Giddy

When I was 20 years old, I bought my first brand new car. I did a lot of research on it, I took my time, I felt so grown up. I even bargained with the dealer and got money knocked off the price, which in turn landed me an offer for a date from the (much) older man who sold me said car. Which in turn made my skin crawl. But that's a different story.

http://static.cargurus.com/images/site/2009/01/09/20/22/1996_geo_metro_2_dr_lsi_hatchback-pic-168.jpeg

I was SO very excited when I went to the dealership to pick up my 1996 five-speed, purple-blue Geo Metro.

And yet, that excitement pales in comparison to what I was feeling today, as I mentally tracked the UPS truck that was carrying my first brand new sewing machine to my front door. Chris even graciously ran home from his studio close to delivery time so I would not have to wait an extra day should the man in brown and gold show up to an empty house, leaving his taunting little slip of paper stuck to my front door.

Both UPS and Chris sent me a message when the delivery was complete, when the machine was sitting in my living room, waiting for me. It was 2:15. I was teaching. We were discussing the future tense and my pocket gently vibrated with glorious news (via Android). I forgot what I was saying...

Oh, dear Singer and Viking, I loved you so. You were everything you could be for me, but it just wasn't enough. Welcome, Janome DC 2011. I love you even though you're pink. I love you even though I haven't even plugged you in or sewn a single stitch. I love your zig and your zag, your stretch stitch and your automatic button holer. And I love the other 47 stitches I don't even recognize yet.



Janome, you may not be the fanciest machine out there, but you were worth every average penny I spent. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Spring

Someone told us it was Spring. We really want to believe it. We tore the plastic off the windows. We rescued the paper snowflakes we had taped there, trapped in their plastic jail for the last 4 months. We took them down, tossed them aside. Decided it was time to be hopeful, to convince ourselves that the worst was over, the days were in fact getting longer, sunnier, more beautiful.

And they were. They are. There are tulips and irises growing in our yard. The buds are on the trees. The robins are out. We cleaned out our backyard, rid the garden of last fall's decay, we walked to the park.

And we froze. The sun may be out but it is damn cold still.

So we had to do something to cheer us, lift our spirits, lighten our sensibilities.

The plastic comes down...

The coloring begins...

hard at work...

This Moment

A moment from our week; a moment I want to remember. No words necessary. Happy Friday!

Evidence

Sneaking

I have been on Spring Break this week and the girls have not. Three times in the last seven days, between the hours of 8 and 3, I have been alone in my home. I had a lot of things on my mental list, a lot of things I wanted to do. I managed to trace a lot of those pesky Japanese sewing patterns during my free hours, although I did it with very little grace, cursing under my breath, wondering why in the world I majored in Spanish and not Japanese. Is it too late?

Aside from a few trips to places I had been meaning for months to visit (Fishman's Fabrics, Textile outlet warehouse, Salvation Army), I mostly just puttered around my house. Cleaning. When the kids were away, I cleaned and sewed. When the kids were around, well, I cleaned and sewed then, too. I took this Spring Vacation opportunity to check out of many of my mothering duties, including the entertaining of my children.

Therefore....Bela and Mae spent a lot of time wandering around the house looking for things to do. Mae easily entertains herself, still. Bela, however, seems to have a harder time. She's in a weird Kindergartner phase where she no longer plays in the same way as she used to. She's ready for more elaborate games, tasks that require more skill. She's in limbo, recreationally speaking, so she mutters the expression "I'm bored" with irritating frequency. My argument was that it was good to feel bored. It made her more creative with her time. She didn't agree.

In their absence during school hours, or late at night when they were sleeping, I repeated my daily ritual of tidying up the house. When you spend a week ignoring your kids, you kind of lose track of what they're playing with, of what they're occupying their time with. As I was tidying, however, I found ample evidence.

Barbie

teapot, pharaoh, valentines

There is something so charming about stumbling upon the aftermath of a good play session, after the children have left. I try to imagine what adventures the Camel and the Pharaoh lived through, what Barbie was subjected to, what Pinkie Pie and her friend Big Zebra have been plotting.

Piggy bank, Camel, hemp necklace string

The imagination they bring to these little scenes - so carefully arranged and so delicately played with--it's as though it lingers just a little bit longer than the girls do. Do you know what I'm saying? They leave little pieces of themselves behind in their well-arranged valentines cards, their small glass jars filled with pennies and chapstick, their baby bunnies tucked in their beds. I feel like I'm imposing, as though I've walked through the front doors of someone else's home and interrupted a private scene. Eavesdropping.

Maybe I've had enough time off work, but something about finding these little vignettes in my home today while my girls were away, it felt a teeny bit magical.






Good night.

My own evidence

Homebodies

Bela is so torn. She loves school so much, loves the routine, loves the food they make there, loves the play time with friends. Today she got to bring her fanciest dress-up dress to school because they are having a very ceremonious tea party in her classroom, complete with real tea and fancy hats and costumes of all sorts. At school she's the big kid, the kindergartner in a sea of pre-schoolers. She rules like the 6-year-old queen that she is.

And yet, because she is such a homebody, she is plagued with jealousy. Twice a week - Tuesdays and Thursdays, to be exact - we all wake up, eat breakfast, and get ready for our day as usual. We all climb into the car and head south to Pilsen, as usual. But Bela is the only one who exits the car on those days, the only one to go. Her two divided selves play out a hilarious scene in the car, her body physically anxious to hop out and run to her friends. Her mind stuck, ruminating, imagining Mae playing with all of her 6-year-old toys, at home, alone, with Mom. She leaves the car with a couple of stomps, a few sad looks, and then her schoolgirl self takes over and she dashes off.

The funniest part of all of this is that I am 100% certain that she does not think of us at all during the day. But this scene, this hilariously jealous and torn behavior, it replays itself all over again at 1:00 when Mae and I return to pick her up.

What she doesn't realize is that almost the entire time she is away at school, Mae is wondering what Bela is doing. Today, although she'd never admit it because she's too young to really understand it let alone label it, Mae was a bit jealous of Bela's tea party plans. She sat down with me at the kitchen table and held a sweet little party for our Sweet Tears *, complete with tea and waffles and cookies. (I'd like to pretend that I was fully engaged in this party, but I was grading Spanish exams on the other side of the table).

I have to admit that I do enjoy these days alone with Mae, as I enjoy any time I get alone with either of my girls. With the hustle and bustle of life with a job and two kids, it is easy to take their youth, this precious time, for granted. I spend way more time just getting them from A to B, focusing on getting things done, on feeling frustrated, on how they make things difficult... On Tuesdays and Thursdays and any other day I'm alone with one or the other, I usually get overwhelmed by my love for these goofy girls. Like today.

*Sweet Tears is an old baby doll of mine. We pulled her out of a box recently, and the girls love her almost as much as I did.

Sweet Tears. Madame Alexander doll, circa 1983 (?)

This moment

A moment from our week; A moment to capture and remember. No words necessary. Happy Friday!!!!!!

Her wisdom

Bela approached me yesterday with (crocodile) tears in her eyes. I think she was in trouble, and, as she is wont to do, she appealed to me with some complaint of her own, to detract attention from her misdeed.

"Mom, it's hard being the big girl" (sniff sniff, wipe away tears)

"I know, Bela. Growing up can feel hard sometimes."

"Everybody needs me to do things for them."

"Yes Bela. I can only imagine what that must feel like" (voice heavy with sarcasm)

Every day I have to help Mae clean up, and every night I have to close up her pillow pet for her. At school, I have to help L build the fort, and everyone is always saying 'Bela can you do this, Bela can you do that."

I couldn't help but chuckle to envision my eldest helping my youngest "close up her pillow pet" and what a hassle that must be for her. I'm chuckling now.

But sometimes, being the big girl has its benefits as well. Lately, Bela has become the dispenser of childhood wisdom in this house. At least she is for Mae. Her vocabulary is littered of late with expressions such as "don't worry, silly", "when I was young", and "of course." 

Tonight, minutes before they both fell asleep, Mae started crying. It so happens that she has entered that phase where she realizes that eventually, one day, hopefully in the distant future, we will all die. She is struggling with this, and she sought some sage advice from the first born. I stood outside their door furiously jotting notes for this entry, trying not to laugh. Trying not to cry.

Mae: I don't want to die, Bela. I won't be able to smell my blankie when I'm dead. Or eat. Or drink water. Or make my animals talk to each other. And we won't be able to go back to our house.

Bela: Sure we can go back to our house, but other people will be living there.

Mae: When we're dead we turn into dirt.

Bela: I know, but you can still walk and talk and move around.

Mae: But dirt can't walk.

Bela: But we're not dirt, silly. We're people. And we'll live underground and then we'll turn into trees.

Mae, after some pause: Will we come back to life?

Bela: Pause. Pause. Pause. No. 

Mae: We'll be dead forever?

Bela: Yes. But don't worry. I used to be scared when I was young too. 

Mae, long pause: Are all the people dying?

Bela: Of course. All people die, and new people fill the Earth.

Admittedly, some of this is my fault. The last time we visited the tree where we buried some of Brian's ashes, I may have disturbed them slightly by expressing my hopes that he somehow became part of that tree as it grew. Or maybe they have just been listening to too much NPR.

But watching that girl of mine grow and dispense sisterly counsel makes me such a proud mama, and maybe a teeny bit sad. 

The Plan

Money is a funny thing. It's like calories, in a way. You think you have a pretty good idea of how much food you eat in a day, or rather how much money you spend, and you can go years without really examining the situation.

Tracking expenses and counting calories: they both sound like cruel and particularly grueling and tedious tasks, I'll admit. And honestly I can't imagine a scenario that would lead me to count the number of calories in my morning toast, my afternoon sandwich, my café americano with milk.  But lately, Chris and I have been paying an inordinate amount of attention to tracking our expenses over the last four months.

Now I do believe that in polite society we do not talk specific numbers when it comes to income and expenses. Period. But I will share with you some general findings that were - gulp - shocking.

How much does it take to supply groceries during a thirty day period for a family of four? I thought I had a pretty good idea. I settled on a number when creating our new budget. And then I back-tracked to see how much money I had handed over to the folks at Whole Foods. It wasn't what I thought. It wasn't even in the ballpark.

Take out sushi? Eek! Cash withdrawals? Appalling. Yarn purchases? I can't even look my husband in the face.

I have been following a blog called Simple Mom whose main goal is to help families simplify their lives, especially financially. The woman who writes the blog suggests that, as a family, you decide what your priority is. What is it that's most important to you and your lifestyle?

We settled on leading active lives and traveling and exploring.  After that, we each opened personal accounts that are separate from our main joint one, and we divert a specified amount of money every month to those to fund our running shoe purchases, gym memberships, yarn, fabric, fishing lures.

The next thing we did was to open several savings accounts to build our personal funding for camping trips, road trips, beach trips, as well as emergencies with the car and our health. We plotted out a budget in which we reduce our expenses by leaps and bounds and add to our already growing savings, albeit more modestly.

This grueling, cruel and tedious task has actually revolutionized my concept of money, and my concept of need. I already considered my family to be quite conservative in terms of money. But now we are getting downright frugal. And you know what? It's so much fun. Chris and I have turned this into a game. Ok, a competition. We figure we have saved hundreds of dollars already this month by simply prioritizing.

Today at the grocery store I walked the aisles with my phone's calculator app discretely open. Almonds? $6. 1/2 gallon of milk? $3.39. Broccoli? Ok, I'm embarrassed to say. But when I got to the cashier and my bill came out to $10 less than what I had budgeted for the week, I did my little happy dance and immediately sent Chris a text.

His response? "Yay! Extra wine money!"

This moment

A moment from our week I want to remember. No words necessary. Happy Friday!

The Slow Down

New Years 2005

At the end of most days, after the kids go to bed, when I'm sitting down with Chris, I realize that I have just spent the last 14 hours in a constant state of hurry. Most days go something like this:

Wake up at 6:00 in my bed to find that not only Bela and Mae have snuck in there with us, but the cats too.  Hit the snooze button, in slow motion, approximately 6 times. 35 minutes later, move slowly out of bed, one leg at a time. Hobble around the room to find slippers, sweatshirt. Look at the lumps in the bed...and it's as though a bell rings and the race begins.

Make breakfast. Get everyone dressed. Pack lunches. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Pack bags. Drive girls to school. Drive to work. Tutor. Teach. Hold office hours. Teach. Pick kids up. Drive kids home. Make dinner. Clean up dinner. Bathe girls. Read books. Sing songs. Say goodnight. Collapse on couch. Knit. Climb, slowly, one leg at a time, back into bed. 

Once in awhile, when the stars are aligned and the forces of the universe are working on our behalf (or, alternately, we simply call up my mother-in-law, Paula), we find ourselves alone, in our home, for a few days in a row. Last weekend was one of those times.

On Friday, after a week of constant running, I picked the girls up at school, headed the car south on I-57, and didn't look back for another 2.5 hours. I walked in the back door of Paula's house at approximately 6:00 pm. By 6:10, I was walking back out, headed to Chicago, sans kids. When I walked in my own front door Chris was waiting for me with a bottle of wine, bacon on the stove, and a couple containers of ice cream. We did a little happy dance and just like that.....time slowed down.

We enjoyed a weekend of cereal for lunch, bacon for dinner, and breakfast out two days in a row. We slept in, stayed up late, rented movies. And that list? That mental list we file away that's filled with all the things we are certain we would accomplish if there were no kids around? Not one thing done.

We are completely incapable of managing our time. Over the course of the last 6 years we have become so completely accustomed to making it through our day one request at a time. We don't make plans. The only things that tend to get done are the ones our kids ask us to do. Having the kids gone for a weekend is like living through an episode of The Twilight Zone in which every minute lasts an hour.

Chris drove down Sunday afternoon to get the girls and I stayed behind to begin a 7 hour grading spree (it's midterm time at UIC). He dropped them off at home and went off to work through the night. When I was putting Mae to bed she looked at me and asked:

--Where were you when we were at Grandma's?
--We were at home, babe.
--You mean you were here all the time?


I could see her confusion. Why on earth would we need to go away if they were here, manning the homestead? I kissed my beautiful girls on the forehead, said goodnight, and left their room. In my heart I was doing that little happy dance. It was a good weekend.

I know these photos don't really go with the post, but see that look on our faces? Happy dance. 

This moment

A moment from our week; a moment I want to remember. No words necessary. Happy Friday!

Imagine

So, it seems I've been a bit of a broken record around the house lately. A few weeks back, Bela and I were talking. I must have said something dreary, like Winter is killing me. I long for Spring. Which sparked a conversation.

What is it you love about each season? I asked. We spoke mostly of Spring puddles, Summer swimming, Autumn camping, Winter sledding. But we also reminisced about all our trips to the Midwest fruit belt. Oh Michigan we do love you so in Summer.

Strawberries - we do love shortcake, freezer jam, and tarts. And these big juicy berries are delicious frozen, eaten in the dead of Winter, but the picking is a bit hairy. You have to stoop over, squat, scoot along, and the day we choose to pick Strawberries usually happens to be the first scorcher of the summer.

Blueberries are a bit higher off the ground, and delicious to snack on while picking, but they are tiny. Do you have any idea how many blueberries it takes to fill one small pail? Do you have any idea how quickly and how many my youngest can consume while we're picking? It's a brutal task.

Now blackberries are Bela's favorite. So big. So sweet/tart. Stain your hands. Bushes are high. And blackberry time coincides with early fall raspberry picking as well, although the latter tend to be small and crumbly and good only for jam.

When Bela asked me what my favorite was, though, I said peaches. There's nothing sweeter to me, and it takes four times as long to drive out to the orchards as it does to fill numerous buckets. It's fast and clean, and they are fun to can and freeze, as well as to eat out of hand.

You can imagine my delight when Bela drew me this picture of a peach orchard, with instructions to "Imagine".  

This is for you, Mom. Think about peaches. It will make you happier in Winter.