Spa Day for Mom

Around 6 pm Philip asked me if I had ever been to an all-day spa. He wanted to know what one cost and I told him about $100 (I could be wrong) but suggested that he could get a mani-pedi for about $40. Ends up our whole bizarre conversation was a prelude to one of the those mother-son moments when you realize that the eight hours spent at the amusement park slowly turning into a giant freckle while paying out the nose for greasy amusement park food made your only boy want to treat you to a spa day for being the best mom in the world. Not a terrible end to a day that started with me chopping off locks of his hair (by request) so that the swim goggles would be easier to put on. I think that Philip is my gift from the Universe for learning patience.

The Virginia Renaissance Faire

Outings that include corsets, ax throwing and a purse full of chain mail bits tend to work well for us. In spite of some initial complaints (all Philip) about the heat, the sun, the "why do we have to do this hot boring thing?" moments... we still managed to enjoy ourselves. Next year we're aiming for Pirate weekend...argghh.

Reine treated herself to a braid called the huntress.



Philip got to throw an ax, something I never allow him to do at home, much to his chagrin.

Emile and I tried on corsets. Note what seems to be missing from the pictures Emile took of me (in fact there was no picture available with my head), what do you suppose that means?



While I was getting cinched in, I had a terrible moment of claustrophobia. I think I was imagining the impossibility of a quick exit if I suddenly felt incapable of breathing. Sips of water and actual breathing helped. It's surprisingly comfortable even if a deep breath isn't possible. I suppose the choice is perfect posture and a tiny waist over full lung capacity.

Establishing a transatlantic World Cup pool has elevated procrastination to a whole new level in this household. At least for the grownups. I accomplish almost nothing from 7 AM to 4 PM daily. In theory this will pass as we move out of the group round because I have tests to take and papers to write and a kid summer schedule of pools and amusement parks that beckons.

Basil, Thyme and Household Clutter

I haven't written in a while, almost a month, because I am perpetually mid project and up to my nostrils in stuff. I'm not quite drowning. If I tiptoe I can breathe but I'm fairly certain that hardcore bailing is now required. I obsessively watch shows on hoarders in a way similar to how watching an exercise video almost feels like exercise. Watching extreme hoarders try to sort out their lives almost feels like sorting through a pile of ancient bills that need to be tossed (and by tossed I mean shredded for all lurking identity thieves).

Chris and I started the morning at the farmer's market and planted new basil, chives and thyme in our herb garden. So today my plan is to keep going--no long internet session, just a short blog entry--the next post will be of something beautiful we accomplished.

Einstein's three rules of work include this, out of clutter find simplicity, that is my new mantra.

Picklese (Pikliz)

I loved pickled vegetables and I love spicy foods. Haitian picklese, essentially a Habanero infused cabbage slaw, fits into this culinary niche perfectly. I honestly put the stuff onto or next to everything I eat. Recipes are easy to find online but I made a few changes to my version that while keeping the flavor essence of Haitian picklese produces a vibrant magenta hue.

Ingredients

6 Scotch Bonnets or Habanero Peppers
2 cups thinly sliced Red Cabbage
1/2 cup thinly sliced Carrots
1/4 cup thinly sliced Red Onions
4 whole Cloves
1 tsp Salt
8 to 10 Peppercorns
3 cups White Vinegar

Quarter the Scotch Bonnets, removing the seeds and stems. Salt the cabbage and let it sit, the cabbage softens and shrinks down considerably. Since I tend to oversalt, I rinse it off before shoving it in the jar. Put all the ingredients in a quart size jar (preferably wide-mouthed) and top with the vinegar. Close it tightly, put it in a refrigerator, and then resist the temptation to eat any for a minimum of one day.

I use a mandolin (not the musical instrument) on the cabbage and onions then switch to julienne for the carrots. It's just a personal preference for a slight textural difference. I'm not sure it matters once everything is pickled but I find knife work soothing which is probably in keeping with my lawful evil quiz results.

In addition, quantities should all end in -ish...for example the batch I'm making has about three cups of cabbage or 2-ish. Pickling in this household is less an exercise in precision and more of a jar-packing, extra vinegar sloshing thing.

That's it, as promised, my pickly process.

Flexitarianism

A lot of people - and by people, I mean participants in reality TV shows - like to give more than 100% of their efforts towards whatever generic goal is set before them. That way failure can be blamed on something other than effort. Perhaps someone else had the advantage of physical fitness, longer arms or a heretofore unknown ability to stack puzzle pieces into the likeness of Lincoln...whatever the case, lack of effort is never a contributing factor.

I'm not sure I've ever given more than 100% to anything. I don't think I even believe in the concept. Three natural births and I'm fairly certain that I have yet to achieve complete, total, effort. Didn't I rest, have moments of inattention, contemplate the ceiling tiles, wonder how long it could possibly take for Chris to park a car? Maybe it's just me. A little bit of over-thinking and every action loses about 10% effort. I over-think a lot.

Key words: Action Plan

If you have a really good action plan, with diagrams and lists, sometimes you run out of time or energy for actual action. My current state of being involves a serious thinking process that culminates in two theoretical project completions - a de-junked garage and a painted/rearranged/cleaned girls' room. (Updates pending but I would not be holding my breath). Not to forget the vegetable garden that needs starting, IKEA furniture to assemble, and all of the regular bits and baubles of scut work that still hold prominent position on the "to-do" list. I would say I'm behind, and that is probably a kind assessment of how far from a hypothetical state of project completion I really am.

Now we add the earnest desire of a 11.5 year old to "be a vegetarian."

Emile has a friend that has gone vegan and we (Chrisabelle plus Emile) have been discussing the odd lack of family support she seems to be getting. We don't really know as all of our information is filtered through the lens of teens, but we're willing to believe that the average American household would have major changes to make in order to accommodate a vegan. In this case, they've opted to let her buy and make her own meals. From the standpoint of a household that cooks regularly from scratch, eats an enormous variety of vegetables, shops organic and local, I have been happily basking in the parental one-upmanship of our "supportive" parenting style which should have been an indicator of a pending karmic stumbling block. Inspired by this very cool girl and an apparently new love of cows, Reine has declared herself a vegetarian.

We eat a lot of greens but we also like this t-shirt http://www.threadless.com/product/490/Meat_is_Murder_Tasty_Tasty_Murder so an earlier attempt by Chris to have 3+ "meatless" days failed. Quantity reduction - absolutely! Total elimination and the omnivore crowd started to grumble. He blames me as the Omnivore Club president but I think he didn't give 117% and anything shy of more than total effort should be considered not trying hard enough. At least, that's my new position on this issue.

So this is where things currently stand. After some research (all mom) we have settled on what I will call Pesco Lacto Ovo Vegetarianism a semi-vegetarianism that includes fruits de mer, dairy, and eggs. Plus there are several key requirements to the PLOV diet:

1 a better acronym
2 enthusiasm for vegetables - in particular the ability to eat something you may not love but doesn't produce a gag reflex either
3 willingness to try everything more than once to "acquire" the taste
4 if regular people should have 5 servings of fruits and vegetables a day a vegetarian should have at least 10
5 a prohibition from telling everyone you meet that you are a vegetarian until you are at the Lacto Ovo stage and no longer technically a flesh eater

So really the flexitarian is me, as I force myself off the high horse of parental superiority and get down to the nitty gritty of helping my baby try something new in a way that is healthy and informed. (Note to self - it is easier to make them do everything themselves). It's hard to struggle against a kid who is asking to add more vegetables to their diet. At least it's hard to struggle without feeling like a hypocrite. Chris will get his meatless days and I will feel like a flexible, supportive parent which is a 100% good thing. Maybe even 110%

Sol Invictus

We have had a week of weather that hearkens more towards the coming summer than what is ordinarily early spring in Virginia. Every plant is spewing pollen coating cars and eyeballs in dust somewhere between lime and chartreuse. Chris says relaxing on the deck is like sitting in the collectivity of tree sex, as they shiver and waft indiscriminately on tree and mammal alike (my paraphrasing). However, as irritating as pollen is, it is only a minor obstacle in my quest for greater nature survival skills - the suburban version. My arch nemesis is the sun.

"The earth has received the embrace of the sun and we shall see the results of that love." so said Sitting Bull, he of the higher levels of melanin than I. With certainty the result of the sun's love will be another moment spent pushing fingers against hot skin and watching the bright white spots fading slowly, while pondering how much higher than SPF 100 there is.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with the sun. I am incapable of productivity without a flooding of natural light. Overcast days send me scurrying to couches with blankets and books and TV remotes. Life in a land of mist and fog would be unhealthy for me...add cold and it would quickly become unbearable. If I had inherited any pigmentation other than the pale, freckled Eastern European skin of my father I would probably spend my summer days basking like a lizard. Unfortunately, I would be better off tattooing "flammable" across my rear and carrying a parasol.

I like heat. I love being barefoot. Generally, summer is my favorite season. A shaded veranda, cold drink, a fan gently stirring muggy air...I can live with that scenario. Tropical. But what I get is a sun so hot and bright that white heat generates temperatures that are described as "104 degrees in the shade." What shade? All these trees in Virginia and it's always high noon. Even slathered in SPF 100 (yes, that's real) I still end the day with new freckles. As I hunker in a tiny patch of gray I'm hit with a one two punch of suburban American motherhood; the water park and the public pool. So while friends may shop for bathing suits that don't leave terrible tan lines, I prepare for my annual battle against the sun. Stockpiles of sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, sheer (perhaps marginally stylish) cover-ups, and repetition of the phrase "because you don't want skin cancer when you're older."

If somehow you see me at the pool, and are not blinded by the reflection of the sun off my pallor, I will be enjoying the heat from the protective cover of my hat, towel and umbrella shaded seat. The other option is to stand bravely in the light "for what is it to die, but to stand in the sun and melt into the wind?" I think Khalil Gibran understood although he too had the ability to tan.

Spider monkeys and the question of homeschooling

"If we value independence, if we are disturbed by the growing conformity of knowledge, of values, of attitudes, which our present system induces, then we may wish to set up conditions of learning which make for uniqueness, for self-direction, and for self-initiated learning."

I know it's another Carl Rogers quote, but as a devotee of the brief and passionate obsession, Carl is my current love...at any rate, homeschooling is a topic of frequent conversations and this particular quote eloquently explains the "why" of it. Not that Carl was an advocate, I think he was more of system fixer, but self-initiated learning is the basis of our homeschool decision.

Essentially I herd cats, or perhaps, spider monkeys. They are bright if mildly under-motivated spider monkeys and we keep them well-supplied with bananas (or actually a species appropriate frugivorous diet). We have an interest-focused homeschool curriculum (curriculum in the very loosest sense of the word) and a general connection to traditional math. Mostly, we read. I'm not always sure how much they are learning, as I am hampered by a lack of comparison. I suppose it's like breastfeeding, it's much easier to gauge the amount your baby eats when formula fed from measured bottles but arguably breast milk is healthier. However, five minutes in the company of any one of them is reassuring. They are expressive. They are imaginative. They are normal kids that whine and fight and play. "Socialization" (a concern most raised by friends) occurs on the soccer pitch or basketball court, in the cul-de-sac, bowling alley, online...everywhere they are.

If anything could be considered abnormal, it is the amount of time we spend as a family. Grocery lists are formulated after everyone puts in their dinner choice for the week. We've had Thanksgiving in February (Phil), breakfast for dinner (Reine), and Chicken Casserole with leeks, fresh baby corn, and new potatoes (Emile). This week's selections include Indian, Mexican and Happy Hour (wings and potato skins)....

Sundays we role play. Old school Dungeons & Dragons with dice and pencil marked character sheets. We love Dorkness Rising because "he who stumbles around in darkness with a stick is blind. But he who...sticks out in darkness...is...fluorescent!" (the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvH4PskPZ4M )

The "grown-ups" in this household know that narwhals are "the Jedi of the sea, they stop Cthulu eating ye," and kids know that running for Congress involves a lot of fund-raising and the oncoming rainy season is not good news for Haitians in make-shift tent cities.

We're raising the fluorescent. While this means that we have a lot of bizarre conversations, and spend a fair amount of time answering nonsensical questions for an audience that has decided to pay attention to something else as we are clearly boring them with our inadequate and overly complicated answer...we highly recommend it.

Zaftig

I live on the scale. I shed a sweater and verify-or at least hope to verify-that it did in fact weigh two pounds (that’s 0.142857 stone for some of you) by immediately re-weighing. While this might seem excessive, in the context of my new cult, Weight Watchers, it is relatively normal.

I woke up a few months ago and realized that my clothes hadn’t really been shrinking for two years. That I had moved from the svelte end of the spectrum to the zaftig side. I kind of like zaftig, and I like to think of myself as succulent and juicy (see definition of zaftig)...pleasantly plump, even Reubenesque, rather than fat but the net result was more than a handful no matter where you grabbed it. I tend to over-think these things, actually, I tend to over-think all things…hence much soul-searching ensued.

The short version of where my soul-searching ended: a happy person eating good food is the size that they’re meant to be. And oddly enough for the first time in my whole life I can stake a claim to happiness, not contentment or satisfaction, but actual happiness. However, despite rationalizations and self-affirmations, after two years of slow but steady weight gain, I have started working my way back down to fightin’ weight.

Why? Because Carl Rogers made sense when he said, “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.”

Since January, I have lost 15 pounds – in other words 10% of my body weight and 50% of my total weight loss goal – and figured out along the way that the caveat to my epiphany is that a happy person can still be happy eating half as much good food and the size you’re meant to be isn’t really that important in the whole grand scheme of things as long as you get cuddles.

Puppy Love

I love puppies. I love the way they smell. I love the way they seem to have too much skin for their little bodies. I love the way they fall asleep in the middle of a wrestle. In fact, there is absolutely nothing I don't love about puppies except cleaning up after them and punishing them. Once in a blue moon (technically true if this site http://www.idialstars.com/aug.htm is correct) I get access to a litter of puppies and I take the kids for a play-date. The process is simple...start with lectures on the tremendous responsibilities and exorbitant expense of puppy ownership, spend a few hours smothered in puppy joy, and then a firm stance on the starting lecture as you drive away puppy-less. It helps to be a hardhearted killjoy otherwise not a recommended field trip as we could have easily returned home with a puppy per kid, making us a 5 human/5 canine household.

Two puppy-paloozas, five years apart, and I get the same pictures.

Emile - 15 with a Beagle

and 11 with a Swissie

Reine- 11 she always watches her
surroundings while
puppies chew on her fingers


6.5 right before she grew 2 feet taller


Philip- 9 having finally
perfected a two-handed hold


5 with enthusiasm and little skill

Introverts should not blog...

Introverts should not blog because it takes too long to figure out what is blog-worthy. Cool but not pretentious. Intimate without being invasive. I can't shake off the feeling that anyone I want to "share" with is already in the know. However, I have these great things I do when I'm supposed to be slogging through my 'to do' list and I have pictures to post, so heaving aside self-consciousness, here is my blog...