My Little Gourmet

Although we cleared our pipes last week, our plumbing issue turned out to be a bigger problem. So this morning Harrison watched in awe as the plumbers worked in the garage. He asked what they were doing, so I gave him a brief lesson in plumbing, which ended in:
"We have a leak in our pipes."
To which he replied:
"We have onions in our pipes?"
"Huh?" Pause.

Then I laughed hysterically, realizing what he was talking about. We had leek soup last night.

The End of the Nap

It's official: my 20-month-old angel has stopped napping.

Having gone through the process of nap cessation once before, I fully expected to have another six months to prepare for it. And by prepare, I mean arrange for her to be with someone else during the time she'd normally be napping. Perhaps I could get a job digging ditches or something otherwise more relaxing than entertaining a toddler when she shouldn't be awake.

Anyone with small children knows exactly what I'm talking about when I say naptime is sacred. When God made Sunday the day of rest, it was an afterthought to making naptime the daily moment of cherished tranquility. Without it, humankind would surely exhaust itself to death, and all his work would be for naught.

Over the past five months or so Gigi maybe took one day off a week from napping. Robin always knew when that was by my subtle screams and threats to leave the family. It was not pretty. I could easily have become addicted to some delicious mood-altering drug, had I a therapist. Lucky for me, there were six other days in the week to recover.

I know that sometimes when babies and toddlers learn a new trick, their sleep habits are disrupted. (For instance when Harrison learned to fall out of his crib, it would wake him up completely.) Gigi has been learning at least two new words every day since she stopped napping. However, since there are over 171,476 words in the Oxford English Dictionary, at what point will she be satisfied to start napping again?

You may be wondering how I could possibly be writing coherent sentences seeing how traumatized I was by merely one napless day per week. Well, coinciding with staying awake all day, she has agreed to spend some of that time watching TV. (If you're one of those parents who pooh-poohs children under two watching TV, read no further.) All I can say is whoever invented Elmo is a fucking genius. I remain sane, Gigi gets some downtime, Robin keeps the mother of his children from running away.

I think something a parent never accepts is how unpredictable your child can be. You really want them to be predictable, and you wish upon every star for it, but it rarely happens. The only thing certain is that tomorrow they'll try something new. And the only thing worth wishing is that they'll survive doing it. I at least hope her crush on Elmo lasts longer than the time it takes Netflix to deliver the next distraction.

Cafe Presse

Going to lunch alone with my mom is a rare occasion (and may possibly have never occurred), so when I read about Cafe Presse last week, I decided it was the place I'd take her for a quiet meal while Gigi hung out with Robin's parents.

Really the only reason I was bent on going was their "menu of casual Parisian cafe classics." With a grilled sardine baguette sandwich on their menu, I figured they knew what they were doing (or had better).

When we got there I parked right in front of the cafe. I meant to ask whether or not I was allowed to park there, but forgot once we were inside (I didn't have a ticket when we left, but the meter maid was three cars away, so I couldn't say for sure if my parking was legit).

We dined in the cafe's front room, which despite its smallish footprint, felt spacious due to the high ceilings and natural light. The sparse, hip decor added to the openness with simplicity. I didn't know there was a back room (see photo) until I came home to write this.

It was 11am, so we were the first ones for lunch. I chose a table midway across the single row of tables lined up against the wall. My mom picked up a Seattle Weekly and a Figaro newspaper before sitting down.

One of the six beautiful people on the floor brought us menus and cool tap water in a clear wine bottle, no ice. Very French except for the fact that in France you'd have to beg for it and get it half an hour later.

We shared a spicy tomato soup with slices of goat cheese, then my mom had the grilled sardine baguette and I had a Croque Madame, which is a Croque Monsieur with a fried egg on top. Satisfyingly crispy in just the right places and Bechamel-gooey in all the others. Delicious! With two cups of coffee our bill came to under $25, plus tip for very pleasant service.

Over the hour we were there the rest of the place (the front room at least) filled up easily. Two men sitting next to us were French, judging by the way they spoke the language - rapidly and peppered with slang. They ordered beer and seemed to be waiting for a soccer match to start (the TV only plays foreign sports I think).

I will surely take Robin there to enjoy a carafe of wine and Steak Frites, one of his favorite dishes. I may be craving another Croque by then too.

Vacay at Molbaks

As I mentioned in my previous post, Robin spent much of the weekend working in the garage. And though my mom is visiting and helping with the kids, my two darlings still managed to overwhelm me.

Every weekend must begin with a minute-by-minute agenda, preferably planned on the Friday evening before. If there is not a plan in place, by 11am everyone (except Robin, curiously) is clawing at the walls, leaving bloody nail fragments wedged into the paint, like the scene in Silence of the Lambs when the girl in the pit realizes how desperately others like her had tried to escape. This is what happened Sunday morning.

At around 11:30am, I hastily and begrudgingly dressed the kids and headed to the park. Five minutes into swinging, it started to rain. Already in a pissy mood, I had no desire to be pissed on further. Back in the car, the kids fussed and I decided the only safe place for them at this point was strapped into their seats on a drive long enough to conk them out.

I'd been wanting to use my Molbaks coupon for a few weeks to refresh my sad-looking deck pots and garden bed, so off to the Eastside we went. If they didn't fall asleep in the car, at least they might be distracted by the fountains while I raced for the annuals like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep.

G & H simultaneously fell asleep halfway across 520. Like a junkie, I felt an all-consuming injection of relief. I was a different person now, in control of my emotions. (Oh, did I mention Gigi stopped taking naps last week? Me thinks that's a factor in my mood?) When we parked at Molbaks I left the kids in the car with my mom while I shopped.

Molbaks is one of my favorite places on earth, but in those twenty minutes, it was possibly my favorite place EVER. The freshness of outdoor trees, the coziness of indoor plants, the serenity of quiet flowers. I kept thinking about the dreamy-eyed speech Andie MacDowell's horticulturist character made in Green Card when she was interviewing with landlords to get an apartment with a greenhouse. It all made me wish I liked gardening more.

By the time I paid for my pansies I was rejuvenated. I didn't even mind getting soaked on the way back to the car. It's amazing what a few quiet moments can do for a mother. It did take me three days to plant the damn flowers, but no matter, it was worth it.

Drain Cleaning Tip

Saturday morning while Robin was in the garage working on our new door (never attempt to paint and install your own front door. It's not worth it) he called me downstairs in a hurry.

I gasped when I saw the garage wall - the one with dozens of electrical wires poking out of it - dripping water like blood in a gratuitously gruesome horror flick. Slowly oozing in some spots, dropping rapidly in others. Fuck.

I called our plumber, but since these things always happen on a Saturday morning, I knew we wouldn't get a return call until Monday morning (he called at 7:09am this morning, and despite not working weekends, he is honest and reliable).

In the meantime, Handy Robin installed a rain gutter directly beneath the leak to divert the water into a bucket instead of into the wiring. This story could've gotten worse, and we fully expected to be $1,000 in the hole by Monday afternoon. But I thought I'd try something in case it helped.

Whenever one of our drains is slow or clogged, I use a technique I learned years ago when I was researching how to maintain a non-toxic household. It works every time. Here it is:

1. Shake a cup or two of baking soda in and around the clogged drain.
2. Pour a generous amount (3-5 cups) of white vinegar in and around the drain.
3. Marvel with satisfaction the smoking, bubbling science experiment in action.
4. Boil a large kettle of water.
5. Pour the large kettle of water in and around the drain.

These three simple ingredients work to strip the pipe of grease, thereby loosening whatever was stuck to the grease. Sort of like treating Atherosclerosis.

Sure enough, the method worked and the leak vanished. High fives all around.

Carkeek Park

We in Seattle are lucky to have so many gorgeous parks within a short drive (or walk).

As a full-time mom I spend LOTS of time at parks, usually alone with Gigi, but sometimes with other mothers. The real treat is having a family outing where the four of us can appreciate the beauty together (insert cheesy smile here).

My all-time favorite nature park is Carkeek. We try to make it out there at least once a season, but we have yet to explore all the trails that weave throughout.

My first visit there over a year ago, I was in awe. I thought it might be where I'd go to die. Maybe that's a tad dramatic, but I did enjoy myself. The peaceful stroll, the scent of moist greenery, the cool trickling streams - heaven.

You can choose to walk the trails, have a picnic, or head to the playground up the hill from the flat expanse of grass in the middle (where we had our picnic). From the playground area you have the view and the smell of the Sound. I think you can even go down to the water, but we haven't done that yet either.

While we ate our sandwiches, Robin had the idea to organize a Picnic Club each summer. Once a month we'd send out an Evite with the location of that month's picnic. Whoever wanted to be on the email list could join. I LOVE the idea. A party a month at virtually no cost and no clean-up! Stay posted for next summer.

When we left the park I imagined how incredible it will look in the next couple spectacular autumn months. We will surely be back. Maybe with soup in our basket.

On Creativity

When you have a "spirited" child (and doesn't every exhausted parent have one), it's nice to hear someone say it's okay, and could even lead to good things. So when Robin urged me to watch this short video from the TED conference, I came out of viewing it relieved and inspired to be more effectual in my children's holistic educations.

Excerpt from the TED website:

Sir Ken Robinson makes an entertaining (and profoundly moving) case for creating an education system that nurtures creativity, rather than undermining it. With ample anecdotes and witty asides, Robinson points out the many ways our schools fail to recognize -- much less cultivate -- the talents of many brilliant people. "We are educating people out of their creativity," Robinson says. The universality of his message is evidenced by its rampant popularity online. A typical review: "If you have not yet seen Sir Ken Robinson's TED talk, please stop whatever you're doing and watch it now."

It's worth your time. Watch and laugh here.

Less babies, more gays

Not a diaper change goes by that I don't think about the impact my family has on our environment. Sure, we use efficient bulbs and appliances. We recycle. I use non-toxic cleaning products. Some of our food is organic. Robin buses to work.

BUT we have two kids.

Pretty much nothing green we do will make up for that. I just read this article that supports that assumption. While you can make the argument that raising green kids could make up for the damage, (which the article mentions), they would need to become Leonardo DiCaprio or Al Gore to make up for it.

Babies use lots of diapers. Because they poop a lot. Because they eat a lot. They get lots of clothes very dirty. They require a heated space to sleep and play. They require space in the car, which easily turns into space in the van. That guzzles lots of gas. They have plastic toys. A buttload of them. It's impossible - if you have half a conscience - not to feel a little bit guilty.

I admire people who have chosen not to have children, or to stop at one, or to adopt. I believe they're good and selfless, even if their reasons have nothing to do with the environment. Also, it makes me feel less guilty when I have friends who devote their lives to something other than child-rearing, be it art, literature, non-evil business practices, education, whatever. Because my kids will need interesting, inspiring role models when they are ready to decide about their own lives. (I'm not saying people with children can't be interesting or inspiring; we just have much less time to be.)

This is why I propose MORE GAYS.

Most gay people don't have children, which probably makes them the greenest people around. They contribute to society in important, smart, beautiful and admirable ways. The ones I know of (famous or not famous) make this world a better place in just about every way. I never met a gay I didn't love.

I want my children to live out their lives on a healthy planet. It's sort of a paradox to purport being a "green parent". I guess the onus is on us to make even more of an effort than others.

Sigh. Anyone know how to use cloth diapers? I bet if Ellen and Portia ever decided to have a baby, they'd use cloth.

Note: You can read a chat about the linked article here.

Mm-hmm

Harrison and I were cuddling on my lap when Robin walked in the room and started telling me about his issues with the paint sprayer he was using in the garage. He was going on with the technicalities of this and that when Harrison leaned in close to my face and said to me in a low voice, "Just say Mm-hmm, mommy."

I just about fell off the chair laughing. He was quite proud of making me laugh so hard. Robin wasn't so amused.

Picture

Thank you Chris for providing me with a picture so I can finally have one in my profile. Now the three people reading this can see who I am.

Gratitude: The shortest path to Happiness

I'm currently reading Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique. If I can gather my thoughts upon finishing it, I hope to deliver some sort of report. In the meantime, the chapter on women's suffrage has made me realize how fortunate we women are compared to women only 100 years ago, who didn't have the right to vote (among other things). Such a given nowadays, but fought so hard for back then.

My head spins after reading almost every page. In this instance, I thought of some of the things I take for granted on a daily basis.
A short list:

1. My right to vote.
2. Modern contraception (the Pill).
3. Immunizations for my children.
4. Our high efficiency washing machine (hello nine loads of laundry/week).
6. Our dishwasher (one reason I am able to write this right now).
7. Unlimited healthy food options (and clean water from the tap!).
8. My modern husband.
9. I'm not a mother of five fatherless children living in Darfur.
10.My children's health (a toddler of someone I know was recently diagnosed with a terrible cancer and is currently undergoing massive chemotherapy. The treatment will last a year. A year of fearing for your child's every breath.)

Things were so different 100 years ago, and will likely be just as different 100 years from now. I just hope I don't go a day of my own 100 years ungrateful in any way.

Mellow Monday Morning

Monday morning began warm and slightly humid, just the way I like it. I had decided to accompany Robin to his half-marathon in Woodinville (Robin's parents were watching the kids). It started at Red Hook Brewery, which is next door to Columbia Winery and across the street from Chateau Ste. Michelle. Not a shabby part of town.

The drive was relaxing as we went in search of coffee before going to the race. We parked in the Ste. Michelle parking lot and walked over to the starting line. I had brought along my book to read for the hour and half race, but it was such a gorgeous morning I started on a walk instead.

Just a few yards from the start was the Herbfarm Restaurant, which looks like a French countryside cottage surrounded by lush gardens and green lawn. Even more enticing when you know what culinary magic goes on inside. It's on our list for a (very) special occasion.

Across from the Herbfarm is Willows Lodge, no doubt providing the perfect bed after a long evening of wining and dining. The picture shown here was taken from a small bench in the lodge's garden. You can see the Herbfarm in the background.

I sat on that bench for some time admiring the view, the quiet and the morning, then continued on, passing two pigs in their luxury pen, being trained to be truffle hunters.

I strolled across the street to Chateau Ste. Michelle to drop a few things off at the car. There were some vines with small grapes on them, but I wasn't sure if they were Champagne grapes or if they were just nascent wine grapes. The other set of vines had larger, ripe grapes.


Back in the race area, I laid on the warm grass underneath a tree. It wasn't hot out, but it wasn't wet or brisk either. I didn't read my book. I didn't even think.

Robin finished his race a few minutes slower than he wanted. The route was hilly and undesirably warm for a race. Still, he did fine. I got to laze around for another half hour while he chatted with fellow runners.

It was a wonderful morning. I will be dreaming of the Herbfarm until that much-anticipated special occasion.