Fashion Forward...

Fashion. I go in spurts. Lately I've been wanting to be more stylish. Not that stylish, mind you. Please believe me when I say that skinny jeans are not for me. But I've been considering the leggings and elvish boots--sort of a Robin Hood/Peter Pan vibe. I think I could pull those off.

The problem, of course, is that going from no style to some style requires effort, and I'm a little bit lazy. Fashion for me is a long process. First I have to sit & mull, and then I need to take about 5 trips to the fitting room to find the proper fit of articles, and then I have to reign myself in a bit before I go too far and end up heading out of the store in a tiara and aqua boa (not that there's anything wrong with that), and finally I have to hem and haw a bit more before giving myself a stern lecture and checking out already. Add two small children (who secrete baby-goo and wipe their grimy paws on me) and an inability to handle overly-crowded stores blaring loud music, and I am left with, like, Bon Worth. Not. For. Me.

So what did I do when I found myself at a fancy mall without my children? Did I venture out and pick up said leggings and boots? No. No I didn't. Even though the children were home with Grandpa and Uncle Thomasina, the rest of the family was along which, sadly, is not conducive to my process. I did branch out and find some cargos which were actually flattering, and some standby sweaters and bootcut jeans (which need to be hemmed; this is my reality)...but at that I called it good.

I've often thought I'd like to be on "What Not to Wear." I like it that they teach people to shop for their particular body type and tastes, and I am not so attached to my wardrobe that I wouldn't give it up for a brand new one. And I'm teachable. The only rough patch I could see would be over heels. I do agree that they look fabulous in the right context, but I don't see myself making a habit of them. Stacy and Clinton would have to slap me around a bit, and maybe shake me by the shoulders, and then I would pretend to be--and maybe even convince myself that I was--converted to heels...and then a week later I'd probably go out and buy some sneakers (they'd have canned mine early in the episode). But cute ones.

I'm not dumb though. Sometimes I'll get all starry-eyed about being more stylish, and I have to talk myself down because I forget that fashion is cool and fun, and it is a tool, but it does not define my identity, and changing my fashion would not change other aspects of my life. I have to look at underlying motives, and wishes and dreams and such, and make sure that I'm not putting unreasonable expectations on my clothing.

I decided that my style is classic--I'm too timid to keep up with new styles every year. I do well to stick with my classic stand-bys. My area for development is with the accessories. I'm thinking scarves this year.

I'm still considering the elvish boots though. That could be fun...

Shhh...

Don't tell the rest of my family, but I think my favorite part of today (Thanksgiving) was hiking at South Mountain with my uncle.

It's not that the rest of the day was bad--on the contrary, it was a lovely day of catching up with relatives. And with minimal drama, even. In fact, on the Lack-of-Drama scale, it might be one of my favorite family Thanksgivings ever.

It's just that the hike was particularly nice. To begin with it was sunny and cold, which is hard to come by sometimes, particularly in Phoenix. Deep blue, cloudless sky, and somewhere in the 40s or 50s. This is how the desert should be experienced; absolutely gorgeous.

On top of that, time with my uncle is hard to come by--he lives in WI, so pretty much the only time we see him is when we are all in Phoenix at the same time. Which happens somewhere around every few years or so, and is always busy what with other family members and stuff. So to have a couple hours to just hang out with one another was a precious rarity. And we were exercising. As far as I'm concerned it doesn't get much better than hanging out & talking while exercising.

And we were at South Mountain, which was a frequent haunt for me back in my high school cross country running days. Aaaaahhhh...so many good memories. My uncle told me about hiking at South Mountain when he, my mom, & their brother were growing up, & how everything south of Baseline Road was farms, some of which were flower fields owned by Asians who ended up staying in the area after WWII and the internment camps and such, and how his parents (my grandparents) would always buy fresh flowers from the fields and give them to various relatives in the area. I told him it was cool to hear his memories because, while my mom would probably remember buying flowers fresh from the field, she had never told us about it before, so it was neat to get a more complete picture of their childhood, and how Phoenix was then compared to when I was growing up.

Before we left he let the dogs out of my parents' house by mistake, but all was well and they returned a short time later. I think it was more traumatic for my uncle than anyone else--he was worried that he'd completely ruined Thanksgiving 2010 by letting Max & Zoe out, never to return. I told him not to worry, as they always come back. He didn't believe me though, until they did. In the process we found out that my parents' neighborhood has many friendly people in it, ready to mobilize at a moment's notice to find people's lost pet(s). I've noticed a pattern as I've gained experience visiting retirement communities in recent years. My running theory is that the friendly old-people tend to be morning-types. I hear stories about older folks getting grumpy and impatient at the grocery store and such, but I have yet to meet a curmudgeon while out & about on a morning jaunt. There's something about fresh air & endorphins, I think. I mean, who could be mad after enjoying some fresh air and sunshine at the end of November in Phoenix? Not I.

Anyway...the dogs came home and my uncle and I hiked, and then we enjoyed a big ol' family dinner, with the regular Thanksgiving staples, plus a few unique additions by various family members.

Corn pudding and spring rolls, that's all I'm sayin'...

Down With the Consumption...

Coming from hearty stock, getting sick always feels like a particularly rude statement on my body's part. It's not that I think I have some sort of special immunity privilege & should never get sick (though that would be nice, wouldn't it??); it's just that, being pretty dang healthy for the most part--gratefully so, I might add--getting sick tends to catch me off guard a bit.

So now, having been on the road to recovery from a respiratory/sinus/grumpy thing the past week, I'm pretty sure my left sinus has decided to go down for a few days as well.

Really, Left Sinus? You couldn't join in when your partner was all clogged & gunky? "No, I'd rather wait for my own little virus to come along, and then have an individual, dedicated period of notoriety."

Stupid sinus.

So I'm a little indignant right now. Not helping things is the Cat Daddy's fake flu--a reaction to the FluMist vaccine he got Monday--which either developed into or is in addition to the not-strep-but-nasty-all-the-same infection. His boss even pulled him from going on alert, which is a pretty big deal. Not a huge deal or anything, but I'll put it this way: you know you're sick when you have to burn the backup crew. And the doctor ordered him "to quarters" for two days.

His Highness and I shared a cold last week (though at first I thought it was just the rapid onset of fall; sorry if we breathed on you). The Littler One has been the healthiest of the bunch (yay extended breastfeeding), which is unfortunate in its own way since he can't cook or run errands or anything. But he is getting pretty good at throwing stuff in the trash, so I'll take what I can get.

And after a week of are-we-sick-I-don't-know-maybe-we're-getting-better-guess-not-oh-now-you're-sick-too-great-now-I'm-sick-again, I'm circling the wagons until we're mostly human again (or until Saturday, when we have stuff to do).

And I'm having the house fumigated...

Homemade Play-Doh Is...

Today has been a lollapalooza of domestic divinity. Which really means that I'm just calling myself awesome. But I made play-doh. Made play-doh. And then we played with it for quite a while. And I didn't even fuss when it was time to clean up the millions of tiny bits that had sloughed off the bigger piles.

The recipe (which I got at this site) is surprisingly easy. You dump all these ingredients:

2c flour
2c water
1c salt
2 tbsp veg oil
1 tbsp cream of tartar

into a pot and cook & stir over low heat until it clumps into a big wad & looks/feels like play-doh. Then you dump it on the counter and knead it until it's soft. Then you divide it up and work food coloring into it until you're happy with the colors. Then your son says, "Mom, I need a steamroller!" and you think for a moment and reply "You mean a rolling pin?" and you gladly lend out said rolling pin and the cookie cutters. You might even turn into a puddle of goo when you think about just how creative your almost-4-year-old is becoming.

I know not everyone likes play-doh...I didn't even think I liked it all that much until I made it. But I like it 'cuz it's super-cheap, and super-easy--it came together in about the time it takes to make oatmeal on the stove (rolled, non-quick oats, not the steel-cut ones). And it has only regular, everyday stuff in it. No weird chemicals or anything (not that the name-brand stuff does, either; it may or may not). And I could let His Highness help make it with little extra mess. And it cleaned up super-easily. And it speaks to my kinisthetic learning style (ie, my need to touch and manipulate stuff). I sat there with the boys, molding and smushing and shaping, in between picking stuff up when they dropped it.

If I were really awesome, I'd have added scented oils & stuff, but I don't have scented oils, so we called it good with the "essence of dough" aroma. I'm not sure I'd have wanted to make it smell pretty anyway--it only took one tiny taste for each of the kids to determine that they most definitely did not want to eat it (as for the edible kind, we'll try that another time). I knew I would not want to eat it, but out of sheer curiosity, I too gave it a taste. Tasted like salt--go figure.

Good for the soul...

"Wow, There It Is..."

OK, Rushmore in a nutshell: awesomely awesome, road-trippy fun.

Last weekend the fam and I took off for the Black Hills of South Dakota. The Cat Daddy and I decided that, since we've been in the vicinity for over 2 years now (living just over a half day away in WY and all), that we'd better get up there while we had the chance. I did a little research (thanks to a surprisingly-useful weekend trip guide I compiled based on links & suggestions from my moms' group, as well as hints from our local friends), composed a loosey-goosey itinerary for the weekend, and we were off.

Mt Rushmore--the primary reason for our little jaunt. We'd never seen it in person before, and we figure we may or may not ever live this close to it in the future, so hey, why not. Way better than either of us expected. I was expecting to pull up, say something along the lines of "Wow, there it is," and that would be it. But they have a whole little park going there. First, we paid $10 to park, and now we are good to go back anytime we want for the next year. Then we walked over to the info/visitors' center and got His Highness a little booklet he could fill out to get a Junior Ranger Trainee prize. They have these for any age group and it would've been perfect for His Highness, except that he was not at all interested in talking about the things we found. But they had a cool trail you could hike that took you to the very base of the mountain. Seriously, you could see up all the presidents' noses into their very shallow, granite nostrils. Perfect for the boys, who were all over the bazillion stairs, and rocks, and moss & stuff. When we finished that loop, we went down into their amphitheatre area where people come & watch fireworks in the summer, and saw their museum of history from the build. To be honest, I saw the mountain and was a little impressed, but my response was still along the lines of "Wow, there it is. Onward." But when you hear the history of how it was built, it gives perspective to just what it took to carve those 4 faces in the big ol' rock, and how much work it is to make sure they stay there. It is pretty impressive.

After a lovely local lunch we headed over to the Crazyhorse Memorial. This is sort of like a Mt Rushmore copycat project, except that it is still in progress after over 60 years. The Native Americans invited a sculptor named Korscjak (sp?) to come and carve it to honor Crazyhorse and the spirit of the Lakota people. My initial reaction to this one was along the same lines of Rushmore, but again once I saw the little orientation video I gained a bigger appreciation for the whole thing. First, you can't tell from the parking lot, but Crazy horse is way bigger than Mt Rushmore--all 4 of the presidents' heads can fit in Crazyhorse's head alone, and they're carving out the top halves of Crazyhorse and his horse. Plus they're doing it all "in the round," which means when they are done you could fly a helicopter around the thing and it will be all sculpture, instead of sculpture on one side and back-of-the-mountain on the other. It's taking so long because Korscjak was a big believer in not taking any government money (I think he would be a libertarian if he were still alive), so they are funding it all from private donations & stuff. Which takes time. The weather was pretty nasty while we were there so we didn't get to do any hiking. The memorial has a kickin' cafe though, where the boys were given free cookies & milk, staving off a pretty heavy meltdown on the boys' part. I put a tip in their tip jar. Oh yes I did. I also bought a lovely little beaded bracelet, and abstained from any other gifties in their shop, which I'm finding can be a formidable challenge for me sometimes (but that's another post).

Well, after those two things we decided, other than dinner, that enough was enough for the day. In the course of our driving we came upon an area known as "Cosmos Mystery Area," and were intrigued. So first thing the next morning we headed over for what I call their magical mystery tour.


Legend says that back in the 50's a couple of college students came up on this area and noticed a strange gravitational variation, so they built slanted cabins on the slanted hills and charged admission so they could do all sorts of slanted tricks for people. Or something like that...I'm pretty sure at least 95% of the demonstrations were simple optical illusions, but it was still a whole bunch of fun, and there was still the fact that many of the trees were growing all crazy-like in that area, so there's at least a slight element of the unexplained. Road-trip-a-riffic. As you can see the Littler One was not at all impressed with the slanty antics. He was mostly concerned with walking and climbing all over everything he could find, and trying to singlehandedly unload the gift shop into his pockets. The favorite for both boys was racing up & down the paved ramp leading up to the gift shop.

Over lunchtime we toured the local Dinosaur Park, comprised of concrete quasi-replicas of 50's-style dinosaur impressions. The visitors' center was closed for the season (as were many of the local sights), so after walking the grounds once we called it good. Besides, we had plans for the afternoon at the local indoor waterpark adjoined to our hotel.

Unfortunately I did not get any pictures of the indoor water park because a) It seemed like an incredibly dumb idea to try to take pictures in the water (even though I've done it before), and b) My battery died. But it was a pretty cool place. I was drooling over the attractions more than the boys, I think--they were just a bit young even for the little kids' area. Still, we managed to coax them into a few trips around the lazy river with its beach-grade entry, and His Highness especially enjoyed going between that and the huge hot tub. The Littler One is most definitely a water baby and had a grand old time kicking and splashing wherever he could. The Cat Daddy and I each got to take a turn in the giant slide that spits you into a big bowl and swirls you around a bit before flushing you to the bottom. And some of us were more tired than others come dinnertime:

And finally, the following day it was time to check out and go home. But on the way out of the great state of South Dakota we stopped by my personal favorite, the Jewel Cave national monument. They have several tours available that go down in the cave. Many people like the hour-long one, but we decided that the 20-minute one would probably do just fine for the kiddos. It really is a fascinating place. It's not officially the world's largest cave, but based on studies they've done they think it might be; they just haven't explored enough of it yet to prove it. This was overshadowed by the Littler One treating us to a tantrum of unknown origin, until we were back up on top of the ground, where he quickly calmed down and hiked happily the 1/4-mile trail we did before piling into the car and heading back into the town of Custer for lunch.

All told, it was a fantastic little weekend. Based on the boys' reactions we decided that the next time, we could rent a cabin and let them play in the woods quite contentedly the entire time. And the great thing about forests is that you can find them lots & lots of places, so that makes me hopeful for future vacations, and it makes me love it that my kids love exploring the woods.

As for the Rushmore-area, we do want to go back again. There are about 47 other kitschy-fun things we want to see and do, and I think it's a mandatory rite of passage for kids to be schlepped around to touristy places whether they like it or not...

Does Not Do Floors (Often)...

Yesterday the Cat Daddy took the boys out for donuts and errands, leaving me with nearly 3 hours of solitude (except for the dogs, but in this case they were having a lazy Saturday and didn't require anything of me). It wasn't exactly "free" time, as I had promised to do chores.

I know, I know. Call me crazy. "Three free hours and you chose to do chores? What are you smoking, Skerrib?!" Well, first off, if one asks the Cat Daddy (or most other spouses, I imagine) to take both kids for three hours just for the fun of it, he is likely to put up at least a little resistance. However, if one asks the Cat Daddy to take both kids so one can make the house look visibly nicer, the Cat Daddy cheerfully grabs the kids and the diaper bag and bounds out the door with a veritable spring in his step.

The Cat Daddy also calls home in an accusatory tone and ask if one "left any diapers in the diaper bag" for the Littler One, and one will feel constrained to remind the Cat Daddy that whoever travels with the Littler One really needs to be the one who makes sure there are diapers in the bag. Or at the very least, the Cat Daddy needs to ask one to check for him prior to departure. Because sadly, while one is awesomely-awesome and would never want to throw one's family members under the bus, one is not psychic when it comes to the availability and quantity of diapers in the bag. **End rant**

And also, the wood floors were gross and needed more than a Swiffing, to the point that goofing off the whole time wouldn't have been as fun. So after a lovely (quiet) breakfast and just a little bit of (quiet) goofing off time doing a crossword, I (quietly) set to work. I swiffed, mopped, and dried most of the upstairs. You're not supposed to use water on wood floors pretty much at all, so I went in small sections so I could dry along the way.

Sounds like eyeball-plucking work, yes? But I found it strangely relaxing. It made me think of the mini-series John Adams, where Abigail was up late at night worrying because John totally blew her off while he was over in France, and she would do crazy-tedious things like scrubbing floors, and cleaning each individual window square, and stuff like that. And that made me really grateful that cleaning my floors was so straightforward. It was a dedicated, uninterrupted time to complete the chore, but also to let my mind wander to whatever thoughts came meandering through.

When I was finished I said to myself, "Enjoy it now, because within 30 minutes they will start spilling stuff on it again." So I looked across the sunlit living room and enjoyed the clean for the moment that I had it. Then my crazies came barreling in through the door with treasures to show off and stories to tell, and we were off for the rest of the day.

The ending of the story is that the boys and I had a birthday party to attend, leaving the Cat Daddy with his own 2 hours of kid-free quiet time at home, which certainly helped matters when I was asking him to take the boys out for the morning.

And no, I won't clean your floors for you...

Bits & Pieces...

I wrote half an awesome post about making a chicken-liver mousse a week ago, but haven't had the chance to finish it (the post; not the mousse). I had a fabulous Glee viewing party for the season premiere, so I thought why not make an over-the-top dish for such an over-the-top show. I've always hated beef liver, but Alton Brown swears that chickens & ducks don't live long enough for their livers to get all "funky." Well guess what--Alton must have a pretty specific definition in mind for "funky," because there was a whole lotta funk going on in my liver mousse (I attempted to call it pate with a fancy mark over the 'e' before realizing the fancy name wouldn't compensate for the taste). I really, really wanted to like it, because I like the idea of using the whole animal--or at least more of it--and less waste and all that, and I was self-righteously wondering why we don't do that as much anymore. I know now--it's because some of the parts of the animal are so dang gross. I made my pregnant friend gag just by tasting the mousse in front of her. For the slightest moment in time I almost didn't hate it on a Ritz cracker. But then I did. No more liver of any type. Ever. LiverWORST, indeed...

...Last weekend they had Parents' Night Out at the Methodist church. This is where the Methodists provide childcare to the community for the evening on a (suggested--and more than reasonable) donation basis. It's an incredibly good deal, and even the Littler One is starting to do much better being left with people other than me, so we are trying to take advantage of these kid-free opportunities more often. And what did the Cat Daddy and I do? Grabbed a quick bite at Chipotle and went home to clean out the garage. Scoff if you must, but we had a great time and got a lot done ("We can get so much done without the kids!" we kept saying). So much so, in fact, that the Cat Daddy can park his car in there now. We were all proud of ourselves, and even swept the garage floor before treating ourselves to ice cream and picking up the kiddos. In that order.

His Highness was not impressed in the least. It disturbed him greatly for Mommy's car to now park on the other side of the driveway (in Daddy's spot), and for Daddy's car to be in the garage. He really wanted us to put the cars back where they belonged. We made a deal with him to let us try it for a week and see what he thought after that. He was very kind and agreed to this trial period, and I think it will work out. I think he actually likes it. He has more room in the driveway to draw with his chalk, and we can tell sooner when Daddy gets home because we hear the garage door open.

It made me think a lot about how grown-ups will see a kid deal with something like this, and we'll think, "Ah, it was so nice when I was a kid and my only problem was..." or "Oh I wish that was all I had to worry about," because our problems are so much bigger and more important. And the more I think about it, the more I think we, the grown-ups, have it wrong. I think a lot of our problems are really, really similar to those of a three-year-old, but they look a little different, and on our good days we have more maturity with which to handle them.

What I mean is, what His Highness was protesting was the change in his environment. We took something familiar to him, something he could count on within the structure of his day, and changed it up on him, and he freaked out a little bit. This is exactly how I tend to react when my world gets a little disturbance in it. I remember a few years back, when I'd been with my company just shy of a year, and my boss(es) called me in and told me I was being switched from one project to a completely different one, AND I would be moving from my office over to the base & everything. I very-nearly cried...I like to think I held it together pretty well, but I know I had the deer-in-the-headlights look because my boss asked if everything was alright. I mumbled something about having to process it all. Which actually was pretty dead-on. In the end it worked out beautifully and I was so glad things happened the way they did; I just had to get through my initial panic and give myself a chance to get used to the change.

And then, of course, I think a lot of times we are really no different than three-year-olds; we just hide our tantrums better. Maybe. A few previous lives ago (during college) I worked in a call center at Bank of America, and our department heads decided that everyone would have to start working Sundays. Oh boy, the uproar that caused. I was out the day of the official announcement, so I was reeling and ranting when I came back to this news. "But I'm really plugged in at my church--I have real commitments!" To which an older co-worker gently-but-firmly replied "You're not the only one, honey." Well, luckily one of the supervisors was kind enough to notice my concern and pull me aside and explain the whole picture. It turned out that most of us would work, like, one Sunday every two months, and we would know ahead of time so we could coordinate with church commitments, and all that. When he took the time to tell me how the management had arrived at this arrangement it seemed pretty dang reasonable to me. I always appreciated that he did that for me. I was able to avoid acting like a complete idiot at work by trying to make some kind of loud and grandiose ultimatum or something...which actually would have been pretty disingenuous of me, because in retrospect I think I was a lot less worried about working on a Sunday, and a lot more worried about having no control in the situation. I don't know if my supervisor recognized this about me, but he gave the control back to me. Empowerment, and all that.

Anyway. As any reasonable parent would, I think my kids are adorable, and sometimes I can't help but smile at their tragedies. But I hope I never get too patronizing to see the very real places where their pain comes from and remember that I have those same places, just with different triggers. Besides, the only reason I don't freak out anymore about things like changing parking arrangements is that I have the experience to know that it usually works out OK (and I still cried a little bit when I gave up my '90 Honda Accord, even though my new CRV was kicka$$)...

...I've been on this life-simplification kick, and my house is starting to stay a little cleaner. Not a lot cleaner, and not all the time. But I think it's fair to say that it's a complete disaster less often...

...My friend has been watching the boys several hours per week so I can get my nerd-work done a little less frantically. The Littler One loves her like a third parent, and he's getting much less anxious about being with people other than Mommy. Today I dropped him off, kissed him on the head, and said goodbye instead of sneaking out. He waved and happily went back to his chicken nuggets. Ms. Sitter told me later she was wondering if he would cry when he realized I was really leaving, but he didn't. He knew he was safe & secure with Ms. Sitter and did great (and was his ornery self) the whole afternoon. That made me happy.

We've also been transitioning him more to his own space at night. He starts out in the guest bed now, the way His Highness did before he got his bunk beds. And anytime he stirs before midnight the Cat Daddy soothes him back to sleep. It took about two tries before he realized he wasn't getting to nurse, so now he's staying asleep until after midnight pretty consistently. Next step is moving the no-nursing time back gradually, but I'll wait until the Cat Daddy's ready for that one...

...So all-told I am getting more routine back in my life, and inserting more into my boys' lives. It feels good, as I do thrive on routine and consistency, and I like to think I've got a decent balance about it. I could probably afford to be more structured even, but let's not get ahead of ourselves...

Much Improved...

This is actually one continuous spiral. It's like wearing a beaded Slinky that happens to coordinate with 5/8 of my wardrobe. I like it a lot.

There's one fatal flaw with the wearing of bracelets: my children. Luckily, this particular bracelet has proven indestructible thus far. It's been stretched, shaken, tasted, and banged on the counter, and it still looks the same as when I bought it. Keep in mind I'm not "letting" the kids play with it, per se. But I'm also not going to encase it in glass out of reach so it can never be touched. So it's a good thing it's sturdy.

Now I just have to remember to put it on my wrist in the mornings...

Accessorize...

I have decided that I like bracelets.

Having just turned 33 you'd think that I'd have figured this out by now. But fashion has always been a little tough for me. I've made slow, crawling, progress through the years, and just recently I decided a couple of things.

The first thing has to do with properly-fitting bras and I really am not going to get much into it other than to say that I am in contact with a lady at my church who does what she has lovingly termed her "bra ministry." No, it is not a formal, funded item in the church budget. Still, I'm told countless ladies in our community have benefited from her wisdom, and I intend to count myself among those numbers. So I will say this: you really should do some research and make sure your bras fit right. Guys, I can't speak to the fit of your man-ssieres, but I would assume that a good fit can only help you, as well.

Secondly, I want to be more intentional about accessorizing. I have toyed with the idea of buying a scarf or two--progress in itself--but I'm really not all that into jewelry and such. And I really do prefer simplicity--I don't want to accumulate a ton of belts, or purses, or shoes, or really much of anything. I like a few basics that make me feel pretty, and then call it good.

I've kept my eye out for cute necklaces for a while now, but the thing about necklaces is that you have to remember to take them off & put them on. Which means I would likely wear them consistently for a few weeks and then be onto the next thing.

I don't know whether I'm any more optimistic about bracelets--after all, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't leave a single bracelet on all the time--but as I looked down at my wrist today it occurred to me I was still wearing the paper bracelet from our trip to the (semi-)local veggie-picking farm this weekend. I really should cut the silly thing off...I mean come on, Skerrib. While I had a great time picking veggies with friends, that's not why I've kept the bracelet on. There's nothing particularly cute or symbolic about the paper or anything. But it's still there. I'm pretty sure I simply like having something on my wrist.

So, having eavesdropped on a few conversations along the way, I have some ideas as to where I might be able to find something other than American flag paper to go on my wrist. I will be staking out local accessories bargains and, if everything goes well, I may post photos of my wrist in the not-so-distant future...

Our Grasshopper Friend...

Yesterday the Littler One had a fever, so the boyz and I stayed home from church (the Cat Daddy was on music team, so he went). Everyone's been asking if the Littler One is teething, and yes he is, but at the same time I couldn't be sure that teething was the sole cause of the fever. And it is generally frowned upon to take a warm baby into mixed company and declare "He's fine!" unless one is absolutely sure and has a notarized medical affadavit--or something--to prove it. Which I didn't, so we stayed home.

While I was disappointed to miss out on all the fun & fellowship & God-stuff, it occurred to me that going for a jog might take the sting out of being quarantined. Dr. Sears is big on the healing properties of fresh air for sick babies in many circumstances, and I'm big on fresh air for the prevention of neurosis in mommy-shut-ins. His Highness is not huge on the jogging, but with a little persuasion--and the promise of a playground visit--he can usually be convinced. It so happened we had one of those "flying saucers," where you pull the string and the plastic frisbee-thingy flies high in the air, and you chase after it and have all sorts of fun, so we agreed that he could bring it along to launch at the park at the end of our jog.

I must have been feeling extremely charitable, because we also agreed that Max, who snuck out the door as we were heading out and refused to go back in the house, could come along on the jog, and we would swing by and grab Zoe on the way to the park, since she likes the park but hates jogging.

After much leash-grabbing, and double-checking and baby-buckling, we were on our way. My current favorite route is an out-&-back, combined with a loop around a nearby neighborhood. About 3 miles total. We live in what I feel is a perfect area of town--our neighborhood is just off the last stoplight in town, after which one heads off into the still-rural parts. This particular route includes a dirt road, paved "Greenway" (awesome walking path), and the aforementioned neighborhood. Sometimes we encounter horses, cows, and/or goats, and most days it has little traffic so you can hear yourself think.

So as we hit the dirt road, the boys were being extremely adorable and humming along with the bumpy-bumps, and I noticed the plethora of grasshoppers jumping all over the place, dodging obstacles real & imagined, and so on. Suddenly His Highness said, "Look, I have a grasshopper friend!" A good-sized grasshopper (2 inches?) had hopped onto the stroller frame, apparently hitching a ride on our adventure. We have talked a lot about grasshoppers lately, so this was very exciting. We didn't think much about it until we realized that the grasshopper hadn't hopped off, despite another little grasshopper friend that had come & gone. His Highness put his hand out, which I figured would spur the little bugger off the stroller, but I was surprised to see it drop down onto His Highness's knee and stay there, facing forward.

So we kept moving, hitchhiker in tow. His Highness declared that the grasshopper liked him, and I couldn't disagree, seeing as how it was taking in the sights while sitting on his knee. We discussed why it might have chosen to come along with us, and why it had such big eyes, why it had tickly legs, and how His Highness was so gentle and not-twitchy, both of which are qualities of a really good grasshopper friend. Now I don't know much about grasshopper behavior, so my worst-case-scenario mind had to rifle through the possiblity that it might be dying and that's why it wasn't hopping off, and the less-macabre-but-grosser possibility that it could be getting ready to lay eggs, or excrete something or other on His Highness's knee, but I played it cool and assumed that the little creature really was just on adventure, maybe out finding himself like a college student backpacking through Europe.

We continued--the two kids, Max, the grasshopper, and myself--all around the neighborhood and back onto the Greenway, toward the dirt road and so on. We discussed what we would do if the grasshopper never jumped off, and (I) decided that if it hadn't jumped off by the time we reached the traffic light to cross back into our neighborhood, we would gently put him in the tall grass along the dirt road. Having seen a few too many Disney movies in my life, I pictured him singing his way through the grass in search of his family, and I hoped that it would be close enough that they would find each other without having to set off on any major treks or sing sweet & wistful songs by moonlight before removing a teeny beret or scallycap, and bedding down for the night with a lump of dirt for a pillow and a few blades of grass for warmth.

As we were approaching the end of the dirt road we also decided that, since he was such a good grasshopper friend, His Highness could be the one to conduct the grasshopper placement. But guess what? Suddenly His Highness called out, "He hopped off! My grasshopper friend hopped off!" And it was true. The grasshopper had jumped off, as much as I can tell, in very nearly exactly the same location where he had joined us to begin with. He went on his merry way and we went home and grabbed Zoe and went to the park to launch the flying saucer-thingy. His Highness was beaming away, tickled to death about our little adventure with his grasshopper friend, and to be honest, so was I.

Like I said, I don't know much about grasshopper behavior. His Highness and I make guesses about them hanging out with their families, but I don't know if that's common grasshopper habit, to form family units and stay close to them. So it is with zero authority that I surmise that the grasshopper might have stayed with us, hoping that we wouldn't kill it and hoping that we would return to where it had hopped onto the stroller so it could reunite with its family.

And maybe, just maybe, it sang a little song along the way...