Suttle Lake Surprise

When the phone rang early Saturday morning of MLK weekend Mark rolled his eyes. "Can't we ever just sit here and enjoy our coffee, without interruption?", he whined. I ignored him and answered the phone. "We have a yurt reserved for the weekend and we can't use it because we're all sick", Cindy informed me, "we thought who is spontaneous enough to leave at this late notice and actually make use of our yurt and your name came up". I was flattered that I still could be identified as a "do something at the last minute" kind of person. Mark and I thought, "of course we'll go", packed up the van, and picked up the yurt reservation e-mail from Cindy on the way out of town. Perfect we thought...a yurt in the high cascades, in the snow, on a lake. Scenes of tranquil snow shoe/cross country ski adventures completely dominated our thoughts. We stopped along the way for supplies and since we had read that wood and water were available we didn't bother to bring more than one bundle for our non-electric, wood burning stove heated yurt. Upon arrival, the children were soaked to their core, running from van to yurt. Boots were not removed and within 17 seconds the entire floor of the yurt was blanketed in a cozy layer of mud, rain, and melting snow. Boots were removed and children were forced onto beds, couches and tables while a fire was encouraged to begin it's warming march through out frigid shelter. As the fire began to take hold in reality leaving the desires of our thoughts, the floor slowly began to dry. The rain outside was fierce and the wind threatened to break limbs and topple trees onto our canvased structure. Now what? After 2 hours the children had been through every crafty craft, book, and drawing paper. Hope for a ski or snow shoe was lost as the rain roared. The dvd player, usually my nemesis, now became my savior. One movie while "camping"= neglectful parent, Two movies while "camping" =reporting to CPS imminent, Three movies while enjoying the great outdoors=you may never have contact with your children's, children's pets, because you are showing such horrible parenting skills. The stove was so efficient that we were in our underwear by 10. Many beers and hours later (along with children who would not sleep), we settled into bed, sweaty and unable to sleep because of the pounding wind and blowing rain. At two in the morning as our last piece of wood was turned to ash, the true temperature of our experience snuck into the yurt through cracks in the walls and floor. The children began stirring and pjs were then located and everyone was dressed and re-inserted into sleeping bags. Once we woke up (like we ever slept), Mark looked at me and said, "could you please turn on the heat?" and "whose idea was this anyway?" We packed everything up quickly, stuffed cold bagels down the chicks gullets, melted snow for something to drink, and tried to take a walk to the lake. The two to five feet of snow that existed just 14 hours earlier was all but gone. Dog poo from the host's pup littered every square inch of snow barren ground. At the lake, said dog, greeted my 4 year old with raised hackles, and barred teeth. We showed up at Grandma's and Papa's house 4 hours early and chuckled as we drank Napa Valley wine, curled up with a book next to the wood burning stove, while the kids slept off their winter camping experience. What's funny is that one month after, Mark and I are convinced that we should do this trip again, "it'll be much better if we have wood, water, and towels", Mark says-did he forget the noise of the weather, the aggressive crap filled pooch, or the fact that next time we'd have to pay for this wonderful experience? I think it's a good idea...

Suprising Comfort

As I left our busy neighborhood and drove my daughter and classmates out to their country school, the peace of the wide open space began to seep into my soul like water into a dry sponge. I felt this change like a welcome companion as I left the bustling businesses and traffic choked hwy behind. The majestic beauty of Mary's Peak easing out from under the blanket of fog greeted our progress. A bald eagle rose off the valley floor and flew a man's height above our vessel. Quickly approaching the 40mph twist over Muddy Creek's swollen veins, I spied orange orbs presenting themselves in a small patch on the hillside. The dilapidated dwelling to the South looked like a lonely friend in need of some attention. Unknown horses struck the ground and tossed their heads wrapped like dolmas in their blankets at the corner where a horse my children called "Snowball" once begged for apples. Knowledge of their breathe was revealed in small clouds of condensation escaping their nostrils. Turning onto the final stretch a Christmas tree farm sat neatly in rows shadowed by the coast range mountains. The patchwork quilt of fog and trees clearly presented the inescapable intertwining of man and nature. Dropping the children off and returning on this trip back to my home, I already felt as if I were there.

This drive has always been a bit of a welcome homecoming. My grandparents had a dairy in the coast range mountains West of Eugene when I was growing up. The connection to the land I feel along with the education I received through visiting their farm is invaluable. Food is another direct connection to that land that I cultivate by growing a small amount of what we consume. The following recipe is as comforting as the beautiful scenery I experience when I drive carpool and as relatively simple as anything you can make in the kitchen (you can even grow all the veggies here):

The salad:

1 head of broccoli cut into florets
1 cup of fresh peas (or thawed frozen)
1 cup of shredded rotisserie chicken (optional)
4 stalks of cilantro finely chopped

The dressing:

1/2 cup olive oil or canola oil
1/2 cup peanut butter
3 Tbls. brown sugar
3 Tbls. tamari
2 Tbls. lime juice
1 tsp. powder ginger or 2 tsp. fresh grated ginger
1 clove of finely chopped garlic

Arrange salad in a bowl starting with the broccoli. Put all ingredients for dressing in a jar with a tight lid and shake vigorously. Pour dressing over salad and toss, or serve salad and have individuals add their own desired amount.

They're not dead, they're just behind the compost pile

A close friend, whose children are good buds with mine, invited us over for a birthday party. It was an uncharacteristically warm day in mid-November and after cake the kids went outside to play. Their house is at the front of their lot and the backyard slopes downhill away from the dwelling. The sandbox is situated under the apple trees and the play house (another favorite play area) is a few feet away on a concrete slab. The 4 1/2 year old children played while the moms cleaned up, looked at the garden, and visited on benches in the yard. When it was nap time for the two year old siblings, the mommies went inside to tuck the toddlers in. My close friend's husband who had been playing with the older kids followed us in to get ready to go back to work. After laying the wee ones down we began gabbing and suddenly realized that our older kids were still outside unsupervised. We went outside calling to them, which we had done many times, usually eliciting a response, and only heard eerie silence. As we called several more times, pausing to hear the munchkin voices respond, being left instead in silence, we began to worry. "What little stinkers, they're probably hiding", my friend hopefully interjected. We opened every cupboard, closet, and checked under each bed. No kids. I went upstairs and out to the street looking in bushes and peering through the underbrush of the deserted lot down the street. The other child's father ran up and down the street yelling for his son. At this point, trying to remain calm and collected, I asked my friend to call the police. She dialed the number and gave them the required information while I began to cry. Hiding my tears and trying to smooth the waver in my voice, every time I yelled, I continued searching for my sweet darling daughter. After scouring every shrub, every shadowed hiding place, for what seemed like an eternity, I stopped and stood in the street feeling the hysteria creep from the edges of my body, centering in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I might be sick thinking about what my father (who used to be a police officer) had planted in my mind. "If you are taken, you have almost no chance of surviving," he had reiterated again and again. "You must fight with everything you have, never get in the car, and run (because your chance of getting taken is much less than the certainty that you will die if you leave the scene of an attempted abduction)." What chance did a 4 year old have to survive in the case of an abduction. So helpless, so innocent...the scenarios played out in my head like a sick horror film. My thoughts went to a happier thought that we lived in Corvallis. A town of 50,000. Was something so awful as two 4 year old babies abducted by a pedophile or kidnapper in Corvallis likely to happen? NO!, not likely...Probably not likely. So where were they. Then my mind went to Brooke. 19. Sweet. Knowledgeable. Full of hope. I had known Brooke as a young girl and as the case of her disappearance had unfolded, the shocking nature of the crime had rocked me, unsettling beliefs of justice and familial/community protection. I couldn't think of what to do to find or save my daughter. Feeling the desire to take action I began knocking on neighbors doors. At the moment I knocked on a neighbor's door, I heard my friend say, "kids are you there?" She looked at me and said, "I think I hear one of them,". I ran into the yard and began yelling frantically. I then saw two faces appear from behind the compost bin. "We found a good hiding spot," my daughter said. "I'm glad you found us because it was getting stinky back there," my friend's son said. I was so relieved I couldn't stop the waterfall of tears that cascaded down my face. I grabbed my daughter and hugged the breath out of her, sobbing into her lavender scented hair. Breathing in her wonderful aroma I suddenly felt angry and didn't know whether to spank her or continue smothering her.

After tucking in the two older kids with books, cozy blankets, and special snugglies, my friend and I debriefed. Humorously she told me how when she had described what the kids were wearing. She first described her sons outfit as a red and white striped shirt, jeans, and boots. When they asked what the other child was wearing she said, "exactly the same thing." We had inadvertently dressed them in the same outfit.

Did you really want to see my hoo haa?

I was at a restaurant recently with my kids (minus Hailey) after visiting Grandma Rosie. We ordered food and of course some specialty coffee and enjoyed a lovely lunch, just us girls. Upon Claire's request of "BAA BAA" (potty), I hurried to the restroom, throwing away and recycling what was left of our lunch as quickly as possible and dragging the girls to the restroom. I placed Claire on the potty first, then Anna, and then I thought I would go as it was a long drive back to Corvallis. As I sat down I did one of those martial arts moves blocking Claire's every grab at the sanitary napkin disposal, garbage can (as it was in reach of the toilet), and toilet paper dispenser. I felt like a toilet ninja keeping one block ahead of my 20 month old. As I began to relieve myself I realized there was one area I could not block from my ever curious toddler and that was the door. It had a lever handle that could be released with one ill placed hand of a mischievous toddler. As I watched in horror, she popped the lock and opened the door onto a dining full of curious onlookers. As I didn't want to stand up and flash my hoo haa to many surprised observers, I reached out with every ounce of will I could muster and snagged Claire's coat and screaming in the high pitched tones only children can hear and no one else can decipher I shrieked, "Anna shut the door, shut the door". I'm sure only the dead, zombies, and frightened children could understand the words at the pitch that was being reached by their mother. My older daughter obliged and I continued with my business until I had finished and wondered how I was going to face the 12 tables of people that just got a glimpse into my most private of affairs. After washing all of the involved hands, I exited the bathroom staring at the floor. Weaving through tables hurriedly toward the door hearing patrons say things like "aren't kids great", and chuckling, I couldn't imagine a place I would rather not be.

wal...NUTS!!!
I recently went to a neighborhood potluck. Fun right. Actually it was. Nice people, good food, stimulating conversation. It was a potluck and I brought a salad that was on the menu at "Sweetpeas". It required candied walnuts, which I candied in my cast iron skillet, which was on my stove top...as usual. It was delicious with Amish blue cheese, D'anjou pears (thinly sliced), the aforementioned walnuts all on a bed of spinach, with a swirling of poppy seed vinaigrette. My kids enjoyed it as well as the participants of the potluck. When I returned home, my husband smiled a sweet loving smile and asked a very simple question. "Did you make that salad with candied walnuts from the restaurant?" I answered, "Yes." He then asked, "what pan did you use?" I stated that I had used my cast iron skillet. He said, "funny thing! Yesterday I cooked bacon in that pan and I let the dog lick out the bacon grease and then put it back up on the stove." Really, someone really thought it might be a good idea to let a dog clean a pan with her tongue and then put said pan on the stove top? Oh, husband I love thee...

potty training or "not pt"

So after Claire's 6 foot fall from the top bunk onto her back knocking the wind out of her tiny lungs and scaring me to death, splitting her head open and having it glued back together after a fall off the train table, and eating a poisonous flower, which required a call to poison control, I decided toilet training was in the cards...while Claire masterminded plans of her own. She has been telling me every time she poos and pees and makes contorted purplish facial expressions with each evacuation, which with my other two children was the determining factor in their potty training, so I decided the time was nigh. Claire, however is her own creature. Although she has "gone" on the potty, all outcomes have been by accident or with heavy bribing. This child has also discovered the "inform mommy that I need to go potty (to get attention) and for the excitement of the mad dash down the hall while I giggle all the way" power. I toilet train by allowing the children to be naked to discover by seeing and feeling where their excrement comes from and subsequently leaves from. So for our family, while running around, getting ready for our spring break trip, shopping, family dinner, etc. I've needed to be creative. Using a mixture of cloth diapers, underwear, and plastic pants, while we're out, I've come up with a fairly workable alternative to being naked all the time for the first 4 days to one week. Mix that with 15 to 20 minute forced (or suggested) potty breaks and wah...lah...you have a fairly uneventful potty training experience. It seemed to all make sense to me but not to my youngest dear, sweet babe.

Yesterday we needed to go to TJ's to get some snacks for our trip. I put some underwear on Claire with some plastic pants over the top. Upon arrival we immediately made a stop by the potty to make sure we (Claire and I) knew that there was an available potty. Well that was my first mistake. Claire instantly started the wheels turning, trying to figure out how she could use this new found knowledge to her benefit. As soon as I had her buckled into the shopping cart. She looked at me, smiled knowingly and said "BA, BA", which means "potty". I left my cart, Hailey and Anna, and my train of thought and rushed her to the potty. As soon as her little chubby buns hit that cold toilet seat she put her hands above her head, twisting her wrists frantically, which means all done. After pulling up her pants, all the while deflecting little fat fingers from grabbing the trash receptacle, toilet seat, and sanitary napkin depository with lightning speed and washing her hands, I whisked her back to the cart. Buckling her once again and trying to remember why I had left the cart next to the maple syrup, I started to get into my groove of shopping for vacation. I put two items in the cart walked a total of 10 feet when Claire, grinning angelically, looked up at me and said with lips poised, "BA, BA". I again frantically unbuckled her, rushed to the potty, and left my other two children standing wide eyed in the aisle wondering how their baby sister had just gotten away with something they could so easily see through. I again crouched down, pulled her pants to her ankles, and popped her onto the seat. This time I decided to distract her with some songs, finger plays, and body part identification. I said, "where are mommy's eyes"? Claire obliged my request by poking me in the eye. Then I said, "where is mommy's nose"? An inquisitive look furrowed her brow and the corner of her mouth twisted up mischievously. She drew her arm back and slapped me across the face. I was so shocked that I couldn't help but laugh (which I'm sure helped the cause). She then leaned forward and buried her head in my shoulder, sucking her thumb, as if to apologize. After repeating this scenario about 13 more times (minus the slap) throughout the next 20 minutes (and subsequently forgetting 1/2 of my shopping list) I checked out and loaded children and groceries into the car. As soon as all children were buckled in Claire said "BA, BA". I should have said "wait until we get home", but to a 19 month old? So I unloaded all the kids took them into the bathroom and put Claire on the potty. She dripped a few drops and then signed "all done". Hailey then informed me that she needed to use the facilities for a rather lengthy endeavor. I was perturbed, but obliged the request to turn and face the wall picking up and holding Claire. As I stood there staring at the wall and contemplating the bathroom paint color I felt warm all of a sudden and realized that as I held my youngest baby in my arms the warm feeling became wet (Claire's underwear/plastic pants combo didn't quite work). Since instead of paper towels TJ's has eco-friendly hand dryers I searched the cabinet for something to clean up the pee on the floor and off my Danskos. I made a mitt of toilet paper, mopped the floor, walked to the car with wet pants (Claire and I), and changed the baby. I drove home with wet pants, walked into the house with arms loaded with groceries and a pant-less baby, thinking of the moment I could change and be comfortable. The phone rang as I entered the house and it was my glorious husband calling for me to come and get him. As I loaded the car with the kids to go retrieve my husband (his bike had broken earlier that day and so he was stranded) the kids giggling and cheering to see daddy, I thought...I wouldn't trade this life....and after we picked Mark up Claire went wee, wee, wee all the way home.

Be careful where you leave your bag of puke ...or how to fling poop on your Mother in Law's ceiling

So first the poo...Our family decided to visit and stay a night with my husband's father and step mother on the way home from our New Year's festivities. Upon arrival we enjoyed some libation, and began to feel fairly at ease. My step-mother-in-law told me that she had printed some Can cans for me and they were on the counter. For a moment I was perplexed wondering how a "can can" could be on a counter when it was something you do as part of a dance routine. I then realized she was actually referring to a "ken ken", which is a math game similar to Soduko. Wanting to impart all of my dancing knowledge I informed her that she was mistaken and that this was actually a "can can", at which point I started kicking my legs high into the air while at the same time "singing" daah daah dut dut dut dut daah daah, dut, dut, dut, dut, daah daah...). As one of my elegant kicks reached it's pinnacle, a noticed a bit of debris shoot off the end of my perfectly pointed toe and adhere to the vaulted ceiling. Upon closer scrutiny, while squinting my eyes at a point above my head, I tried to identify the origin and type of matter that had been flung from my flawless foot. I then glanced down at the floor and noticed a small mound of brownish turds. I was just the tiniest bit, HORRIFIED. We assumed it to be cat feces, seeing that there were 3 of the little monsters in the house, but, alas, as it turned out, all of the incident fell upon our (my) shoulders. You see our youngest pint size cherub had crapped herself and most of the aforementioned doo-doo had shot out the side of her diaper, cascaded down her leg, and had been spread quite methodically it seems around the interior of my in-laws home. So if anyone should ever need someone to write an instruction manual on "How to adhere shit to your stepmother-in-laws ceiling", I'm the woman for the job.

The second incident goes a lil sumpin like dis: (1st equation) Road from Waldport to Philomath= Hailey car sick...we took the road from Waldport to Philomath on the way home from the coast because we were headed to a birthday party outside of Alsea. Just as we finished the last set of corners Hailey says, "mom I can't wait, I'm going to puke". Mark found the first place he could to pull over, while in the meantime I handed Hailey a paper bag to barf in (2nd equation) Paper bag+vomit=gigantic stinky mess. Hailey began spewing at the exact moment Mark pulled over and as she finished up we began to wonder what to do with our little package of stomach excrement. Having no plastic bags (later I realized we did) our thought processes became frenzied as the life of the bag was nearing it's end (this is one of those situations where marital bliss turns into marital screeching). Not wanting to litter but having no immediate plethora of options we left the bag near some mailboxes and in a rainbow of gravel fled feeling as though we had gotten away with some hugely evil crime. As we drove on, chuckling maniacally I realized I couldn't remember where my friends lived. As soon as we were within range of a tower and I had coverage, I called them and asked for directions. They told us the name of the road and as I spoke it out loud, Mark started making some very odd animal choking noises. As I hung up the phone, Mark informed me that much to our chagrin we would be returning to our very distasteful and smelly crime scene. So next time you invite us to a party beware...we may leave a very lovely housewarming gift under your mailbox.