Tag: parenting

‘Cause We’re United

My kids and I watched the opening to the Olympics up until the U.S. was featured on the parade of nations. I think 10 p.m. is late enough to be special even without witnessing the denouement. During the performance (the incredible, amazing, wonderful opening performance) Parrish said something wonderfully patriotic. It was the innocent nationalism of a kid who is taught the pureness of patriotism, before the subjective and hypocritical nature of politics enters your awareness.

I want to say this without too much of my own editorial though, because I love the way children think of possibility and reality as the same. During the display of children from all over the world, Parrish commented that they could all be from America. “Yes, I suppose they could. We look like all those people.” “Yeah,” he said. “‘Cause we’re united.”

Muffins and Memories

I’ve been talking to a great aunt of mine every day, every fifteen minutes because she forgets that she’s called. Recently we discussed a tomato sandwich that she ate. She said it reminded her of my mother. Lots of foods make me think of my great aunt. The big three are fried baby catfish, tomatoes, and blueberry muffins.

My great aunt grew blueberry vines like crazy over her patio. She would harvest them, coat them in sugar, freeze them, then make blueberry muffins. They were the moistest, yummiest thing I ever ate with the possible exceptions of fried baby catfish and home-grown tomatoes.

With all this memory, aunt, food energy going around every 15 minutes, I figured I’d better make some blueberry muffins. Parrish was off LEGOing with a buddy, Jesse was working, and George and I were on our own. I recruited her for baking duty. George had her own ideas about muffins. What if we traded out the blueberries with chocolate chips? What if we traded out the lemon juice for vanilla and almond extracts? Here is what we got:

I don’t have my aunt’s recipe, but maybe I’ll get it in the next 15 minutes. Here’s the one we made up for ourselves.

Directions:

Sift in medium bowl
1.5 cu flour (I wanted to use wheat, but we had none, which made the muffins way more yummier than planned)
1/2 tsp Coke (baking soda, but not what George called it)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt.

Beat in another bowl
1/3 cu sugar
4 tbs melted organic butter
3/4 cu organic milk
2 organic bantam eggs
2 tbs organic vanilla (too strong, but wanted moisture)
1 tb almond extract (too strong, but wanted moisture).

Blend the wet mixture with the dry then add 1 cu organic, fairly traded chocolate chips. (Don’t these ingredients seem bourgeois? All the social climbers are going socially and environmentally conscious with their food.)

Fill greased muffin pan with mixture and put in preheated 350 degree oven for 20ish minutes. Cool muffins on a rack a while, then eat straight away. Don’t forget to turn off your oven. I forgot and the kitchen got quite hot. Luckily I don’t cook often enough to worry about the gas bill.

George and I are majorly self-congratulatory. We did a yum-yum-yummy job. Parrish took a bite and declared they were awful. Later he confessed that he liked the bite but wanted to protect his reputation. The next morning he requested a muffin for breakfast, so apparently he got over his “rep”. It’s cute that Parrish is self-aware, but I’d rather him be a big geek who is all himself, than super cool and hidden. I’ll work on that.

For now we will choke back what ails us with chocolate chip muffins Georgie style. The next thing on my list is to figure out what to do with the unused blueberries. Maybe I’ll ask my aunt. Is that my phone ringing?

Pride Before the Fall

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The day after my last post, Jesse caught the chickens hen pecking a baby quail. We couldn’t find the nest, so my favorite babysitter (who sits no more) and I ran our baby to an emergency pet hospital. The quail stood up in my hands and took one last breath before expiring about a block away from salvation. The vet rep told me I had to keep the babies warm, as in hot, as in over 100 degrees. Oops.

Late late that night, or early early the next morning as I was trying to get things straight for work, I heard a chirp chirp outside my back door. It was my cat “playing” with another baby quail. For four years, I’ve wished that we could have quail in this yard like we had at our last house. Finally I get a nest, and my peaceable kingdom turns into murderous manor.

I held this baby against my bare belly the same way I did my own children when they were born. I drove to the hospital straight away in spite of Jesse’s begging me to stay off the streets. As it turns out, it was 2 a.m. and peak drunk-driving time. To illustrate Jesse’s point, red, white, and blue swirly lights guided my way through the bleak night. This baby made it to the hospital before death.

The hospital would keep the baby until a representative from Forever Wild arrived. If you love desert wildlife, please take the time to check out their organization. I’m so thankful there was a resource for me with Baby Q1 (may she/he rest in peace), and Baby Q2 (may she/he be rehabilitated). Forever Wild has adoptive quail mothers for babies like mine. How cool is that?

I’m not sure what time I got home, but it was time enough to close my eyes before the hens called to let them out of the coop for their morning bug buffet. I came inside to discover both kids sleeping in my bed with their dad. I carefully picked my way through my daughter’s room and crawled into her crowded bed. I found this photo when I downloaded the photos of the quail.

Where to start with this? First, the obvious. What kind of crazy musical beds is this? We slept where we were told when I was growing up. Second, please notice the sheet on the window. The blinds had broken for the third time and the landlord won’t let me throw them out. While the blinds waited for repair, I put up that sheet to prove you can take the girl out of Oklahoma, but she’ll still use sheets as curtains. Third, housecleaning isn’t my forte and I’ve more than passed that on to my daughter. I like how the closet mirror reflects the coordinating insanity on the bookshelf too. This looks like an I Spy riddle. Finally, do I look the least bit comfortable? There is a fist behind my head; my face is in a stuffed animal; I can’t even straighten my legs.

I think Jesse took this photo to prove a point that he’s been trying to drive home for a long time. Ours is not a peaceable kingdom. It is barely managed chaos. So if you want to know what my plans are for the rest of the summer, I suppose I should aim for no more deaths and much more cleaning.

My Peaceable Kingdom

This week, the A&E television network is regaling me with stories to make me so damn glad to be a mom. First was the documentary about mothers killing children, then one about teachers seducing students, and today’s documentary was on a kid accused of killing his mother.

I’m fairly certain that I’m not going to kill my children. If you’ve ever heard them at each other’s throats, you’d understand the qualifier. Even so, it’s still not in me since mostly they are charming, wonderful kids who are a pleasure to parent. I don’t have to worry about the teacher thing just yet since teachers tend to go for the 14 and over crowd. Also, I’m pretty much a hover mom with a solid evil eye. I don’t think my kids would kill me – at least not until they can drive themselves around town or discover the mystery of how beverages get poured into a cup. Like that will ever happen.

I could wind up an A&E investigative report, but I don’t think so. Not if my pets are any indication. They have turned out exceptionally. Boris tops the list of dogs anywhere. I’m not sure we can take credit for how wonderful he is. He may be nothing short of a gift from God. Even so, Jesse has trained Boris well. Boris minds, he is a fierce protector, and nary was there a more loving pet. He even tolerates the cat.

Sister Princess, or “Cessy”, is a solid cat. She allows the children to love her excessively. She is a fierce hunter who nabs the sewer roaches and chases the mice and lizards out of the house. Unfortunately, her predatory behavior extends to the little birdies outside. I don’t like this habit of hers, and I worried about how she would torture the hens. As this photo is my witness, I needn’t have given it a second thought.

Cessy likes to lay outside, even on the hottest of Tucson summer days. This patch of cool dirt used to be a wildflower garden. The hens have some sort of agreement with the cat, apparently, that they share. Five of our six hens are in this photo with Cessy. Big Momma, our white hen, was hanging around at my foot wondering what sort of goody I had for her. The hens are well reared too, though the Krause-Brashears have more to do with that than I do. Proof at the least that I’m an adequate foster mom. On the other hand, we only got two eggs today. Poor hot birdies. I didn’t lecture them as yesterday we got five.

And when did Arts and Entertainment turn into “Real Life. Drama.” with this cruel programming at a time when they know we are trapped inside our homes with our summer crazed kiddos? That’s corporate sustainability! They are attempting to inspire us to provide them with more salacious stories. They’ll get none here. Ours is a peaceable kingdom.

Lessons on the Homeless

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The kids and some friends and I took a trip to the ballpark tonight. The Sidewinders are moving to Reno due to low attendance. On the one hand it’s unfortunate that we are losing this wholesome family opportunity, on the other it’s the low attendance that permits me to give the kids free range in a pubic arena. I could see them at any given time – almost.

They asked if they could ride the kiddie train and I said okay. At one point along the way, they saw “a very nice homeless guy” who said hello to them and gave them the peace sign. The kids hurried to me to ask for a dollar so that they could give it to him.

I can’t say that Jesse and I have been positive role models in terms of our giving. We do have our responsible cash charities that we don’t discuss with the kids. What they do see us do is give food to the beggars on street medians and Jesse will frequently throw MREs to the loiterers at the park. They also have seen us give cash without question to folks on the street. As an aside, Jesse and I went to see Gat Rot the other night, and on the way to the car we gave $5 to a local who promised to “only spend it on weed.”

Regardless of how Jesse and I enable those meekest of God’s addicted, crazed, poor, or otherwise afflicted children, I cannot condone my babies and their pal approaching a homeless guy, no matter how nice he seems, to give him a dollar. “Then you come with us to give it to him,” suggested my little problem solvers. “Uh, aren’t you guys thirsty? How about you go get some water?” It was $1.75 more than their charitable intention and highlighted my obvious laziness, but also my expertise at diversion.

The kids went on a final train ride to see their homeless pal. The boys waived peace signs; George yelled “HEY, YOU’RE NICE!” Isn’t that almost as good as $1? Plus, the guy was enjoying the game from the other side of the fence for free, so it was a good night for him already. Leaving the park after the game we drove along the fence where the homeless man had been enjoying the game. Disappointed in not seeing the guy, the kids embarked on a discussion during which my son said, “And all he wanted was peace. Homeless people are like that. They just want peace.”

Now for another aside. All this goodwill came from three kids who spent the bulk of their post-homeless guy waiving time engaged in verbal fisticuffs with two other kids at the ballpark.

Kookies

Kamp Kookakid is a cooperative of sorts started by a few friends and myself. The idea is that we can have fun this summer with our kids and each other at low cost. We’ve had a good time so far and are just getting started. One parent came up with the idea of touring the Phoenix Mars Mission facility (it’s free!) and another set it up. Here’s the result:


KVOA coverage of Phoenix Mars Mission tour

I can’t get the video to embed. I had trouble even making the link, but I’ll keep trying.

I probably shouldn’t talk about kids other than mine on this blog, so I won’t except in general terms. The tour begins with a presentation and the presenter engaged the audience with lots of questions. I was impressed by the extant knowledge of our campers. Additionally, the kids’ focus interacting with the exhibits was enviable. Lastly, their retention about the science facts exceeded my own. Friends and kids and Mars are pretty cool.

Be Gone Bunnies

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Being a mom seems so easy, so natural, so effortless for some women. When it comes to feeding, clothing, roofing, and educating my children, I certainly meet the world’s minimum daily recommended allowance. Beyond that, I struggle, I obsess, I cringe. Tucson is a hard place to live for the mother of a kid with a dust allergy. I’m sure this is hard on my son too, but this is my blog. If Parrish wants to post about the cough that keeps him up all night when I don’t manage a thorough dusting, he has his own blog.

Today I learned that along with being slow to care about the PLUs on produce and not playing Baby Einstein to the zygotes I gestated, my dust bunny ranch is ruining my kids. I don’t know why I bothered to breast feed when I was just forcing fire retardants down those innocent, vulnerable baby throats.

Apparently, those dark dwelling dust bunnies have their own culture, whole lives built up around a sedentary lifestyle and, oddly enough, disco. I should have known by the way they swirl around my broom. Some people think of dust bunnies as pets, but dust bunnies have a darker side. They don’t merely reproduce. They mutate – first as hibernating bears and then as devils. I believe it. Dust bunnies are evil!

American Standard, who would like to sell you air quality products, conducted a 20 city census. Check out their Dust Bunny Barometer to see how concerned you should be about your domestic neglect and its possible poisoning of your babies.

If I were a better mom, I would eradicate dust bunnies in the home. Dust bunny removal requires a specialist, I’ve decided. A Hoover engineer well versed in the use of one of those dust sucky things. This ain’t no DIY project. I should probably be able to round up the bunnies and combine them with dryer lint to knit reusable grocery sacks, but I’m not that mom. I’m the mom that waits for snotty noses and lethargy before moving aside heavy furniture.

(Art stolen from MYRANT. That’s my new vision of a dust bunny full of crap that could irritate your kids’ respiratory system at the least and give them cancer at the worst.)