocking shook me from my happy place, and who should I find at the door, but our landlord. He wants to pull weeds today. Here. He came yesterday, without advanced warning to walk around the yard and count the weeds he will pick today. Sitting here in the fishbowl, I cringed realizing that there are things in the yard that may appear unseemly. Oh, it's a little thing sort of. He said he'd never come without 24 hours notice, and when he does come it makes me feel anxious and exposed and small. I'm sure if I had my act together it wouldn't matter, right? I'm just not the kind of woman who has her act together.

We were dragging ourselves to the finish line this week, with the game deadline coming up. Geoff's schedule has been horrible and we have been doing our best to juggle the rest, including a month of colds. We are also in the middle of a huge dispute with the propane company; they will not stop charging us for the propane service at Woodwind. It's a sickening mess that would seem simple enough to resolve, but it just keeps getting worse. Do you know what can sometimes happen with deadlines? Deadlines can be extended. Geoff learned Friday, that our finish line is not here after all, but a month away. Another month of 18 hour work days, six days a week and a few more hours on Sundays. I am sad.

I got up early and Geoff helped me get things in order in the yard. There was nothing ridiculous out there, just odds and ends and the little things that can get neglected when life is full. It looks great now, and we had fun playing with Maria while we swept and sorted. Geoff dragged my butt, and William's too, for an invigorating walk. We were making the walks a regular habit until I got too sick and Max and/or Alex were home sick too. So now we are trying to get back to our routine. We were about to leave as Gary arrived with his helper to pull weeds. I can't believe I wasn't fast enough to point out the viola seedlings I planted; they were already raked up by their roots. I took a deep breath and remained calm, and I was happy that at least yesterday I pointed out my sweet pea vines which have already begun to twine and flourish. We came back from the walk a few minutes ago. I enjoyed, wistfully, seeing all the spring flowers planted in people's yards. There were a lot of snapdragons and watsonia, some early roses, and pretty petunias. I want a garden. Gary and his helper are gone, and so are my sweet peas. All pulled up and gone.

This evening's post is inspired by our resident baker, Alex. He was digging around our recipe drawer and came up with something slightly sweet and made with strawberries.

STRAWBERRY MUFFINS

2 1/4 cups flour
1/3 cup sugar
1tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon... sift these together.

In a separate bowl beat together...
2 eggs
1/2 cup Canola oil
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup sliced strawberries (fold in last)

Blend together the wet and dry ingredients, until the dry ingredients are moistened. Gently fold in the strawberries. Spoon into muffin pan lined with paper muffin cups and bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes. When the muffins cool top with strawberry cream cheese: 8 ounces cream cheese swirled with 2 to 3 tablespoons of strawberry preserves.


These are the same beautiful muffins Alex made for me last Mother's Day.

I couldn't just let these get gobbled up in the typical fashion, so we made an impromptu tea party. We haven't made a tea party since we were Neptunites, living by the sea. I brought out our tiny tea cups (I think they are meant for espresso) and we spread a pretty square of fabric on Maria's little table. Alex chose a glass floral tray for his frosted muffins. While the water boiled I warmed up the teapot, and then prepared a chai tea mixed with some milk.

I love the look of polite joy that settles on children's faces when they are welcomed to a formal event. Maria recognized the tea party theme immediately and she clasped her hands in patient and respectful awe.


She was very happy to see her table transformed and to find tiny cups, just the right size for her.

Maria served herself milk and we added a few drops of hot chai.


I like our mix and match tea service. It suits us.


Here is the rose saucer that Janice brought me when she knew I needed a lift.


Everything took on an air of calm refinement. We took small bites and we took little sips. We savored the quiet and happy gathering.


William says he doesn't remember our tea parties at Neptune. Alex remembers I served them juice in tea cups.


Max likes chai tea, and drinking from our pretty cups.


Maria was uneasy about getting cream cheese on her hands. She found her solution.


Thank you for our tea party and muffins Alex. Everything was delicious.

Before Maria was born I tried to cope with morning sickness by focusing on engrossing activities, like quilting and crochet. Quilting I have sufficient experience with to be successful. And as for crochet, well I took lessons as a five year old, and then many years later I made Geoff a ridiculously long, lanky "I have a crush on you" scarf. In spite of limited experience I was determined to make something or anything for the baby, and what came of that ambition is Blue Bumby, Maria's bunny doll. I just kept going 'round until it started to look like something.

She loves it, which you can tell by it's scruffy appearance.

While unpacking yet another box, I came across a just in case present I bought to keep on hand... well, just in case I needed a gift for someone. It's a Knitting instruction kit from Klutz. It kept calling me to play with it, and I kept denying myself the freedom to play. Who can explain my timing? This is a hectic and challenging time in our lives, and it makes no sense for me to break open a new toy and start playing. Oh well. Here I go!

The first direction is to take the skein and turn it in to a ball. Simple, huh? It's the perfect meditative task for me. Sufficiently challenging, yet calming.

Possibly Klutz gave me cheap yarn. It started tangled, and was a little frustrating. I enjoyed being able to unravel a mess without help from attorneys, or counseling.

I love the colors. The blue lightens and deepens. It has movement. Speaking of movement... Maria caught sight of my little project and picked up the finished ball of yarn saying, "Oh ball! Perty, perty. Here you go Benby!" And she threw it across the floor. Benjamin was thrilled to have a new toy unraveling across the carpet.

Cats and yarn. It's Cliché, isn't it? How can something be cute and annoying at the same time?

Now I have three balls of bright blue yarn, ready and rolling to become project one of the Klutz handbook.

Quarantine and Cabin Fever!

Ahhhk! I keep devising extremely clever excuses to leave the house. Alex just woke up about ten minutes ago. Obviously he didn’t make an overnight recovery. Max threw-up again. William, Maria and I are still healthy. I know you’ll pray for us. I guess I can’t exactly invite you over for a Friday night movie and fresh hot popcorn. We don’t need cat litter, sponges, toilet paper, apple juice, toothpaste or any other product, so I can’t rationalize a trip to Target. I offered Alex his choice of healing foods and would gladly run out to get him any temptation. He’s not hungry. I’ve showered. I’ve slathered good smelling lotion on my recently shaved legs. I am wearing the iced raspberry drop earrings my mommy sent and I am ready to break out of this joint!

Please. You must refrain from suggesting that I stay home and clean. Don’t ask whether I finished the second letter to the propane company, or if we are ‘all moved in yet?” Groan. It’s not that I necessarily crave retail therapy. I just want to do something… something… oh, what’s that thing called? Oh ya: Fun. I want to have fun. I want to feel rested, pretty, smart, and energized, and want to have fun and then return to a magically cleaned house with healthy children, and let’s go ahead and make it the first day of summer, with a housing market slump that brings prices down by 42%.

Alex is home from school and we have his friend Mitchell here too, which may be a mistake. Mitchell comes to our home every Tuesday and Thursday; it helps his family with a scheduling conflict. When I met Alex at his class he looked drained, pale and sad. He has fallen victim to the Virus II. He has a sore throat and headache, and he was suppressing a cough all day. I hope Mitchell does not pick this up too. Max is still very sick. He eats nothing and still manages to throw-up. He coughs all night. We are washing our hands and drink our C. We are law abiding, kind and caring. We are not worthy of this viral seige.

Ugh. I know, this is not original material I am covering here; Everyone is sick or is recently recovered, Geoff is sprinting to the finish line of a major project, I am ridiculously sleep-deprived, the house is half packed and half neglected and half gross, because I can only muster a half-assed effort. Haven't we been here before? Sigh. It seems even our move is not complete: The propane company continues to bill us for usage at the TreeHouse, which has been a nightmare to resolve. Oh, and I have had to catch three ginormous wasps/hornets that were patrolling in the house. They appear one at a time, from we do not know where. The doors have no screens, so they are never open and all the screens in the windows are secure, so *mystery.*

Is it true that "everyone" is talking about "The Secret?" I've listened to some discussions, and Geoff sent me a link to an article... where is it?... can't find it, but it talked about avoiding negative thoughts, so as not to attract negative energy and ruin your chances of becoming disgustingly rich and super skinny, of course. Actually on the skinny issue, it cited an example that suggests 'a person interested in losing weight should avoid fat people, including looking at fat people.' Ah the power of postive thinking, and the power of being positively shallow and greedy; not us, the author and her minnions.

Don't write me off as utterly cynical. I have a sufficient and healthy respect for spiritual power and gifts that exist in us all, and I believe we must apply effort as well as faith to making our dreams and goals become realities. I don't believe a handful of people should prosper from slick packaging and manipulative ideas stated as truths and science. I do not like the hype surrounding this so called new idea or method or philosophy, because it's rehashed stuff that comes around again and again, and what really concerns me is the cult-like message that implies you are either "in" or you are "out." It seems too simple and too much like blaming the victim: 'Not successful, beautiful, powerful? Then you must not be really trying. You must be to blame for not curing your own cancer, for not signing your own wage increase, for losing your hair, your cat, your way.' *The "secret" is that someone is depending on a lot of people to believe that they need a secret to find fulfillment and joy, and the frenzy over the book and tapes and merchandising mania will certainly go a long way to serving only one person's faith and positive energy, the author's.

That said, I do plan on making a little wish list, and thinking happy thoughts about making some dreams come true. It's no secret; we can make the world a better place for all.

*One last observation, since I just watched the "The Secret" trailer; apparently another component of "The Secret" is that "All the great minds, great leaders, great achievers, had one thing in common..." they were men. I thought we had come further than this.

Yesterday I had to take Max in to the doctor's to get checked out; there have been cases of strep around the school. He doesn't have strep. Good. I almost made a clean getaway, except the nurse decided to get cute. "So, no strep honey. You just have a virus. Get rest, drink fluids and..." (get this!) "eat lots of popsicles." Thanks. Thanks a lot for your pain in the posterior prescription for my son who has barely been able to get out of bed, and is allergic to red dyes! It is not easy finding dye-free anything. It's not easy adding one more errand, when the day is as full as it is. And it is not easy to keep from slapping some people.

Max grinned. They're never so sick they can't understand a popsicle prescription. "Doctor's order, right?" he chuckled.

We found Breyer's popsicles... real fruit, no dyes, sticky, sweet and fun to eat when it's feeling like summer in So Cal. Grandma Nancy, I know it may be hard to imagine a scene like this in mid-March, these pictures are for you:


Max, taking his medicine.

Maria offering her support, takes the medicine too.

It really is a warm day.

We can add strawberry popsicles to Maria's list of favorites.

Never stop taking your prescription before you finish the complete course...

Maria and Benjamin love to torment each other.
He sleeps in her bed and attacks her stuffed chick; he chases whatever she is dragging behind her.
She hugs him in a fashion reminiscent of a sumo wrestler. She plays shepherdess and herds him around the house, knocking him from his perch, removing him from his curled up naps.
If he is happily dozing in a spot she wants to occupy, she casually and firmly shoves him out of her way and as he stumbles away dazed and indignant, she says, “There you go,“ in a kind and graceful tone.
She loves to admonish him for minor kitty crimes, like sitting too close in front of the TV or peering over the dining table from her booster seat. She raises her voice, sternly wagging her finger, saying, “Ben-bee ‘top it.”
They both make messes, they both seek attention, they both want to get outside and explore in the yard, and they are both very cute.
And when Maria is enjoying her bath, splashing and swimming, Benjamin watches her. He hangs over the sides of the tub and paws at the water. He’s fallen in twice.

Maria likes it when Benjamin comes in to the bathroom. She points and lets her face turn a little and says, “Oh, cute-cute Ben-bee. Cute-cute.”

Would you believe we are camping this weekend, as in "starting tomorrow?" You see unfortunately I fell for a rumor that started a few months back that a certain game would be done by the end of February. I was not totally naïve: I reserved our campsite for ten days after the deadline, allowing for slips and slides. So, still in the recovery phase of our colds and congestion and with a house that could be condemned for neglect and abuse, I am supposedly going to retrieve our own true home, the RV, load it, fuel it and drive up to the school tomorrow afternoon and take four very eager children camping. They are giggly with anticipation. They want campfires, weenie roasts, sleeping bags under shady oak trees and butterfly nets on long hikes. They want to read The Hobbit by flashlight.

Me too. I love oak trees and acorns and ponds with tadpoles and cattails. I want to sit around a campfire and let the night and smoke ease my senses, and relax the grip that the city and suburban responsibilities keep on my imagination. I could go farther away, but I couldn’t be any further away than when I am in that old county park and doing the same easy things I did as a girl, like looking for lilacs, following trails and making paths. Being there is a way of coming home. Since I have no family home, no physical place that has been a constant in my life, I am especially taken with the places I went with my mom and my brothers, the places where we played and explored and made our own.

Geoff has to work, and he might only be able to join us for a Saturday hike and dinner. The house really is a mess. If I stay home we won’t see Geoff any more than if we went away. And if we stay home, the house is as likely to get messier than really clean. I’ll probably wear myself out just gathering supplies and buying the groceries, but when we get there… the scrub jays will be acting like it’s spring time already and there may be early lilacs, faint blue and sweet. We can look for tadpoles and maybe there will be water in the creek. I’ll tell the boys about the little bluegills my brothers and I used to fish for, but refused to eat. I’ll tell them all the old stories that come to mind when we are enjoying the evening fire, and they’ll start telling me stories too. It could be worth it, just to hear their stories.

Maria is sitting on top of the clean clothes. Actually she is stuck, sitting in the basket of clean and folded clothes. She sneezed on the hangers, then said, “I wovee you mom. Night-night.”

Last night she helped me prepare dinner. While I worked on the spaghetti sauce, Maria measured teaspoons of salt and separated cloves of garlic. Max was appalled to see the salt poured out over the kitchen counter, and he only seemed mildly convinced when I explained to him that she was cooking.

“Cooking? How is this cooking?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, she learned how to say garlic, and she learned how to separate the cloves, and now she is practicing pouring and measuring,” was my happy reply.
“But what about the mess?” Max countered.
“Messes get cleaned.”

I think I am realizing that for me, writing is a compulsion. I am keenly aware that I am publishing a lot of stuff that will litter the Internet like dust motes in a sitting room; meaning my thoughts go largely unnoticed. Yet, in spite of my humiliation and self-conscious embarrassment, I cannot seem to keep from writing. Everyday I send my thoughts and reflections, the daily rituals and details of our family life out in to the ether. At least for our household and me it serves as a family time capsule, or large scrapbook, so that we can revisit happy times, silly moments, rough patches and memories that might have drifted away. And I cannot explain why blogging is the method, the tool, the page for my journal. I cannot justify my choice, except that I do want to connect with other family, friends, so I keep on writing.

I am not a particularly skilled writer and I do not have the most innovative or engaging website, and knowing this sometimes troubles me. I feel inadequate, small. And I also feel reminded of a trend that I recognize in our society. I don’t know if I can describe it clearly, but the trend I see has to do with a lot of people wanting to be Special, Famous, Recognized and Rich, and not necessarily for any particular reason. In other words, there are a lot of Paris Hiltons. Naming one celebrating is a weak way to make my point, and yet it is still somehow effective. Paris Hilton is rich by way of inheritance and she is famous by way of doing nothing of genuine value for society. Is she special? Well, you would think she is, if taking magazine covers and news’ headlines in to account. I see far fewer acknowledgments for the people who actually work, sacrifice, plan, endeavor, strive, dedicate, apply, sweat, create, fail and try again, innovate, and go back to do it again everyday, without the hope of a severance package, awards show or free home-makeover. Our society keeps widening this tremendous gap between wage earners and individuals like the ex Home Depot CEO whose severance payout was 210 million dollars. 210 million dollars for a job poorly done, or how good a job could anyone do to merit that amount of money? Or how about Spend it Like Beckham? Yes, it’s a business move and he is a franchise that generates interest and more money, but I feel for his teammates; are they worth so much less? And what about the children aspiring to be professional soccer players? Will they fully understand that success can be found without millions of dollars and product endorsements?

We cannot all be famous, not even for 15 minutes. We won’t all get rich fast and easy. Very few of us will get tickets to Oprah’s Favorite Things giveaway show. I don’t think it is good for so many people to cling to the hope of fame and prosperity, to wait for their lottery ticket to save them, to idealize the lives and faces of a lucky few. I think that as we find more and more people without the nicest cars, the shiniest homes and the newest handbag, we will face a crisis. The widening gap between the 1% with everything and the rest of us will cause a great deal of anger, resentment and bitterness.

I used to really enjoy watching Martha Stewart’s television show, the old one, before she was famous for going to jail. Her half hour program featured tips for home keeping, cooking, crafts and hobbies. She shared her skills and she invited skilled professionals to teach their crafts. She went out in to the community to find craftsmen, farmers, fishermen, jewelers, hobbyists and cooks, many different people with talents and interests. The show was not about promoting celebrities or making product endorsements. The program was about regular people that knew how to do something useful or simply beautiful and it was about giving the viewer an opportunity to learn something new and interesting. I miss the unique experience of hearing from a person that knows and loves her work and is content to go on working for the sake of the process and the product and not for fame or huge sums of cash. There is something genuine and endearing about that kind of person.

Do I want fame and riches? Well… hmmm… well kind of, but … hey, it’s infectious! I could enjoy a little recognition. I would like to hear that I am worthy of a trophy, some swag and a write up in TIME, and money is very useful. I would love to test my skills in philanthropy, to build the house of my dreams. I don’t want fame, not for what I do, not for the cost of privacy and freedom. I don’t want to make winning the Lottery my goal or plan, or to pine away for a windfall that will make my life perfect. I do want to continue writing and posting pictures on Chickenblog and maybe making someone laugh or feel connected a bit. And I will remind myself periodically that this is for the sake of the process, for the product, for the pleasure of it…

What can I share today…the good, the sad, the bad, the ugly, the tedious, the cute, the bitter, the oh so quotable? One of each? I know, I know. I’m groveling again. I keep hoping someone will want to converse.

After the night I had, I am in no condition to hold a conversation. Maria seems to suffer from growing pains. About once a month she wakes up crying. She tells us her legs or feet are hurting. She stays awake 2 or 3 hours, repeating, “Ouchie, ouchie, coco,” as she grabs her feet or holds her shins. I am able to distinguish her cry of frustration from her cry of crankiness, and this is definitely a cry for help. Maybe my training pays off and she falls asleep because of the massage, or maybe she just falls asleep from being awake since 2 a.m.

Sounds like a job for Dr. Alex, my super dependable, tattooed pediatric acupuncturist. Our regular guy is fine for measuring kids’ heights and taking temperatures, but for genuine ailments and mysterious conditions I trust no one more than Dr. Alex. With little or no fuss Dr. Alex and his expert team have cured lingering coughs, hives and body rashes, breast lumps, colic and symptoms of allergic reactions and other affects of Asperger’s syndrome. Have you ever had a difficult, impossible to cure or diagnose illness or condition, and then seen it evaporate like a raindrop on hot asphalt? Honestly, my experiences with acupuncture have been so straightforward, easy and successful that I almost don’t trust my very own memories.

She’s fine now… Maria. She is watching a little Dora while her mommy writes. William is upstairs working on 3-D Studio Max. William and Geoff were up late discussing questions and problems William has been working on. The car is on empty and I need to take lunch to the boys, and would you believe the house needs cleaning? We are all still trying to recover from colds and from the very difficult schedule Geoff is keeping, so things are definitely unraveled, frayed, disheveled and grouchy around here.

To be practical… my list:
Get gas in Odyssey
Deliver lunches
Finish laundry
Ask William to write thank you cards
Submit “Resident Application for 48 Hour Yearly Recreational Vehicle Parking Permit”
Relish thoughts of pissing off neighbors with our RV parked in front of the house
Dread after school meeting with Max’s teacher
Meet Max’s teacher: She wants to discuss his “self-confidence”
Get children home from school
Remind William to write thank you cards
Clean some more, anything, just make a dent
Make appealing, healthy dinner
Take luxuriating nap
Home facial
Finish Great American Novel about a girl living between cultures and growing up to make her own path, while staring down her demons and achieving success that defies conventional expectations…

Around here you'll find whole grain hens at breakfast, maybe for dinner some nights too. Now that breakfast time is over, I have turned my attention to cleaning. Of course my attention is always divided, so I peak out in the garden where Max and Maria are coexisting. Max is cleaning out the sand table, which is full of rain water and fallen leaves. Maria is like a butterfly, lighting on every surface, sampling and then flitting away. She played with chalk, then sat in the big chair beneath the olive tree.

She crouched down to inspect the sweetpeas that have sprouted.
Maria helped me plant the seeds a few weeks ago. I felt determined to make any kind of garden, even if it meant only a handfull of sweetpeas. Now she is bringing me leaves. She must be plucking the azaleas.

I have most of the laundry washed and dried, so I'll spend a greater part of the day hanging and folding. I already loaded the dishwasher. We still don't have a working vacuum, but if I vigorously drive our old one across the carpet it rolls up horrendous hairballs and other filthy fluff. I debate whether or not to clean the floors. Our floors are tile... big tiles with slim grout lines. I am not sure what sort of surface these tiles would work on, but they do not work in a house. The tiles are slick, slippery, sliding tiles with an ice like sheen that always looks wet. I think each of us has had a bad fall on them, even when they are dry and when they get wet it's even worse. A week's work of grime and stick gives them some texture, friction. They are much safer when they have built up a dulling patina.

Spring is coming, so I guess that means we'll be on the lookout for more flowers and yearning to pick up tomato seedlings, stop at feedstores, smell mountian lilacs. Yes, my attention certainly does get divided...

I really should take a picture of Maria. She is a mess. I love the kind of mess she is. She has been busy in the garden and it shows from her chalky hands and bottom, to her grass stained knees and the mystery gunk across her shirt. Her cheeks are colored, her eyes are bright. She looks excited, delighted and lively. She tried to climb the tree. She pulled on the laundry line, and turned over the pail of rain water. She balanced on the low concrete border, and she over saw Max's cleaning project. She is a picture.

Maria and I love Elizabeth Mitchell. We found this beautiful artist singing with the equally lovely Lisa Loeb on Noggin. We love Noggin too, but you don't have to be a mommy or a two year old to enjoy the mellow and thoughtful lyrics and voices that mingle on "Catch The Moon." When Maria sees her daddy browsing the news on his laptop, she gets on his lap and asks for " 'ggin, 'ggin," so she can dance and sing along, and Geoff promptly brings up "Stop and Go" or "Catch The Moon." Around bedtime I like to play a variety of slowing down songs, including "New Morning" and "Free Little Bird." There is a lot of "kid music," available, but I like music that is enjoyable for all the family. I don't believe that what is produced for children must be inheritantly silly, full of rhymes or nonsense, extra loud or so *hip* it excludes children.

Maria and William are sitting together in a tent in the family room. He's teaching her how to cough with her hand over her mouth, and she is singing Raffi's "Mister Sun" for her big brother. Alex and Max did get a load of catch-up homework. Max has been telling me quite emphatically that he hates school and does not want to go any more. He's quite serious, and he is also quite seriously attacking his homework. He is researching and classifying the common swimming crab; did you know the common swimming crab lives in the northeastern Atlantic ocean?

Done!
Picture me with my arm raised in triumph. I have finished updating nearly 5 years of Chickenblog deep thoughts and photographs. Now every post should have at least one label, linking it to like posts. Those photographs that are still secure can be seen using the username “balboa” and the password “park.” That’s it, I think. In my mind there is a constant debate about the value of blogging. The process, though profoundly open and public, is isolating, and tends to make me feel a bit silly. After seeing the sum total of Chickenblog, all the deep thoughts, musings, pictures, the expressions of fear and concern, gratitude and joy, I am glad. I know, I’ve said this all before; how nice it is to have our memories recorded etc… It is good.

I sent Alex and Max back to school. Max was absent an entire week and Alex missed two days. Truthfully, I wanted to keep them home. They are not entirely recovered from their colds. They are coughing quite a bit. Max threw up, and so did Maria; both from coughing so hard. On the other hand, they can’t fall too far behind at school and I know that most sick kids are on campus… gee, how do you suppose we got sick? I wanted to keep them home to fully recover and feel well and rested, and because I miss them. I miss the activity of having all four bright, thoughtful children with creative ideas and thoughtful ways at home together. William, Maria and I get along and we accomplish quite a bit, but we all three feel so much better when it’s time to get Alex and Max from school. Hopefully they felt okay today, and won’t be sent home with a ridiculous homework load.

Maria is the most sick. She hardly slept last night or the night before. She has been feverish, coughing and congested. She looks frail and tiny, and her eyes barely open. In spite of being weak and distressed, she still says quietly, sweetly, “Pease chi-chi. Yummy, yummy chi-chi.” Right now she is serving me tea. She put a hat on my head and she is pouring tea from her toy teapot. It is reassuring to see her trying her favorite games.

Tomorrow is a very special day. I know I will be baking at least one pumpkin pie. I know he would like a pair of noise canceling headphones. Have you guessed? A package arrived from Hawaii, and uncle Hans and aunt Gretchen sent a very generous birthday greeting; all for William, the very soon to be 16 year old boy. My heart and my mind are full. They are full of emotion and memories, and expressions that have no power to match the sentiments I wish to convey. Here he is, my baby, my boy. He is tall, which makes him look older still, and he is quiet and reserved. He doesn’t make demands or insist on much of anything. He’d like some pie, because I asked him to choose something, cake or pie. Tomorrow is a special day, but I think every day is special because of William. He is a good son.

Good morning. Geoff left for work very early, like 6 or something. The children are up. They played with Maria at making railways for the wooden trains. Now they are playing a video game and hinting about breakfast. Alex suggests something "fabulous."

I was up by 7:20 and I updated even more archives. I am through last July, which means I am nearly done. I have to read or skim each entry to recognize what labels fit best. Again, I don't want too many labels, but I think I need to add more. For instance it may be appropriate to create a separate label for every time I fantasize about my Terry Gross interview. I think I could also could create an entire file of *Maxims, * from my Aspercosious and witty son. Another category could be for all the times I have groveled for feedback and comments; I think a "Pitiful" label would suffice. I like the Talent label. It's kind of broad and I look forward to browsing through all the submissions.

Max and I are still coughing, but the sun is shining and I feel like busting out of here. Reading archives has me feeling melancholy, and all the reflecting on the last few years … I don’t know what to say, but it has me thinking. I’m hoping fresh air or a different view will shake me up, clear my head, give me a new perspective.

Guess what? The house is a mess, the car’s “Fix Me” light is flashing, Geoff has to work all weekend, the backyard is flooded, and Maria cracked eggs on the carpet.

Another round of archive updating, so now there are only two years left. The Maria/Papaya pregnancy is covered under the label Expectant. I realize that some events are so life altering that there is a distinct Before and After mind shift; it's made me want to somehow distinguish Life and Details before Maria arrived from our complete family of today. I would also like to create a sidebar menu for all the different labels. In spite of my wish to keep it simple, I have created a lot of headings, including: El Rancho, and Oregon.

Max has joined me on the cootie wagon. We are both pretty miserable. We cough. We ache.

This was the big 4 day weekend we were all looking forward to and I feel so bummed about not being able to play. Alex's report card came Thursday and he has improved in every subject. He has all A's and one B (for Tae-kwon Do) His citizenship and effort scores were all excellent . This boy deserves a weekend full of adventure, escape and fun. We should be out chasing Chinese dragons and feasting on New Year egg rolls. We could have camped in the mountains... sigh. We will recover and we will compensate.

And suddenly it’s Monday again. I’m still sick, in case you’re wondering. Someone asked if I could help them at the Floral Trade Center tomorrow; she wants to make bouquets for the middle school bake sale… no. No. I am usually very weak and unable to utter the word ‘No.’ I was going to give some examples of past weaknesses, but I realized I was implicating myself. Suffice it to say, I do not need to take on more than I already have and I should learn to say ‘No’ more often.

The other thing I am trying to resist is offering suggestions. I always feel compelled to share my wisdom and bright ideas. I have great driving directions on the tip of my tongue. Geoff calls me his onboard Nat-vigator. I love to offer advice to tourists and point out for them exceptional local attractions. I say things like “It may rain, take a jacket,” and “The Old Highway is more scenic,” and “You might want to skip going on a Tuesday, because they don’t serve fresh pie until Wednesday.” I once saw a dad slam his car door on his little girl’s finger. I was immediately by his side with compassion and ice, but he was not receiving. “I can manage,” he told me as his daughter wailed. People don’t always want help.

There are times when help is wanted and I do not want to come through, like with this bake sale. It’s possible that I am being selfish and petty. The bake sale is a fund-raiser for the middle school trip to Washington D.C. Alex is not going to join the other students for a 6-day trip to the nation’s capital. It’s a big expense, and we had trust issues. (Okay, let’s have it all out: The school director was campaigning for the program to the students before she discussed it with the parents, even going so far as to guilt them in to going. Yes, this really pissed me off. The decision was mine and Geoff’s to make and Alex did not need to feel responsible for the success or failure of the venture.) Though we couldn’t afford the trip we are expected to bake for the fundraiser to ease the costs for the rest of the students. (Here’s where I get petty…) The parents at the D.C. meeting were whipping out their checkbooks and seemed none too concerned about funds, so I don’t feel like adding more hours to my volunteering quota so they can save $50 on airfare. We helped a lot with all previous fundraisers, and guess where all those funds are going? I volunteer weekly, and I add extra time every day. Do they really need me to do more?

Geoff helped me see things in a kinder light. ‘Alex will learn organizational skills and he will participate in a group activity, which will advance his social skills. Helping with the bake sale is just another aspect of school culture that is part of his school experience.’

Selfish Petty Mom countered with ‘The bake sale is one more expense and effort expected of our family, on top of tuition and fees, that serves the other families. So, maybe the real lesson is a political/economic one. It’s like taxes. The middle classes pay a greater percentage of their total earnings and the upper classes leap through loopholes and reap the benefits.’

I love the Floral Trade Center, and I love making floral arrangements. But I’m sick and dragging, and Maria needs me and William needs me, and I already volunteer at school Tuesday mornings, so I didn’t decline out of selfish pettiness, but because of real practical issues. I like baking, and participating and showing support, which is why I suggested to Alex that he sign up to bring heart shaped butter cookies for the fund-raiser tomorrow. I mustn’t forget to take out the butter, so it can soften. And I have to remember to take in the cookie decorating supplies for Max’s Valentine’s Day class party.

Some kind of infectious bug has singled me out for abuse. I am sick. I've been sick for several days. My throat hurts and I am suppressing a crud cough. My shoulders and neck hurt and I feel fleh. An indignant voice in my head is still declaring: "I am too important, vital, and necessary to be sick!"

Do you know what hurts more than my throat? I will tell you: I did clean the house last week and it looked and felt so much better than it had in months that I vowed to maintain things and even to make progress with the unpacking, but I am derailed. Sunday night I cleared everything up from the Super Bowl extravaganza. Monday I was fabulous and I not only cleaned but I also unpacked three boxes. Monday night I had an oppressive shadow of impending doom looming over my head. Tuesday morning I was sick. Now it is Saturday and the house is a train-wreck. I am undone. Foiled.

Our vacuum is still dead. It sucks. Not.

We live in this house that I can't change to suit my needs and taste. A toilet clogs every day, and I cannot let anything get in the garbage disposal.

Maria, precious child, is a human tornado. She sorts things according to her personal aesthetic, she pulls things out, she reconfigures, unshelves and reshelves and dishevels everything in her path.

One last point for my own satisfaction and redemption: This is all the fault of moving. Moving is an abomination, a curse, an evil conspiracy. I hate, fear, loath and dread moving. Oh, and another thing, I get terribly cranky when I am sick and haven't slept well.

Hmph.

Whoa! It's Friday. I am only mildly surprised, unlike Geoff who was shocked to realize he was missing an entire day. Poor guy... working around the clock, through weekends, how can he be expected to know one day from another? I thought he would be happy to realize we'd arrived at Friday already, but of course for him it means he's got more work to do, in shorter time, than he realized.

I feel his pain. Literally. More work at the office means pretty much the same around here. It means I got no back-up, no weekend down time. So, when do I face the music and gracefully bow out of my Stupor Bowl Party? Yes, I actually invited friends over to eat chili and cheer for the best commercials on Sunday. I think I am going to be a wimp and a hypocrite. Wimpy me does not feel the ambition to be a hostess (cooking, cleaning, decontaminating etc...) And hypocrite me does not want to smile blithely and make believe that a little clutter is no obstacle to fun with friends. I like to believe that women should relax and quit presuming to have their lives in perfect order, but the lack of order around here is on a magnitude that justifies genuine embarrassment and shame.

Alex and Max are getting haircuts today, at Daniel's. Alex is overjoyed, because he likes to keep the hair out of his eyes. Max is utterly dejected, because he likes his hair long enough to reach between his teeth (eeww!) Max's hair is a beautiful, thick mane and I wish he could be my hair donor. With his hair cut, I think he may improve his reading, by virtue of being able to see.

I think I may be avoiding life. I am sitting here trying to think of more details to share, when I should be mailing the rent, doing laundry, darning my bras and calling friends with my bad news. Still here. Still stalling. Sigh.

Time for a little randomness. So, for Christmas I got a new camera, which is wonderful. My dear and first digital camera gave me at least 16,000 images... not counting the many I deleted. Poor camera was so good, but it was definitely falling apart. Moment of silence. Okay, the new camera is large and fancy and takes amazing photographs and video. And the new camera is also complicated and new, and complicated (probably because it's new.) I went through this technology crisis with my first camera, so I know it can be overcome. It's a process. Eventually I will even read the owner's manual.

Happy birthday Janice.

I bought a wall calendar.

Our brand new vacuum died. S.O.B. Can't find the receipt.

So, let's take a look at some of the pictures from the new camera...



We had a lunch date with Alex's friend, Mitchell and his family. After lunch we hung out in their yard and garden. Here's Maria watching the boys play basketball.

Last week I made a huge planning error, but the children made the best of things. We let Maria direct us in a game of chase around the tree.

I baked some cookies and Maria nibbled at her's in her dainty fashion, but sleepiness came before the cookie was done.

Geoff sent me a link, which is his way of saying, *Darling, I was thinking of you today and I want you to know you are my inspiration. Here is something interesting I want to share with you. Read it, and later this year let's get together and talk about it.* I know him that well.

The link is to an article about writing. You can read it, then let's get together and talk about it.
*Writing is Good*

I am debating whether to say a few flippant remarks about life and then play Dynomite, or say straight out that I still feel in a funk. At what point are we meant to say "uncle?" I have sufficient intelligence to realize that I must get passed regrets and disappointment and accept the present circumstances. I know that life is full of setbacks and challenges; been there, done that, coped and moved on. So, what's up with my funky self now? What's different? Why are the challenges so defeating? I would seriously like to learn more about what I think are the demoralizing affects of feeling like a disconnected nomad. I write all of this at the risk of sounding alarming. I feel like I am managing pretty good under the circumstances and I am not utterly despondent, but there is a huge gap, between where I am and where I want to be and I can't seem to bridge it.

I have been invited to see an altar. It is an altar to "what you want to bring in to your life." You know, I think right now my house is like an altar to what I have already brought in to my life. It reflects my cluttered, muddled, out of balance, faithless funk. Oh dear. All kinds of philosophies, excuses, rationales and questions are brewing in my mind... mid-life crisis, depression, more vitamins, less Martha S., uppers, downers, strong black coffee, chickens, drive to Mexico, shave, maybe it's my deodorant, maybe I should strictly avoid neighborhoods with 2007 Escalades, designers, hair extensions, lipo and life coaches?

My house should reflect family, our family, our laughing, creative, supportive family. My house should reflect my interests, like gardening and cooking, painting, reading, sewing, connecting to family and friends. My house should reflect the gratitude I feel for having shelter and opportunity, a full pantry, clean socks. My house should be clean. I should clean my house... wow, what an epiphany! And maybe my house should have an altar, or I could build one in my heart, but I just don't know what I would put there. (How about a dustbuster and some elbow grease?)

The best news of the week: Max is reading. He made a dream come true for me, when he sat in his bed, propped up by his new pillow and with the reading light his Oregon grandparents sent, and he read an entire book. He read it happily and he felt the cognitive, spiritual *a-ha* of reading joy. We knew it was coming, that he'd find a way, but he didn't know it was possible and he was losing interest fast, and he has his extra challenges, so this is an especially treasured success.

You know, I could erase the rest of my rant-whine and just reflect on Max's success. He is an inspiration. I like Chickenblog to be an honest and complete reflection of life and details, even when it's sad or gritty, then the successes and joys are all the sweeter.

Dominic knows where the power is...


Once a year, when I watch football, I enjoy it. I think I will enjoy the Superbowl even more if the Chargers are in the game.
For a more informed, dedicated fan's perspective please contact Holly or James.

Pass the nachos.

How do I manage it? How do I take simple tasks and botch them utterly and completely? This is a very bad day for Life to prove my incompetence, again.
I went to the template to add a new link. I've done it before, but today my programming skills made a mess of my links... I cannot understand why it should be so, except that Life is petty that way sometimes. I have two options, no, maybe three...

1. finish the bottle of wine Holly brought
2. Drop off Hans and Gretchen's Christmas presents before it's Easter
3. Crawl back to bed.

Monday. I slept past 7 this morning and only panicked for a second, then I remembered that the boys did not have to be up and out the door in 20 minutes. So that makes today the first day of holiday break. I've puttered a bit, showered and dressed. William is showered. Max and Alex unloaded the dishwasher. Maria is eating leftover Chinese food. Geoff is at work. Geoff works every day and late.

I want to make a plan for the week, so that we don't squander our precious time. I want to visit beautiful places and see family. I want to get out of the house and also enjoy time in the house. I want to find a way to soar over the hurdles that seem to appear on a daily basis. Maybe I am the biggest hurdle, because I can't seem to find the faith or assurance I need to overcome the setbacks. I've been sick. The kitchen sink has backed up for the fourth time. My burnt thumb hurts in a nerve damage kind of way. We aren't unpacked. Where are the stockings and those Christmas gifts I bought last September? The new landlord was here when we were out. I can tell because he cut back the blooming roses, again. They are hacked to their bases... it helped to look beyond the murky, thick sink water and see roses in the garden. Yesterday when I was under the sink and learning how to run a snake through the pipes, I wondered what Gary thought of the mess he must have seen looking in the house.

I know that this is the time of year when the worst stress is the stress we bring upon ourselves, so I am cutting back. No Christmas cards from this house. I thought this would give me some relief, but I feel kind of sad about breaking a 26 year tradition. The tree looks shabby, thinly decorated. Where is the other box of ornaments, and the nativity figures? What other stress am I creating? I guess I am one of those closet Martha dreamers, hoping to hang home sewn stockings and serve eggnog to drop by guests, after volunteering at the shelter. Give me any circle of women friends and they will all admit they are climbing up Christmas Mountain pulling a full sleigh, but how many of them are willing to jump on the sleigh and just let it take them on a wild ride?

My expectations are unrealistic, for me. But I still do want to make a plan. I still hope I can get the house clean and send that last package of gifts. I know that if I can keep absolutely everything out of the garbage disposal the sink may not clog again, and if it does clog, I know how to remove three traps and clear crap from all three arteries. I know that no matter how much or how little I do, the days will pass and this school break will come to an end, and I don't want that day to come without some special memories to hold. I remember I said I was going to enjoy the privilege of being very busy... maybe I just need to adjust the weight of the sleigh I am hauling.

It was our server that kept us out of the www, and now Chickenblog is back and running thanks to Geoff. He probably spent days on the phone and hours emailing trying to get the server people to see the error of their ways. It took them long enough. I should probably notify the four of you that noticed my absence: I'm back!

Now I can post pictures of my nephew, Dominic. And I can tell you all about our weekend roadtrip to Santa Barbara, the many activities keeping the boys busy at school, and the usual activities keeping me busy at home. We continue to be experiencing our own series of unfortunate events, including the final death throws of our dearly departed dryer, and Geoff is up to his eyebrows in MLB PS3 toil. Our tree is literally half decorated, but I did manage to hang some lights on the house.. it's half-assed... err I mean sublime or subtle or something.

Anne just called. So nice chatting with a friend and she left me with an awesome idea: Get my car detailed. I may carpool Friday night and I could actually offer to be designated driver if my car is clean and she suggests giving myself the gift of letting the pros clean my car and I love this idea.

Clean car... I am starting my list of things to do. Today I wrapped some gifts, fed children, bought groceries and mostly sat around overwhelmed by what I wasn't accomplishing. It's time to make a list and direct my energy and make haste, get busy, meet goals, set priorities and release my inner super mom. I used to lead the children in my song: "Super mom. Super strong, super mom. Super mom, always right, never wrong, super mom!"

I'm on it.

Can this girl smile? She seems to have an idea in her mind about how to make a smile, and it takes a lot of concentration and effort, but if you ask, she will give you her very best smile. On this happy occasion we hardly had to ask. She was enchanted with the likeness of Daisy Duck painted on the parking structure columns.


Have you guessed? Yes, we were at Disneyland. Hey, it's Southern California, we had five kids and a day off from school. Tamsyn has been with us for an extended stay. We actually went for a full day with no lost, injured or disappointed children. Even the weather cooperated. I rode Tower of Terror, again; after the month we've had I figured I can handle anything! We all went to the animation studio and got Goofy illustration lessons. We brought lunch and picnicked on PB&J, carrots and milk, then went right back to riding and playing. We watched the parade. Alex loves deciphering the engineering of the rides. William likes sharing Disney lore and history. I loved the lights, music and flowers. Maria danced to the live music. I think Max had the best new experience... The vendors ran out of dye and were selling white cotton candy. Max, being allergic to red dye, finally got to enjoy the sinful magic and stickiness of cotton candy. It's a rite of passage everyone should go through. The parks were decorated for Christmas and in the evening when they lit up the rides and MainStreet... It was a Magic Kingdom.

We could use a little magic around here. It seems like we are living from crisis to crisis. Mind you these are the minor, suburban variety of crisis. Our washer was leaking and the dryer was dead. The dryer died again. The paint on the bed will not dry. The vacuum had to be replaced. The car stalled on the freeway. The kitchen sink backed up, so have 2 of the toilets. It rained all over the things we were still trying to make room for in the garage, so stuff got a soaking. Maria is teething. Oh, and I cannot find the hardware to assemble our bed... remember we lost some of it and it can't be replaced, but we still need the rest of the parts, so we can assemble it in our modified version. And the new landlord likes to come over to check on things.

Good stuff? While buying *medicinal spitits* I've been carded twice this month. Few words can cheer a mother of four like "May I see your i.d.?"

Okay, okay. I'll skip all my drama about last minute hauling and doing the final walk through with Bob the landlord, but if you want to hear the full story please call me. I have plenty left to whine about.

Now, let us move forward with the rest of our lives. Did everyone have a fun Halloween? We got our stuff together and enjoyed a full day of tricks and treats. There was a carnival and parade at school, and Alex's friend Mitchel came here to trick-or-treat. Geoff even managed to hang black lights. Max was a stealthy Ninja. Alex was an invisible man. William was a skull faced teenager, and Maria of Oz helped her daddy pass out candy.


So sweet. Maria sometimes cries when we drop off Alex and Max at school. She loves her brothers a lot, and they love her too.

Here they are, ready to meet the neighbors!

Right now my very awesome repairman is fixing the washer and dryer. Both machines went on strike when they were moved in to their new, smaller, darker laundry room. Can you blame them?

What else? Oh, we lost two very small little dooditties from our 11 year old Ikea bedframe. Last night I made the trip to Ikea and asked if they could spare me some dooditties. They cannot. Apparently 11 years is ancient and those tiny, little, seemingly insignificant, yet highly necessary parts are no longer made. Uuhh, so now what? Geoff is thinking he can drill some holes and slap the whole thing back together with screws.

Repairman left. All is well and I can now clean clothes at home again. It's been a long month without my cleaning machines.

Have I let you all know our new address? Didn't think so. I gotta get on that. There's lots to do...

I am sitting downstairs at the computer, surrounded by half a dozen half packed boxes and feeling an overwhelming sense of nameless dread and anxiety. Do you ever get that? I'll spare you the details, but I do wish I could find some relief. It's a good thing there is so much I can be grateful for, otherwise I might be feeling really, truly, deeply overwhelmed.

New Plan. Everyone should be prepared for a new plan. You may think you know what's up, but life can be shifty, so never rely on one path, one goal, one exit. Think of it as disaster preparedness. I made my list of things to do this week, and some of the stuff I accomplished and some of it I have to undo and some of it will never come together. Oh well.

I am taking a deep breath and sitting down to write The List.

clean car
take laundry to laundromat
clean house, yea, all of it
send "thank you" to Steve and Andrea
finish shower gift for Alison
keep cleaning house
shower
diet
exercise
exfolliate
pack. yup, pack.
pack house
pack for road-trip
water garden
clean refrigerator
clean RV
confirm appointment to repair clothes washer
return to laundromat
find a new home
go to bank
flea medicine on cats
call vet: did we have an appointment?
pay bills
oh yes, and feed children, remind them to brush and bathe etc...
leave at end of week for 2nd summer road trip to Monterey

And always remember to smile.

We are busy, busy people. I don't know how we manage to get ourselves from point A to point B, but we do it and we even stop at Comic Con along the way! Fortunately we chose to show up at the conference on Thursday; as crowded as it was, nothing compares with the crowds that showed up on Saturday. By Saturday we found a charger for my camera, so Geoff, Will and Alex took freak 'n' geek pictures... too bad the camera was out of comission when we met Ray Harryhausen, and other greats in the art world. Okay, be honest, have you heard of Ray Harryhausen? How about Ray Bradbury? We have been stunned by how many people have no idea who these geniuses are. Harryhausen's work may be somewhat specialized, but it's fundamental to movies, video games and even popular culture in general. You don't have to be a geek to know their work.


Or how about Robbie the Robot?


Sometimes it feels like trouble just finds us.

It's still hot, and perhaps even more humid.
We revived our housing search; no changes.
Max finished his week at camp and did very well.
Alex and Will are at camp again this week, learning C++.
I cleaned the Odyssey.
Maria says: puppy, chi-chi, kaka, cooookie, pretty, meeeow, baa-baa, woo-woo, naynoo (thank you,) mama, dada, Nannie (Natalie,) agua, nana(banana,)
and many more chirps, whirrs, beeps, squeals and squawks.

Well wasn't that an interesting time for the server to drop out on me?

"I" had more to say, but "I" can't remember what it was.

It's late now. Maria is sleeping soundly. Max is tucked in. William and Alex are browsing through books, doodling, dozing. Geoff is checking the pulse of the housing market.

Someone sent a message praising the weather... bah, humbug. We think we cooked the hermit crabs. Our happy trio died suddenly. Their little home was probably like an Easy Bake Oven. It's too hot to think.

Tomorrow I will submit the "Chicken-Blogedition of Anniversary Gifts..." be sure to tune in.

Good night.

Interpreting signs.

When Geoff was choosing a job, and I was his closest advisor, we agonized over every possible option. We thought about housing, schools, atmosphere, lifestyles, and commutes, air quality and beach access, friends, family... we tried to project our dreams and hopes onto each circumstance and to devine the most ideal future for all. Sometimes when a job offer, like LucasArts', was a little too challenging to accomodate, when housing or relocating seemed too daunting, I assumed that this was a sign that we needed to consider something else. The Santa Monica job seemed impossible from a housing/commute stand too. By "impossible" I mean expensive and difficult to decipher in one weekend. I decided to believe that difficult meant we had an opportunity to realize that we should simplify our lives by staying on familiar ground and accepting our seemingly least stressful option.

Or did *difficult* actually mean *rise to the occasion, challenge yourselves, think outside the box, be adventurous, take the path less well trod, strike forth brave souls?* We went for less stressful, or so we thought. I would quit whining, boring all with our tale of woe, but there are new chapters and I can't help but spill. At this point I think we may as well have gone to San Francisco, set up in our Presidio apartment and slaved away at the Yoda altar...

Geoff has been working 6 days a week. The darkest, predawn hours he spends in the RV, so that he can devote all of his strength and soul to the company. But the property manager has made a firm decision that no RVs can park in the company lot, ever. Crap. So. Well, now we have to reduce our search area for housing to eliminate Geoff's commute as much as possible, so that when he's worked 18 hours and has to be back to do it again he won't flog his brain and car driving half way across the county. If we can't find a rental in 12 areas, what are the odds we'll find something looking in 4 areas? The RV solution was also helpful, because of gas savings (he drove it only twice a week) and because it's a safe and dependable ride. The Chevy on the other hand is a gas snorting heap with many faults and failings, and would have to be driven 12 times per week.

I was crumbling under the strain before. Now I am just stunned and confused.

Maria had her 18 month check-up this morning. I think she knows the routine. She left home in a good mood, but by the time she was undressed, weighed and measured, she knew she was in for trouble and it made her eyes brim with pools of grief in anticipation. She did get a shot, and the doctor dared to check her in-coming teeth, which are very tender. Maria is hanging on to her 49th percentile spot on the growth chart for height and weight. Actually everything measures very well. She's learning, growing, exploring, listening, dancing, climbing... she even knows how to lay face down and kick her legs... it's a classic, practically cliche tantrum, that I rate with high marks for both technique and style.

Did you know if we were in the Philippines our summer would be over? Talk about a time difference! Before our California summer is over, I hope to make some plans. If we could get the move behind us, unpack, settle in, there may just be time to sneak in a road trip. We've made 3 trips to the beach which has been very nice. I'd like to think I could handle the 3-4 days it would take to drive to Oregon on my own, but maybe I should be content to enjoy local sights. I used to feel like I had places, destinations to land, like the times I drove to Santa Cruz and Monterey, but life is complicated, things change.

Max, Maria and I have been enjoying N O G G I N, both online and on television. It's a safe and generous place for small children, with fun music and amusing games. Maria especially loves Jack Johnson's music video for "Upside Down." I intended to write a complete and elaborate explanantion for what we enjoy about Noggin and why it is an exceptional source of entertainment... but I am too tired... the heart of it is: We like it. It makes us happy. Now watch Jack and Curious George swim together in Hawaii... it might make you happy too.

Look for us outside.

Breakfast sausages were on sale, and I bought enough boxes of the frozen staples that I saved forty dollars, which was more than enough to cover the cost of this year's cheap, plastic water toy. Lucky we like turkey sausage *and* I'm a financial genius!

Maria is drenched and happy. She shovels water in to her tea cup. Max spins the water wheel, creating a current that moves the boat or damsel or knight around the moat. He made up a game where he tries to get the boat to float passed Maria and her shovel without getting caught... challenging, but he managed to rack up 7 points.

I try to make my bed at least once a week, whether it needs it or not. My mom sent me an article about the benefits of not making your bed: Bed-bugs, dust mites, cooties etc. die when left exposed to sunlight and multiply faster when they are tucked-in to a made bed. She knew I would appreciate this highly evolved perspective on the dangers of bed-making This did not change my habits, it reinforced my laziness, or you could say it 'supported my good intuitions.' Maria loves it when we make the bed, or at least all the upheaval and blanket piles that preceed bed making. She amassed all the pillows and made a nest of the blankets and sheets. It looks like pure coziness. Alex is the one who most often stands on the other side of the bed and helps me smooth the sheets, stack the pillows and spread the quilt. I don't ask for the help, but it's one of the nicest and most supportive experiences to have him there working with me. I love when he's around to help me, and we exchange happy words, make a few plans. I don't want the dust mites to thrive, but when I consider the simple pleasures that come on bed making day, I think I should consider doing it more often. Maybe.

Henceforth the pretty house with gossamer drapes, oak tree and country porch will be known as "The Poo-poo house that we didn't really like anyway." Max wanted to tell his brothers that the master bath had a built-in TV that could be watched from the bathtub: "We could have watched Finding Nemo in the bath!" But William begged him to stop, saying "We don't want to hear about the nice house. From now on it's the poo-poo house." I want to tell you more too, because it had rooms for all and clever corners and niches, and a finished attic where children could let their imaginations loose. It had a welcoming entry and an ample kitchen with... poo-poo. It was poo-poo.

No Internet. No email. No excuse to sit at my desk and look busy absorbed in work. Sigh. The cable guy is on his way. They have 45 minutes to make good on their 3-hour window. I am never comfortable with my anxiety and disappointment, because of computer down time. I ought to read a book, to the children or myself. I ought to sort the clutter out of any of the drawers in the kitchen and bathrooms. I could be doing sit-ups, making lemonade, packing, folding the basket of clothes that I folded last night that Maria found and reorganized. It’s no good. I cleaned Zelda’s cage. I collected garbage from all the little receptacles, and swept the walk in front of the house. But I still keep coming back to my computer and trying to open my mail. Sigh.

Zelda. Haven’t I mentioned Zelda? Guess not. Well, she’s small, black with white and she has black, beady eyes. She squeaks. She whistles. She mellows out when sitting on your lap. She is our guinea pig. One of the nicest aspects of being an adult is exercising your right to act on your impulses. Truthfully she was a well thought out plan, and not as much of an impulse as I make out. Yes, some part of her acquisition is a rebellion against feeling like aspects of my life and dreams are on indefinite hold, but the greater part of her introduction is as a Max therapy.

When we had Diego, our dear kitty, Max had an outlet for his anxieties, for his need to hold someone, for his need to systematically provide for the needs of someone, without their objecting or necessarily reciprocating. Maria actually filled that void and Max has been an excellent big brother, always concerned, always eager to help her, hold her, and play with her. But Maria is growing; she is learning to meet her own needs. Max notices she doesn’t always want to be held or fed, or played with, and that she is capable of objecting. Zelda, on the other hand, likes to be held, often, and she has a water bottle to fill and a dish to clean. And while she responds to attention with little whistles and purring sounds, she doesn’t jump or lick, or bark, or insist on much more than a scratch on the back and a warm lap to sit on.

We all love Zelda. Geoff holds her when he gets up in the morning to read the news. William holds Zelda when he is sitting at the computer. Alex and Tamsyn both like visiting Zelda, making sure she is well and happy. Today Max and I cleaned Zelda’s home. He held her in a shoebox and quietly observed that she was happy outside in the sun. He discussed her food and debated whether her treats were healthy and good for every day or if we should restrict them to ‘once in a while.’ He noted that we need more bedding, and that one bag of bedding lasts through two cage cleanings. “Maybe we should buy two bags next time, so we can clean her cage four times before we need more.” Max scratched Zelda. Zelda “whirred,” and Maria turned her face and said “oooohh” affectionately.

By the way, we aren’t moving so far away. Geoff accepted a local job, and he starts Monday. I’ll pack his lunch, and hopefully we’ll find a nice place to live near the new office, so that sometimes he can come home for lunch.

Sorting.
Assorted stuff:

1. Holly and Rich will very soon be holding a baby. We were at a baby shower for them, and enjoyed the celebration, the anticipation of new life.

2. Maria can walk. When she wants to. She doesn't often want to.

3. You don't have to walk to get around. Maria is all over the place. She's also very, very messy.

4. I am very, very messy.

5. Another baby is anticipated. This one is arriving in September, and as soon as Bill and Alison ask, I will flood them with my happiness, spare baby goodies, loads of wisdom and free advice... they may not ask... but I'll be ready if they do.

6. Cristina and Spencer won't need any advice from me when they welcome #4 in October!

7. We move in June, if you haven't heard. No, we don't know where we are going. No idea.

8. Geoff is still going to work at Healthmediinsuronet. They're swell.

9. Years ago while waiting for an appointment I read a story in the New Yorker, "Brokeback Mountain." I thought it was a surprisingly horndogger* story. *Horndogger means: Highbrow Porn. I remember thinking "Dang this is so horndogger, who gets the idea to write this stuff?" So, was I just reading the dirty parts? Am I a total ignoramus? Critics are falling all over themselves for the movie and for the short story that inspired it. When I read it I completely missed the true reflection of mountain ranching life, the story of love that will not fade. I did not pick up on the deepness, the richness, the literaryness. What else am I missing? What other treasures of art, literature, culture, discovery and science am I failing to comprehend? Dang.

10. We saw Eight Below Friday night. That was a good movie. I could quibble over details and I don't expect to see Cannes clamoring to show it, but it was an entertaining family movie with a good message.

11. The same good message is in another good movie: "Never give up. Never Surrender." Galaxy Quest.

12. Max is hungry.

Return of the Flu!
Max skipped the round of flu that struck a week ago, but somehow he managed to contract the same nasty virus this week.
He was completely wiped out on Friday. Anne and Adam know just how rough it can be; they were sick last week too. I hope you don't get it.

I don't have anything too interesting to share... that's not true... I could share some news of a highly personal nature about two of my favorite people, but I am not sure they are going public just yet. So I need to wait patiently before I spread the news with joyful abandon. So, now I am back to not having much to share...

Periodically people ask whether we have moving updates: Our one update is that our move out date could be as soon as June, which as you may have figured is sooner than July. Bob and I talked. He 'likes us as tenants and he is going to make it as easy as possible for us to stay here as long as possible, BUT they are submitting plans to the city soon, so...'

Have I written about the horrors of California real estate? Nevermind. I have no idea where we are going. Really. It could be anywhere. I know I am not the first person to live in a rental, but I can't quite get over myself and so my pity party goes on. I was already reminded that my blessing way outweigh my hardships, that this is Life... I know. I know. There just seem to be these impossible to swallow lessons about dreams and expectations and how cruelly they can clash with reality. I should be careful not to settle for something in my desperation to resolve the limbo status we are in. Anyway, I am not feeling too proud of my shallow, selfish, weak, mopey self. Someone recommended chocolate... I almost wish retail therapy were my fix. I am tempted to make a road trip. I really should insert a photo now; somehting to distract the reader from the bad writing.

Summer. It seems like just yesterday, but really it was 6 months ago!

Are there signs? Not the obvious signs that ask us to stop, yield, turn left, buy on sale. Are there signs that are meant to direct our destiny, prevent user error, find us a higher purpose?

This morning Geoff discovered that the tailgate window of the Odyssey was totally shattered. Kapoot. There is no impact point or signs of a struggle; the van did not fight back. Something happened. Is there any need to elaborate about the hassle, the clean up, the expense, the uncomfortable mystery aspect? Enough said.

Life being the way it is these days, we were looking for an iterpretation of the windshield event. Hey, we're flipping coins, reading cookie fortunes and doing eenie-meanie too. So what does an open tailgate window mean? Does it mean move someplace open and breezy, like Hawaii? Does it mean don't move to a rainy place like the Pacific Northwest? Does it mean don't go to the tropical paradise if you don't have the income to deal with $$$ windshields?

I do know that before we discovered the minor disaster, we were trying to muster the resolve to stay the course, find our plan, be patient, breath deeply, have courage...I know better than to ask, "Can things be worse?" Of course things can get worse, which is why I don't ask. I am not even saying things are completely desperate or unsatisfactory, but Yeesh. This is probably a good time to take account of my blessings, maybe have a small glass of wine too, and to let go of half of my worries, half of my fears. If there are any signs of where we are heading, or how to get there, I will surely miss them if I am too stressed to pay attention.

The glass is swept, an appointment has been made to replace the window, and I have even called the insurance company, so I can drag $22 (more or less) from their coffers. Now, it's time to breath deeply, be patient, and stay the course.

Maybe I am underestimating the cold. My cold is making my body ache, and my eyes feel heavy, light sensitive. Maria does not have a fever any more, so I feel some relief about that. Actually none of the children have complained recently. I guess I am the last whiner. Just a thought: Maybe I should go to sleep at 9 or 10 tonight and stay clear of the Scrabble game.

Did I ever mention that I have joined the George Foreman Grilling ranks? Yup. I am a lean, mean, fat reducing, grilling, machine master. I saw Anne has one and she likes hers, except for clean up time, because the unit can't sit in water. For my birthday my mommy sent me an online shopping certificate. I shopped around, considered my needs, interests and deepest dreams... I thought the grill could come in handy in case I were moving to an Island, living in a garage and building a house. And this particular model has cooking plates that come out, so clean up is a snap! I never say *clean up is a snap,* but there's a first time for everything. I like my grill. It cooks evenly. It doesn't manage a huge quantity of food, but it's efficient enough to compensate.

On the menu tonight: Chicken teriyaki, brown rice and steamed vegetables.
Dinner is cooking right now, as I write. Thank you mom and Ron. Thank you George.

Let's see... William is watching Phantom of the Opera. Max is alternating between the movie and magnetic darts. Alex is writing code for a game editor. Maria is looking for more to explore. Geoff is working at restoring an old laptop. I am avoiding any number of chores and responsibilities; I am doing a very good job, thank you. We all seem to have found new colds, but I am determined that these will be minor illnesses that will amount to nothing but waste baskets full of Kleenex. And I am updating Chickenblog.

While I was brushing Maria's hair, separating strands from banana, I imagined that I had many new thoughts to share, insights, wit and poetry. Alas. I've already bored everyone with my lavish descriptions of our Katamari fun; there was only one taker, and I think it may have been more out of concern than interest. I've already discussed chapter 42 of "We're Moving, We Know Not Where," a true story of drama in the suburbs; also boring. That leaves the weather and plans for Geoff's birthday: It's raining, rather pitifully. Geoff won't accept the utter bliss of having a surprise 40th birthday party thrown in his honor, so...

The Phantom of the Opera. I think that with counseling, some cosmetic surgery and maybe some antidepressants, the Phantom could have saved himself and the object of his obsession a lot of heartache and strain. Of course we then would have missed all those catchy, romantic tunes. Andrew Lloyd Weber can write music.

I can't post pictures from this computer. I can't think of anything to write about, and so: Good night.

Me: Did you read Chickenblog?

Him: Yeah...

Me: Was it a good one?

Him: Yeah. I like pictures.

Me: Oh. Okay.


Holly brought a family tradition to our home for Christmas Eve. Don't let her sweet smile fool you. She stayed only long enough to get us hooked, then she left us to toil and puzzle on our own.


FINISHED. I do not share the same obsessive drive to succeed that Geoff does, but I knew if I didn't help him we would never make it to Pasadena in time for Christmas dinner!


Aunt Becky and Grandma serving up the Christmas dinner. We stayed over night and shared the company of Paul, Ruth, Larry and Lupita, Julie and Rebekah, Dan and Olivier. Julie made fudge. Mmmm fudge. We all made Merry.


Last Friday we met Tamsyn, Carol and Gene for downtown skating. Alex and Tamsyn are campaigning for skating lessons. They were quite dedicated, inspite of uncomfortable skates and a very, very wet rink.


I think it was this rubber tree that first attracted me to this house. Soon our lease will be up and Max will not be able to call to me, "Can I go up higher? Please?"

We are still sick. It's bad. It's record breaking. When Maria coughs it's heartbreaking. We are doing *everything* so please don't ask whether we've had vitamin ABC or meditated with healing crystals. We do seem to have turned the corner. The boys have been awake more, eaten more, complained more... it's time.

Check this butt out:



This is a mandrill booty. My camera is not doing it justice. This guy had the biggest rainbow booty ever. His butt was a fleshy, colorful rainbooty. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. I'm not saying I was attracted to him, but you can sort of appreciate his appeal with the lady mandrills.

You know, there are many important and significant things happening in the world, and with my family and friends. I am having deep thoughts, serious concerns. Christmas is coming. Loved ones are doing marvelous things and going interesting places. But for now, all I can produce is a grainy baboon butt photo.

Oh woe is me... my camera battery won't charge. I think the battery is good, but the adapter-charger- thingy doesn't seem to be talking to the camera. All of our beautiful pictures from our Oregon Adventure are trapped.

Downstairs is a family room where we hold school. A few months ago, William and I devoted a couple of hours to hanging up posters, timelines and learning graphs. We made the room look a little more like a standard classroom. And even as we slaved away, I thought to myself: 'This sticky adhesive seems kind of weak... I bet it comes down when the weather changes.' Gee, I hate to be right. Charts and graphs have been peeling off the walls with every fluctuation in temperature.

Upstairs we are face to face with Maria's skills: She can open cabinets, climb chairs and sofas and wreak havoc. She pulls out cereal boxes, opens the oatmeal tub and loves to help *sort* the utensils in the dishwasher. Her own kitchen, which Max has generously donated for her use, is a disaster area (she may get this from her mother.) Someone needs to get things under control. Someone needs to purchase ingenious devises that lock cabinets, toilets and dishwashers. Someone needs to sort through the baby's kitchen and organize everything, setting aside the surplus dishes, gadgets and rubber tomatoes.

And while Someone is at it, I hope she will clean the rest of the house and find a safe place for a Christmas tree, and hang new lights outside (the old ones are still up, but inconveniently falling down... it looks really tacky.) Someone could follow my recipe for bourbon pecan cake. Once the cakes are baked they need plenty of time to sit in bourbon soaked cheesecloth. While the pecan cakes are maturing, Someone should set aside an afternoon to prepare tamales. We'd like about 4 dozen. Make that 5, in case we have company. Could Someone find us nice, clean clothes and pose us for a Christmas photo, then get 50 of those printed? The car needs cleaning, inside and out. Chango needs shots...

Good grief.

I was writing all of the above, sort of making fun of how hectic life is, and then I was derailed and never even returned to post it until today... two, three days later. At least we got the battery charging again. Pictures soon, I promise.

It took some time to recover from my shame, but I must admit our local librarians were cool and reasonable (I think it helps to grovel while holding an exceptionally cute baby.) So, they suggested we extend our lending time, so we could look for the book. But guess what? Sometimes no amount of searching is going to recover a missing item...

We made a spontaneous visit to Aunt Becky's. Uncle Dan, Julie and Grandma, Aunt Becky, Fiona and Molly gave us the red carpet treatment over the weekend. We squeezed in a movie, and another carousel ride, this time at the big mall. We rode bicycles. We found denim shorts for Max, also at the big mall. When we weren't running around having fun, we were at the dining table being fed. Well fed. Alex and Max played with Julie's Legos. William and Alex did some drawing... just like last time... and just like last time they used large books like a clipboard under their paper... Guess which book they used and presumably left in Pasadena during our last visit... Yup! I SPY Treasure Hunt has been hanging out with the periodicals on the coffee table at Aunt Becky's. JOY! Relief. Redemption. It was a very good weekend.


Alex caught a tiger.


Maria rode the zebra.


Max, on a seahorse, followed Julie on her horse.

Today I will send our Pasadena family a thank you card for their exceptional hospitality. I will go to the library and return the missing/recovered book, and thank them for their patience. And finally I will pause and acknowledge that perhaps I have become a better library patron. Maybe I have matured, somewhat. The thing is, while I was fine tuning my life skills, we introduced four new lives to the world and they create a whole new set of variables. Ah, life. Except when I can't find my keys, the check book or my sanity, life is really, really good.


Uncle Dan brought out his motorized scooter... "Scooter" is now on at least 2 Christmas lists now!

When we got home we noticed our Autumn tree had really begun to drop leaves. Alex and Max love to rake the leaves. They learned the joy of raking with their Aunt Laura in Wisconsin. One tree, once a year leaves time and room to appreciate the job.




Fallen leaves can be appreciated on many levels.

Hand over the secret formula. I need the power of unstress. We cannot find a library book. I SPY Treasure Hunt is missing. Hey, that's sort of ironic... I wish I could spy the I SPY book. Humor is not undoing my stress. The house is clean, so why is 1 book so impossible to locate? Seriously, can anyone explain why when we need to find something (keys, wallet, cell phone, library book, nose ring, bundt pan) it remains lost, very inexplicably and profoundly lost?

After much effort in searching Max sighed and said, "Well, I guess it's anywhere we haven't looked." This particular lost article is especially vexing because it is Max's lost library book. Max is diligent, responsible, organized, orderly. Max knows the book was near his bed. Now we don't know what the book is near, but it certainly is anywhere we have not looked yet.

I guess the stress I am experiencing is partly from my bad library Karma. Trying to be a good library patron has been a lifelong ambition. Yet, for as long as I can remember I have failed to fulfill the basic expectations entailed in a library relationship. I have always misplaced books, returned books overdue, owed quarters. This time I resolved to be 100% responsible, efficient, good. I enjoyed library dialogue with the kind women in the library, so that by establishing eye contact and a relationship of trust, I would reinforce my desire to do good. I chose educational, beautifully illustrated and well written books. I separated the borrowed books from our home books and kept them on their shelf. I felt certain that for once my library experience was going to be simple, routine and uncomplicated. Alas. I am undone. Today I must make eye contact again with the kind library women and I must admit my failure.

Here life has provided me with yet another opportunity to pass my knowledge on to my children. "Boys, Maria you too, borrowing is a responsibility and responsibilities must not be taken lightly. We have agreed to take books from the library and we have agreed to return them. The librarians know us, they have helped us and they trust us, and so now we must endeavor to retain their trust by finding the missing book..." and as I tell them all this I must remain calm. They should see the effort it takes to fulfill an obligation, without the drama and teeth gnashing, hair pulling utter frustration from trying to find one frickin' @#$% book. I must show them how to accept consequences with dignity and humility.

Everything is on computer these days. I imagine my 38 year life of library misdemeanors is all on file. I imagine the librarian will type in my whole name, middle name too, like a scolded child, and pages of history will appear on her screen. Every late fee, every missing tome, every misstep will be before her and then the gravity of my sordid past will make her shoulders square and she will suck in her breath and turn slowly to me... Max asked whether we'll be doing any jail time... her look of contempt, of disappointment will be my jail time. I will be caught in her bureaucratic gaze, and writhing in her look of loathing.

Dread, dread, dread, dread.
The library closes at 5.
We've got only 6 hours to find the book.
Everyone. Remain calm.
This is not a drill.

Trick or Treat!
Maria will be a flower for Halloween.

I had a little coffee, a little lunch, a little nap. I feel a little better.

Cranky. Foul. Sensitive. Testy. Frustrated. Indignant. Misunderstood. Confused. Irritable. Irritating.

Either I am disadvantaged because I live without caffeine, or I am a perfectly reasonable person that is maligned, abused, neglected, unappreciated, ignored, devalued, and taken for granted.

Maybe I should do everyone a huge favor and go get a !@#$in' cup of black coffee. Hold the sugar.

Hey.
This quick talk is working.
Too little time to devote to elaborate sentences.
Zoo today.
The Wild one.
Stopping for sandwiches at Major Market.
Our favorite market.
Max is carving a second pumpkin.
We are full of roasted seeds.
Talk of going to Renaissance Faire.
What about grilled chicken and hot tortillas for Mom's Night Out?
Max has, so far, carved four faces on his pumpkin. "But there's still plenty of room. You just gotta make 'em really close to each other."
I could grill the chicken ahead of time.
I love hot tortillas.

Geoff is going to Hawaii.
I am not.
It rained, but now the rain has stopped.
On Tuesday I am cooking dinner for ten friends.
We'll eat by the ocean, not in our dining-bedroom.
Geoff is going to look at lots and homes for sale.
We may move soon.
We may stay here longer.
Should I just roast weanies and serve fancy beans?
Should I make enchiladas?
I was going to make enchiladas, but now I'm not so sure.
Geoff may go to a Pumpkin Festival.
He might see Clint Eastwood.
Or maybe he won't.
Maybe he'll find a place for us to build a home with a covered lanai and a laundry room and two or more bathrooms.
Nice.
I am making a ghost out of cheese cloth and diluted Elmer's glue.
It's sticky right now.
I gotta go.
Alex and Max are done detaining Maria.

I've been meaning to post some important news and bits, like the fact that Talk Like A Pirate Day is just around the corner. Since the holiday comes on a Monday, you might be especially caught off guard and miss all the fun. Oooh arghh matey! We warn't be habin' ye miss all the festivities.

What else...? Well, every other year we host a Halloween party. And even though the 2003 Pirate party got a wee bit wild, we are contemplating the details of this year's party already.

Hmmm. It seemed like I had plenty of other stuff to share. It seems like I could at least make up a few notices. I got nada. Actually, it's as quiet as ever around here, and we have very little on our calendars. I don't want to put anyone on the spot or sound like a groveling social dork, but when was the last time you wrote? When was the last time, and don't make me name names, you shared some tidbits from your life? Chicken Blog can't just be Me and Mine. We'd love to hear from You and Yours. Talk like a Pirate or just be yourself. Tell us what's up.

Look who's found a home!
Patrick L. Cat is now happily a member of the Adam, Jacob, Anne and Dave family!



I always wondered how real writers got away with telling their whole truths or their fictionalized truths. How do they write about sex, or dark thoughts, or about a man that except for a beard entirely resembles an uncle everyone is ashamed of? Who do they embarrass? How do they keep from embarrassing themselves?

Yesterday's entry left a reader quite concerned... someone wonders if I 'share too much, if I need help, if I am defining my life too graphically... what do the children feel?'

Blogging is weird. Writing is weird. The truth is really weird. There is a lot going on in anyone's life and I can't believe that I am the only one that has messes, challenges, slumps. Emphasizing the bright side of life is good, but I think it creates a false impression to exclude the rest of the process. Roses have thorns and puppies make poop. Vacations create laundry... it's a Yin-Yang thang.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed and alone. And sometimes I feel like I can't do anything right. There are times when things are chaos. I have weaknesses and vulnerabilities, shortcomings, deficiencies. To say nothing of the chaos would be a huge omission... a glaring untruth. And what do the children feel? I should ask them, but I hope they feel my unconditional love, my determination, my ability to try again until it comes out right, my humor, my humanity. I hope they feel that life is good and sometimes bad or difficult, but always worthwhile. I hope they feel free to express joy and sorrow, and to know that living is a process that is not as neat and clean as a Pottery Barn catalog. Maybe I am defining my life too graphically; thank God I censor myself as much as I do. I certainly need help; who doesn't? I always wonder if I am 'sharing too much,' but I can't help myself... ( I do have some idea of what it means to share too much. For example: I've resisted the urge to share that when my deoderant fails I smell a lot like a skunk.)

Geoff got his phone replaced and the Verizon guy was even able to retrieve all the phone numbers Geoff was storing. Alex found my keys. They were on the table by the door. I should have remembered that I put them there, so it would be easy to find them when I came home. We ate a late breakfast at Pipe's and then shopped for groceries at our favorite store. I slept very well last night, which I needed, and it's done a lot to help my cold. I also downloaded our pictures. They were fun to see, because we did so much in one week I had forgotten about half of it. And the laundry is nearly finished. I'm glad we replaced Bob's washer with our own. I really like my washing machine. And I like that when I unpacked Max's swim trunks clumps of sand hit the floor and poured across the pile of sorted whites, because it reminds me that on our last day in Hawaii we decided to go to a beach and swim, and then we hiked along the coast and found another beach with white sand and clear water where a turtle was swimming, and the waves gave us perfect rides.

Chaos is the confused unorganized state of primordial matter before the creation of distinct forms. How about some more pictures?

We are home. It's chaos, so it must be home.

Geoff's phone broke on Saturday, and now I have no way to reach him and beg him to come home, because I can't find where we put my car keys, so I can't go buy groceries and we are really, really hungry. Did I mention we were all sick on our vacation? I think it was a vacation. We were somewhere new everyday and there are 3 suitcases of sandy laundry. After we get rid of congestion, fleas, 42% of the mess, and download 421 pictures then I will tell all about our adventures in Hawaii.

Geoff, seriously: Phone HOME!

Alex and I saw this creature on the morning news a few days ago. Don't click on the link just yet. Prepare yourself. Take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and bear in mind: The unfortunate creature is not abused or unloved, he's simply a really, truly ugly dog. Well just about everyone has a blog, so why not Sam?: Sam & Susie's Blog Can't get enough (we couldn't)... be sure and see the CNN clip, so you can hear Sam too.

Oh, and another thing... someone needs to call landlord Bob and tell him his washer died. It happened Monday, but we didn't hear from the coroner, our extremely competent appliance repairman, until today. "The Calypso Washer is junk." He thinks it could cost as much as $400 to get it running again. Sorry Bob. I don't think Bob's going to rush over and replace it. I think we will switch it with our washer. When Bob's dryer died we paid the hefty repair bill, but it wasn't as hefty as $400... I wonder how long we can put off moving the busted Calypso out and slipping in our machine... laundry do pile up around here. I said "do" instead of "does" intentionally, because "do" sounds like a more present tense than does, and presently the laundry is accumulating. I don't have a picture to post of the silent washer or the laundry. How about a picture of Maria?

The List

1. find 5 swimsuits
2. find 5 water shoes
3. find 5 rashguards
4. find waterproof diapers
5. pack sunblock
6. pack slippahs
7. lose 24 pounds... scratch that... life is too short for self depricating humor
8. bring allowance and buy flowing muumuu

Happened, and happening.
My mom was here and she accomplished quite a bit. She helped her cousin Mary, she hung out with Hans and Gretchen, she kept appointments, and she made her first ever visit to LEGOLAND. Max would tell you that being at LEGOLAND with his grandma was the best part.

We saw March of the Penguins and enjoyed it very much. It seems to me that there were more movies like this one in theaters when I was a kid. It was what these days I would expect to see on PBS or some cable channel. It was a pleasant surprise to see a good, interesting, nonblockbuster, nonDisney movie in an air-conditioned theater.

Yesterday we were picnicking with Deanne and James and Sammy the Dog. It was really nice, low-key, relaxing... we shared good food, and engaging conversation. Sam amused us with his doggy actions and sensibilities.

This week Max will turn 7! The party is Saturday. He wants coffee cake. Coffee cake with cinnamon crumble topping. His theme is reptiles and amphibians and he has a black dragon piñata that he wants to fill with peanut butter cups and sugar free gum.

What else is happening? Mom and grandma are driving back to Oregon and berries and jewelry making. Geoff's game is getting closer and closer to publication, so much so that we have actual plans to leave on a vacation. Geoff and William go to the last night of their extension class this week. Did I mention? William got 96% on his midterm. Tamsyn just returned from her second summer trip, but she leaves again for 3 more weeks; hot summer days are a bit slow and sad without a friend next door. Alex and Max are still working on the castle, but they are in a bit of a slump since they need more bricks.

My camera battery is working. And I would have shared pictures from our picnic or LEGOLAND, but now there is a problem with the cable. I cannot download new pictures to the computer.

I feel a haircut coming on. It happens this way every few years. Suddenly I realize that my long hair fantasy is clashing with my split end reality. It's time for short. And I will regret the shortness soon after, because short cuts require maintenance, and I don't do maintenance. Geoff thinks I should dye my hair red to match my glasses. I must have issues. I feel very insecure about my hair now. Does he think I have too much gray? Does he prefer redheads? And what about maintenance? I'm lucky to get a shower. When will I be finding time and pride to get my brown and gray roots touched up red? Red? In my teens I did an eggplant rinse. It was fun and very temporary. But he said DYE. Permanent dye. Wounded ego... it raises an interesting topic that I may touch upon someday... how long do I intend to go *natural* while everyone else is not?

Chaos week. No, not chaos... just slighlty more stress combined with summer heat and thoughts that keep me up too late. Plus my camera battery won't hold its charge, which for me is like living with a bad flu or a broken thumb.

Hey, my mommy is coming to town. Good news.
William and Geoff are enjoying success at their university extension course. Good news.
Tamsyn is back in USA. Great news for the children who have missed their good friend.

I can't think of going upstairs to turn on the stove, and the fresh fruit I bought is already consumed, so I think I will head over to Pipes and let them fix us a yummy surfer's feast. Then hopefully, fueled and pampered I will have the stamina to meet everyone's needs, answer the Big Questions, answer emails too, clean and sort, inspire.

How about that baby? She's joy. She's a light. She's on the move.

Maria is too distressed to be ignored, so I cannot write the detailed description this picture deserves. My abuelos are in town. They live in Sonora, Mexico, and being quite old, they rarely come North any more. I am glad she has met them and they have held her, sung to her, blessed her.



And last night, for Family Night, we went to to the Maritime Museum and boarded the Star of India, then the HMS Surprise from Master and Commander. Though we liked the Pirates of the Caribbean movie far better (history aside, Depp vs. Crowe is a no brainer) we did enjoy checking out both decks of the Surprise.

Sad baby. Gotta go.


Maria in The Sky.
Happy baby. Gotta go.

Drum roll please: I cleaned out my purse-diaper bag-first aid kit-toy chest-"honey can you hold this?" bag. It weighed 17 pounds and 4 ounces, smelled like old Wrigley's and melted crayon, and caused my right shoulder to audibly wince with pain.

Is every store giving a frequent shopper or discount card? I have about 24 of those. I found a lot of old receipts, of course, and also some movie ticket stubs. It was nice to find the ticket stubs, because it proves that we have left the neighborhood for something other than orange juice and bread. At the very bottom of the bag was Maria's knit hat from the hospital. It's small, like she was.

With trash removed, and cards, keys and butt wipes reshuffled and in order, I feel a lightness. I may have a better day, an easier week. My clean bag will be the catalyst for great things, like making a dental appointment, getting my haircut, sending personal mail.

What would you do if you could do something extra? Something new, or special, out of the ordinary? I need to indulge a whim or pursue an interest; it's a personal challenge and a treat. I counted money in my loose change basket, and it adds up to a significant amount. For me it seems to be more of a challenge than a treat. I feel a little tormented trying to think of something to do with the money. I also feel the blessing of not having to use the money for bills, which makes me feel all the more pressured to make really good use of the money. Do not suggest charity... it's noble and I do contribute, but this is an exercise in being charitable to myself. I want to be sure that I don't wind up spending it on a car wash, new shoes for the boys and toilet paper...

Shhh! The baby's sleepin'.

I showered and got the boys rolling on their school work. Now I have, possibly, a few moments to update Chicken Blog with insight and wit. I laugh. Making myself laugh is a gift I very much apprecitate. I laugh because I am amused by the idea that I presume to have wit or insight.

What's new? We saw Sideways last night, and The Castle the night before. We are Netflix fixed and loving it. Swiss Family Robinson, Spanglish and Sex and the City: Season 4: Disc 2, are on their way.

What else? Today Grandma V. is on her way to be with Delia and Ron in Oregon. I like to think of her and my mom gardening together and making jewelry too. They'll soon be at the Coos Bay Farmer's Market, and perhaps enjoying a cranberry pizza sometime soon.

Que mas? We started cleaning up the RV. It was our escape from Firestorm 2003 vehicle and we have sort of neglected it ever since. Okay confession: We found six of the Chica's eggs in the refrigerator. Fresh eggs were packed in October 2003, transported from east to west and stored for a very long time. Talk about WMD!!! I don't know the science of eggs gone bad, but these did not stink or glow, or excrete foul fluids. What's up with that. We did handle them with care and disposed of them like UXB. They are on their way to the landfill. Sigh of relief. And, also, I did have an emotional moment, because I miss my Chicas.

Back to school. Alex is adding mixed fractions and needs some help reducing them...

Girl with curl...

She gets quite curly after her bath.

Compulsive. I should be cleaning. Maria is asleep in her swing and the there is no telling how long this break will last. Dirty dishes, laundry... the usual chaos reigns supreme, and yet I cannot help but sit at Geoff's laptop, still in pajamas, and tap, tap, tap.

William is taller than his 6'2" dad. He he is 14 years old. My baby. It goes fast. As fast as they said it would.

Maria had her four month check up on Friday. She is healthy, and "developmentally ahead." She weighs 15 lbs and 4oz: Chi-Chi Power!

Grandma and aunt Becky and uncle Dan came from Pasadena yesterday, which was a perfect surprise and treat. I have been trying to get my stuff together to pay them a visit, before Grandma returns to her second home in Oregon. Nothing is simple when traveling as a family of six, but Grandma is nearly 83, so I feel quite honored to have her come to us. We looked at family pictures together and played with Maria too. Grandma strolled around the yard and gathered some cuttings from her geraniums. It was wonderful to have her near, and enjoying the flowers.

I should have written about the visit from the Hawaii grandparents last week. Maria does not tolerate time spent in the computer office, so my writing is lagging... I'll try to post some pictures soon. Anyhow, it was a short, but sweet visit, and I think they managed to squeeze in a lot of quality time with grandchildren, as well as shopping and touring. Aunt Peg came from Wisconsin during the same week, so the fun was doubled up.

We are off to Legoland today. We haven't been in quite some time. The boys are understandably thrilled. They are also aware that this is Maria's first trip to their "Happiest Place on Earth," so the anticipation is extra thick. Geoff and I are the kind and brave parents taking 4 children to a theme park, but the big applause goes to our friend Deanne. She gave them the ultimate Easter Egg: Free tickets!

I knew my time would be brief... Maria is awake and needs freshening. Now. No delay. Get on it Momma.

Maybe I haven't posted much lately because I have been so productive in other areas of my life. Perhaps, but not likely. The productive one has been Geoff. He is in the final countdown mode; working from 6 a.m. until midnight everyday of the week. It bites. He's pretty tired of it too. Everyday. He comes home for dinner or when I call him and say something like "I must shower." This PSP game will either be appreciated, bought and produced for its lack of simulated blood and gore, or we will turn to organic cat nip farming in Hawaii. For what it's worth, I am very proud of him for not caving in to the Rape-Pillage-Murder and Mayhem Game craze; believe me it's where the money is, but we are trying to set a brighter example for our children. If you pray or meditate or just hope for less gore for greed media, then send some good thoughts our way.

Pulled in every direction and seriously craving either a chocolate cake or 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep. In another dimension I might praise myself for finishing school with the boys, getting the boys on the treadmill, doing two loads of laundry, feeding all the children, helping Maria cope with post immunization misery, washing some dishes... but...BUTT, I feel like I am not getting there.

It is a shame that I can't send my thoughts across the airwaves, down the stairs and in to our computer. I sit in our bedroom chair at 10 p.m., and 12:34 a.m., and 3:27 a.m. and 7:17 a.m, nursing our Papaya, and blogging. In my head, I write beautiful accounts of how the rain sounds falling on our roof, of the wind in the rubber tree and of the thunder rolling like heavy surf crossing the night sky. But all my efforts remain in my brain. There is very little time for sitting here and writing. Even now, Alex is calling me, "Mom, I think Papaya is awake right now." So it's time to finish this little bit, and get upstairs, back to the bedroom chair. I'll try again, later, to sneak away and share all my deep thoughts and other musings. I've been meaning to write about how much I love this new baby, and how much I loath that chair...

Maria just came from her first month check up. I need a chill pill; some soothing tonic to relieve the grief of being there when she had her first immunization. First her eyes widened, then she inhaled and color rose from her chin up her face, so much color, deeper and deeper cranberry, and no exhale. And when she looked as though she could not possibly deepen her vermilion pain, out came her cry. She exhaled with a mighty wail, then aftershocks of shock and indignation, then a tear, her first tear, rolled down her cheek.

I cannot keep pain away, or disappointment. She will scrape her knees and stub her toes. She will have bad haircuts, pimples, tough tests, and other trials. I can only hope that none of her challenges exceeds her strength, or her will to grow and flourish, or her conviction that life is sorrow and joy and mostly worthwhile. So, when she cries I will comfort her as best I can and I will whisper in her ear, "Never give up, never surrender."

She weighs 10 pounds and seven ounces, which means she has gained 3 pounds. She has grown from 18.5 inches to 21 inches. And she can track the little monkey her doctor waved in a path over her head. All results of the inquiries and inspections indicate uncommon genius, health, creativity and grace. We are so pleased.

I can tell she is almost 3 weeks old. I recognize the way sleep deprivation is catching me in its unmerciful grip. I feel a bit on edge, a bit out of sorts, easily rattled, and really, really sleepy. The best solution: Hang in there for a year or two, and lower my expectations, a lot. Humor helps too.

It's nearly Christmas. I think I will let Pick Up Sticks prepare our Christmas Eve dinner, and that is a huge compromise for me. Geoff thinks it's a great idea. Is that a "guy" thing? I don't usually like to make sexist generalizations, but he seems completely at ease with not sending Christmas greeting cards, or his mom's gift being late to get to the post office, and he's happy having take-out Chinese food for our big family dinner, but I feel like a Martha dropout, a failure, Christmas AWOL.

We have had some horribly un-PC discussions about our ever-gray tree. It is so parched and brittle we fear it may spontaneously ignite. So, we made a short list of options which includes: Buy a second tree. Very shameful idea to kill two trees in one year, also costly and time consuming. Other idea is to find out whether flocking a tree provides fire retardant benefits. Our gray tree might be protected and festively snow white. Tacky? Perhaps.

We need gift wrap, and I still aspire to mail Christmas cards, but Papaya is falling asleep, and I think I should join her.

Max is the Math Man!

Somehow we are getting dishes washed and clean towels folded. The boys are doing school work, and working out too. I am even improving my single, left handed key boarding, while nursing. This may simply be the honeymoon period, when we believe we have things under control. Enjoy the moment... I think that should be my philosophy. Papaya is even now working on something that may finish off our remaining butt wipes... too much information? It's all good.

The worstest part of insomnia is my brain: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It simply won't shut up. Whether it's anxious nonsense, brilliant insights, or once again a search for the most original, culturally relevant, lovely, meaningful baby name ever, I just wish I could turn off the noise in my head.

20 days from the due date.
We saw Sponge Bob The Movie with Anne and Adam.
Geoff made Russian Tea.
Russian Tea ought to be served with a bowl of homemade Chex Mix.
Baby Jordan weighed nine and a half pounds!
Chango is no longer afraid of Brahm's Lullaby played from a spinning cow mobile.
We found the leak in the upstairs bathroom; it's not as bad as it smells.
I made Thanksgiving dinner; it's in the freezer.
I am the only one that likes cranberry relish.
The pride in having a clean house lasts only as long as the house remains clean.
I still look for Diego.
Max is more than half way through his second math book.
William's hair is long.
I doubt I'll finish the second quilt.
Though Max begged us to stop, we sang Christmas carols last night.
I still need to mail thank you cards. In Spanish.
Alex rubs my back. Delightful.
Somewhere in the garage I know there is a box with a few baby things that I saved from the boys.
I want that box. Now.
Yesterday I scrubbed scruff marks off the walls.
I'm still awake.
Still sitting here, and wondering what to name the baby, and whether I should take a shower now or wait 'til (later in the) morning.
P.S.A.: If you have ever left anything here, it is either gone forever or it can be found in The Box of Things Left Here, by the front door.
I was supposed to call the bank, and pick up the kit for cord blood registry.

Slow, slow, slow, slow, slow, and that's when I'm awake. There was the sick and haggard phase, with profuse vomiting and nausea. And then there was the long, dragging return to semi-normalcy, but still with some nausea phase. This was followed by the persistent cough, achy and tired phase. And now I have reached the notably pathetic, gasping for breath, ready to pop, Sloth Woman phase. Please, I'm not looking for your sympathy (yea, I am.) I am merely giving a straight forward and accurate account of the miracle of life etc, etc...

There are moments when I suddenly recall that I am pregnant, and then I experience brief panic and mild confusion (actually, huge confusion.) Other thoughts include: I really gotta shave; the hair on my legs may impede swift delivery of the baby. If I go downstairs for my purse and the mail, how will I get back up the stairs?

I think the boys are alright. They seem to be getting smart, and finding food. No. That's too indifferent. I should dedicate several paragraphs describing how much help they have been to me. Throughout the day they demonstrate their love and concern, and show me a great deal of tenderness. I don't think we'd ever considering inviting a Papaya in to our lives we didn't have such wonderful children already. They give us faith and hope and joy.

It may be the chair. I have been too uncomfortable to sit at the computer and update Chicken Blog. In order to accommodate Mini Me I have to lean back and give her more room. When I lean back the key board is out of reach and the screen gets a bit blurry. Wait! Hold on. I just remembered I can pull the screen in lower and closer... there, that's better. So, now what's my excuse?

We have been busy around here. I am imparting my vast stores of knowledge and the boys are learning. Geoff and I revisit our "Where should we live" conversation on a daily basis, and that is always time consuming. I am nearly finished with a quilt I have been working on. I did the last of the actual hand quilting and now I need to complete it by sewing the edges with quilt binding. We managed to shift enough things in our room to make a nearly crib size space in the corner. I think for spaces that are nearly big enough I will have to go to Ikea, where furniture is often times scaled down a bit. Yes, we have definitely been busy.

I did end up going to the baby shower. Geoff and I know Danny from tennis and working out, and Danny has been keeping us updated on Amber. She's 4 weeks more pregnant than us, so Geoff and Danny pass some time comparing notes while lifting weights. The shower was nice. I mean good. I mean, I knew no one. Nobody, and that's not an easy situation to be in. Everyone was friendly, and it was nice to be out of the house for something other than grocery shopping. The hostesses used a Hawaiian theme, because it matches the baby's nursery. I have to say the theme was fun.

I won't mention the barely audible sigh of envy I am releasing, because I sort of slightly, really wish I could decorate a nursery. Perhaps I should pretend to have a nursery and draw out my plans, choose paint colors and coordinated lampshades. I think this much effort would exhaust me, and life being what it is, I wouldn't have to actually follow through on executing the project.

Theme: Rustic farm/country with a Mexico flavor: Cowgirls and chickens, flores y rebozos.
Colors: Deep cranberry red, smatterings of pink, and splashes of lavender and green.
It looks good.

The toilet just overflowed on such a tidal scale that I am relieved to know we are all strong swimmers. Eeww. Am I crude or simply honest? Does honesty excuse discussing taboo topics, and potty repartee? Actually, I had no clever or witty remarks in reply to our toilet's outburst. Rather I was tearfully, urgently pleading, "No! Please. No. No. NO!!" To no avail.

It's been that kind of week. Nature in her infinite wisdom has seen fit to remind me that water rises, and so does vomit. Children with colds spill more drinks, and will sneeze directly in your face. They need a tremendous amount of 4 star service, but they are lousy tippers. And I can see what's coming: More. More diapers and vomit, and sneezes and fluids and nights so long you... can't finish simple sentences.

Let's not conclude that I am running scared. I am way too tired and off balance to run. It's time to put on my philosophical hat (some rubber gloves and galoshes too), and remind myself that last January I emphatically stated: " I would rather live with the chaos of having one more in our family, than live with the regret of not having one more baby." Isn't that deep?

I am off to face the chaos! Mop in hand, old towels too, and cheerful birds whistling on the window sill. When the spill is cleared and the children have been fed and ministered to, I will smile with maternal pride and grace, because I have been blessed with everything I asked for. Sort of.

Greetings from General Hospital, where the cooties are wrecking havoc, and I, nurse Diesel, am administering soup, affection and tissue. The boys are coughing and looking bleary eyed. They drag themselves to their math books... wait, that is typical, not symptomatic... Max is the worst off. He has a fever and has thrown up several times. He even sleeps during the day, which is a definite and dramatic symptom. Alex is probably next in the triage line up; he is moody and coughs a lot. William is moody too, but again, this may not be a symptom of the virus, but his age. It seemed time to call on an expert, so I took Max to the pediatrician. For my efforts and a $30 co-pay, I was informed that Max is sick, he should rest and get plenty of fluids. Brilliant deduction Doctor, thank you. It's worth it, I suppose, because to skip the doctor visit is to invite horrible infection and 6 hours at Children's Hospital ER, where on-call doctors and tired nurses will give you the "bad mother glare."

I just met Rick, the UPS delivery guy. He brought the special order, dye free cough suppressant Geoff ordered for Max.

Sigh. Thank goodness for Mom's Night Out. Our monthly gathering always comes just in time, so that I can enjoy the company of my very best friends, eat fabulous food and laugh a lot. They boost me. It was a wonderful evening. I for sure will go to great lengths to not miss a get together, which is why I am in suspense about December's get together at Josie's. Papaya is due either the 9th or 10th, depending on which chart you read, and Josie is hosting MNO on the 3rd of December. Suddenly, my interest in the delivery date is overshadowed by the thought that I could easily miss the Christmas party! Well, if Papaya hasn't already arrived, I will cross my legs for good luck and hope to spend another reenergizing and uplifting night out with the Moms.

Next month's MNO is being hosted by Karen, and the theme is "Baby Shower." I don't want anyone to see my reservations as a lack of interest; the real issue is feeling shy about being the focus of so much attention, and feeling spectacularly blessed, which makes me feel even more shy. Of course, if this were for anyone else I would be thrilled to be participating, and I would be very excited about the prospect of shopping for a pink baby, and if the mother were reluctant or shy, I would say, "It's not about you. We want a party!" Parties are fun, and surprises, presents and thoughtful gestures are delightful. I feel like I should send out thank you cards now, just because they are even thinking of showering us.

I remember Geoff's family had a surprise shower for us when we were expecting our first baby. We had just moved to the midwest, and we were about 6 months along, and probably feeling overwhelmed. We were enjoying the support and the thoughtful gifts. Typically, I think showers are enjoyed by the mothers more than the fathers, but we received one gift that really perked Geoff up. In a diaper pail came a gift certificate for 1 month of diaper service. I gave sincere thanks, but Geoff was beaming and ecstatic. He expressed deep, profound and undying thankfulness. He said things like, "Wow. I just can't believe this! I had no idea they could do this." And after a bit, I began to wonder if he knew what "diaper service" is. It was really hard breaking the news to him: Diaper service is not a person coming to the house to change the baby's diaper for you. Bummer.

My email messages go out with an orange butterfly in the upper right hand corner. Hmmm. I never requested this feature or specially arranged to be represented by a butterfly. I like butterflies. They're pretty. But the butterfly is not me; not my symbol, my logo, my calling card. I am not the butterfly, and yet whenever friends or family hear from me they are seeing the butterfly, and maybe they're thinking: "She's really into that butterfly."

I searched around my toolbar for the butterfly "on/off" switch. Couldn't find it. I thought I might find a list of other character options and wondered whether any of them would better suit me. There don't seem to be any; not that I can find. A chicken is a likely option, and some time ago I might have felt like using a sea turtle. My cynical side wonders why ants aren't showing up on my outgoing email. Ants are everywhere else in my life. Frickin' ants.

It might be amusing, in a junior high kind of way, to have symbols that change with holidays, seasons or moods. Google has creative fun decorating their banner. At the moment I feel like I could be best symbolized by a cute sloth, sweating and lethargic, staring blankly, waiting for a special delivery and cooler weather.

Max is writing his Christmas list... Alex is drawing... William is fixing a bagel... Geoff is playing tennis...

Being at a computer is somehow a legitimate way to squander time. If I were parked in front of the TV it would appear as though I were wasting time, being lazy. Butt, when I am in front of a computer there is the appearance of work being accomplished; it's an intellectual pursuit, an interactive process. "I need to check my email" sounds like a reasonable excuse for sitting in the comfortable chair and staring blankly at 9 offers for drugs, breasts and second mortgages. Surfing the internet is vital to my ability to stay informed and connected. So, even if there is a stack of unsorted mail on the kitchen counter, the children haven't been fed, or ants have built a superhighway through my kitchen I feel justified. There are very important things, necessary "stuffs," for me to attend to, here on the computer, far from the laundry, dishes and bills.

Okay. I have gone from "Ambitious Plans" to "Wishful Fantasies." It was a short trip, and I'm not too proud.

I wish I were as strong as two men, so I could move all the furniture around and make the living space in our upstairs more comfortable. And spacious. And pretty too.

I wish the cats used the toilet, and never scratched the walls.

I wish there was a way to drive to Oregon without seeing L.A. County or the Inland Empire.

I wish I had the energy and the deep down, sincere desire to keep this house really clean. All the time. And organized. Even the closets and garage.

I wish I was so philosophical, confident and secure that I didn't obsess about stuff.

Alex wants to go camping this summer. He wants to sleep in a tent and wake up to hooting owls and the piney freshness of redwoods and forest ferns.

Max wants a Sponge Bob birthday party tomorrow; not next Saturday when his friends can come. He wants chocolate cake with whipped cream frosting. Actually, "cake first, then presents, then pinata and last pizza."

William wants to be left alone to delve in to his world of programming computers and deciphering the mysteries of 3D Studio MAX.

Geoff wants to provide for his family, and play tennis. Lots of tennis. Preferably tennis in Hawaii. Maybe some kayaking too.

The Papaya seems content to bounce vigorously on my bladder, and alter my taste in foods.

Our dining table (the leg part).

Max sees things very differently. Because of Asperger's, we are often reminded that Max does not relate to us or his environment in a typical fashion. He is compulsive, rational to the point of being profoundly irrational, and he can seem annoyingly disconnected from what we perceive as reality. I have wondered how I might "see" what Max sees.

Last night I hung my camera around his neck and gave him a brief lesson in digital photography. He was enthralled. He took dozens of pictures and was very focused in his pursuit. Some subjects were photographed 5 or more times; he carefully made each shot progressively closer. Art is subjective, so are interpretations, but I think he reveals a lot about how he sees his surroundings and family.

Interesting...


Max's mom.


William's drawing model.

My mom thinks my last post was sad. She caught me off guard when we spoke, because she was extra concerned and wanted full disclosure about how I'm doing. She was worried, and I was already long past the minor whining I vented in my last blog. Yes, it is frustrating to know that my life is chaos, and that I haven't got the energy to accomplish everything on the to do list, so I gripe and moan a bit. But even when I am complaining, it is with a knowing grin. What do I know? I know I got myself in to this situation and I am happy I could. I know that messes get clean sooner or later, and then they get messy again. I know that in the whole wide world of possible problems, mine are very minor. I know that if I were really super hungry, sick, tired, or lonesome I could call a friend and find help. I know that my mom will always be my mom; it's nice to know that even from far away she stays very close.

Every day I think of all the things I am lagging on. Correspondence, that's a big one. And I also need to send things and anticipate special occasions. The list of neglected people and errands is huge and getting huger.

Today, for example, my mom forwarded a detailed email about family and what's going on, and I really should respond, but I am hungry. So, I go to the kitchen and discover that we are waaaay low on food, so I should go to the market. At the market I will become nauseous, because of too many smells and being hungry. Being nauseous and hungry I will buy a minimum amount of food; perhaps enough to get me through the day. I will return home exhausted from this ordinarily minor excursion. I will be too tired to patiently write a thoughtful email reply, and tomorrow my list of unfinished business will be even more huger, plus we will be low on food.

Do you know what I really want? Tacos. Mmmmm. Who remembers El Norteno, Ensenada? It's a taqueria among fifty, but the only one with a line. All of these little wooden stands sitting on the street, all of them selling hot tacos, and only one place with a crowd. I could inhale about a dozen of their tacos right now: "Salsa aparte, con guacamole, and keep 'em coming."

There's more... Fourth of July, and an anniversary, details about the boys and how they are doing. I could be writing a lot. I could be sharing details, news and tidbits, but I am hungry. Don't give up on me. Keep writing and inquiring. Don't be hurt if I forgot your cat's birthday, or never answered a beautiful letter sent to me on hand made stationary. I love you, and I love hearing from you. And I owe you one...

Whoa! It's been a week since I post anything. Happy birthdays to Bill, Alex and Hans, and my Mom, and soon to Julie and Phil. And Flag Day is behind us, so never mind about that.

I am having hours of clarity, and moments of ambition. I paid bills, and mailed them.

Max, Alex and I just came in from an impromptou picnic. We spread a sheet across the lawn and ate dozens of juicy red plums. We stretched our legs, and tossed tart plum pits in to the hedge, and we enjoyed simple pleasures.

Bill and Alison sent pictures of their bitty kittys, Gracie and George. They look incredibly cute and fun. Mom has been sending tempting pictures from their Oregon garden and seashore; where berries are plentiful and ripening, and flowers are all around. Ruth and Corm are working as hard as ever on their new home. They will move in this summer. I need to call Grandma Nancy, and tell her that we are well...I wish we lived a whole lot closer to one another. I'd like to drop by and visit.

We ran out of shampoo. Completely without suds, and I had the clarity to see the solution and take action. This may, to those unfamiliar with 24 nausea, seem like little reason to get excited. It is perhaps a very small breakthrough, but I feel a subtle rush of pride when I think of how I went to Target and bought shampoo. I felt strong enough to buy maternity bloomers, dental floss, cat food, and two cushions for our outdoor chairs. Trust me, I am not too boastful. I know this isn't one of those inspirational Lance Armstrong kind of stories, but in my own way I have stepped in to the light, and I have crossed a finish line. We will be clean! That is all. I need to lie down now.

Okay. It's Tuesday.

Julie, I found the letter you sent me almost a month ago, and I loved reading it, and I even imagine answering it someday. It's a real letter, in an envelope. It came in the mail.

Debbie, I hear there's a change in plans. Sounds like a lot to figure out. I hope you guys come up with a happy and comfortable plan.

..my mind works this way these days: I have deep thoughts and marvelous ambitions, and my intentions are good too, but action is not forthcoming. I made breakfast and feel triumphant. I showered, and kept my breakfast; another success. In a moment I will force the boys to produce pages of arithmetic, and elaborated sentences, while I sit in a chair by the open door. I cannot account for where the days go, but the minutes are quite lengthy. I think of the people I love, and how I want to visit them, chatting endlessly about anything. I think of how badly I want to replace the carpet in our bedroom, and shift the computer desk and sideboard, so we can make room for Max's big boy bed. It takes a great deal of faith and some surrendering to get through morning sickness. Soon, it will be a Tuesday again, and I'll be feeling better. I may drop by and visit with you.

There's more to the first trimester than throwing up in the parking lot of the gym. There are nap attacks. Suddenly I feel a bit sleepy, and I think to myself, "I'll just set my head down for a minute." Then I wake up from a drooling, snoring, time warp of a deep sleep. It is a kind of sleepiness that defies discipline of mind, or will power. It takes over and commands limbs to succumb to gravity.

Fortunately, the children aren't prone to wandering or starting fires, so when a spontaneous nap comes on I can more or less be assured that they are safe. They play chess or work on writing computer games. They practice drawing, make grilled cheese sandwiches, finish math homework, and read BIONICLE comics.

All their classes are going well, even karate, which is a challenging program. They're good boys, and learning good things. William and Alex and I play "Name the Baby," where we suggest the best of the worst possible choices. Our latest thoughts are Christmas themed, like: Ebeneezer, or (Tiny) Tim. A girl might be named Strawberry Shortcake, or Barbie. So far, Max's only remark about the baby regards his concern that the baby will get in to his stuff. "The baby might get in to my stuff, " he says in a heavy tone. He's right of course.

Speaking of "stuff," Geoff finally found a car for sale that meets his standards. Four wheel drive, and convertible, that seats more than five:

My precious. My Big Mac. Not only did my husband come home, but so did our shiny new iMac, with shiny new key board and honking big screen. It's lovely. Delightful. It's faster and cleaner, and best of all, it won't crash. I don't know whether this falls under the heading of Simple Pleasures, but it is a pleasure. And having Geoff home, it doesn't have to go without saying, that this is an even greater pleasure.

Last night I was propped up in bed and listening to Geoff tell about Laura and Gary's wedding, and while he shared family news I got to use our camera and scroll through all the pictures he took. More pleasure. I enjoyed hearing about Grandma's quilt and the snow that fell on Sunday. He described the good food served at the reception, and Emily's beautiful new baby, and the new baby Gabe and Betsy are expecting. I wish I had been there to hear Sophia at the piano and Kayla playing the flute, and to hear Kristen singing. And in a minute I will download the photos Phil took, as well as the music that Laura and Gary chose to share on a disc...

Not because it's interesting, but because it is at the forefront of my existance: I am throwing up a lot. And I just learned that the laundry room sink can't take what I bring up. I'll spare you the details. Just kidding...I think I should document ALL the details. A very good update came today: The baby is on target for the due date. At our last appointment things were not looking too favorable in terms of the embryo's size, and from past experience we found the news very upsetting. Now everything is looking good, and this gives me some emotional strength.

So, while I'm not in utter barf mode, I will be looking at new photos and dreaming up new iMovies...

iMac update: Apple gave up trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong with our Apple, which turned out to be a Lemon. But the news gets better: I need to go pick up the brand new Mac that they have waiting for us at the store.

Wedding update: Geoff went to Wisconsin solo. I really wish we were all there, but making it come to together was more than I could handle at this time. Hopefully he will take lots of pictures, so I can see what promises to be a beautiful day for Laura and Gary.

Personal update: My vision of being superhuman and immune to morning sickness has been shattered. I am pregnant, but foremost in my thoughts is: How can something the size of a lima bean make me feel like a bloated, beached carcass? 24 hours a day I feel about to revisit whatever I most recently consumed. And yes, I knew it would likely be this way. And yes, apparently, I am a slow learner. Yet, even in the haze of the cycle of fatigue and retching nauseous, I feel a pleasurable giddiness when I think of who's coming for the holidays. I can't believe I spelled nauseous correctly.

In comparison with world events and other catastrophes my Mac problems are barely a * on the radar. But, "Oh woe is we." Anguish and foot stomping rage of futility. Our fourth visit to the Apple Store bore no fruit. Yes, they restored the memory, but the Mac crashed twice while burning a DVD. These are not software issues or coffee spills. And if they've done all they say they have done with the hardware, then we are seriously out of answers. Why is Mac so unreliable and plagued with bad stuff?

On our way home from the mall we dropped by the pond where we've hoped to see ducklings, and yes, we saw ducklings! For as many ducks as live there there were very few babies, only four. They were cute and small and delightful. We saw turtles as well. We were turning the car around when a ranger addressed us, and asked if we were going to park. We were anxious to get home we explained, adding that we had just stopped to peek at the ducklings. Last week there were many more, he shared, and then he said that a sea bird had been coming in and eating the ducklings. With great amusement he described the long legged bird waiting patiently in the rushes then plucking the hapless babies one by one. The predator, he said, liked to dunk them like donuts. He laughed heartily and repeated the donut analogy several times. Somehow this wasn't the spring duckling viewing climax I had anticipated.

I never suspected that there would be an entire epic novel to tell the tale of getting the iMac in working order. Chapter 3: The iMac is back from its second trip to the Apple Store. They sent it home with a third mother board, plus the new hard drive from the first visit. What they failed to replace was our memory, which they had pulled out and replaced with their test memory. Today we get to drive the long haul to Fascist Valley and get our memory installed, and then, finally iMac will return home, whole and able, and eager to serve me.

Mostly this is sympathy whining, because other than missing my dear Mac the burden of its care has fallen on Geoff's shoulders. He is bright and shiny, wonderful and good, and I like him a lot. Great cheers of awe and joy for the man that can make things work. More power, more bells and whistles. He makes my life easier. He makes technology approachable and useful, and fun.

Laura and Gary's wedding day is fast approaching. We have our plane tickets, we've reserved a big rental sedan, and Holly found an Alpine Village cabin for us to share. We will stay by the lake, and make the most of our long weekend in Wisconsin. If we could stay longer we might go up to the North Woods, or plan a cycling tour (this is misleading and implies my physical condition is capable of a cycling tour, but it is a dream of mine.) I feel at ease and happy; thinking of Wisconsin and the family there has this effect on me.

Art class for William and Alex went very well. They like it and ask daily when they go again. It will meet once a week for 10 weeks. They are enrolled in Fundamentals of Drawing. Alex and Max like martial arts. William definitely does not. Tennis is going well for all three boys. Alex and Max start their gym/therapy class this week, which I expect to be a great success. The cats are well. The rabbits are fat. Our yard is full of bold and beautiful blooms. The trees are developing fruit. Our neighbors are friendly. Our lives are full.