As you mean to go on

Resolutions and new beginnings just seem to go together, as do the concomitant disappointment when keeping them is more difficult -- the pounds won't come off, the photos don't get organized, those pesky weeds just keep coming up, and who said twelve pairs of mittens in a year was doable?

I've managed this in years past by not making resolutions, other than the most general: "Eat breakfast. Walk occasionally. Eat kale a lot."

This year, though, I'm brimming with them. Maybe it's tipping well into my final half of life; maybe it's not having a truly little child of my own any more (thank goodness for a new niece!) that's freeing up some space in my head. And this blog is part of that. While researching when we got the cats for a pet insurance application, not only did I discover when we got the cats, thanks to the blog, seeing the pictures of the kids and reading about what we were doing was so pleasurable and not having it was an actual ache. So I resolved to post at least one picture of one kid per day and blog something. Alas, that's only one thing I want to do.

Some of my plans involve the kids in other ways:


And, as any parent knows, rearing kids means limits. Screen time is an ongoing struggle here -- in fact, many things about this child are struggles. Rarely do parents blog honestly about their challenges with their children, and the line between exploitation and sugar-coating isn't easy to find. I hope that this year, we're going to unlock some of the more difficult puzzles with our son, even though paying for the professional help to do so is going to be painful.

I'm also embarking on a self-taught course of dog training. Mikey, who recently joined our family, was trained to be a show dog and not much else. He's big, and mouthy, and not quite sure what's expected of him. He's also very lovable.


I love the look he's giving the kid here. "Squirrel? You call that a squirrel? Take me outside!" In researching training methods, I've fallen completely for Karen Pryor and her positive reinforcement classical conditioning clicker training. Her Reaching the Animal Mind book provided hours of entertainment for us, and then gave me a place to start when Mikey came home. As I've delved more into training, I'm feeling overwhelmed, so finding this website with its structured instruction has been a boon. I think it might also save me a few hundred dollars in private training lessons.

So what else? Um, study Italian, teach my courses, keep homeschooling as effectively as I can, walk briskly a few times a week - that leg is still not at all run-able - do some yoga, keep decluttering the house, and oh, yes, knitting.

I started working on the second of the Norwegian Snail Mittens a few days ago:


This would be great almost-two-years-to-a-finished-object stuff if I didn't also bite the fit-bullet and do this:


And it's not done. That "first" mitten was just enough too tight around the thumb area to make it not up to snuff. In a moment of strength, I figured, "I can do this" and just started ripping. When I get down below the tight part, I'll set it back on the needles and start over. By then the "other first" mitten will be done, and I'll be halfway to the first pair done.

As I mean to go on, I mean.

SQUEAK

All done. Used the charts from this blog, and a general gauge x kid-head measurement for the size. Yarn is Mirasol "Tupa," and I used size 3 needles.

The chart parts were done back and forth, intarsia style, because I haven't mastered intarsia in the round, and this worked out best, although the "A" needs some help. I joined and did the top in the round, then seamed the bottom part. Then I undid and redid the seam because I discovered that it's generally better to seam black wool in bright sun versus a dim evening house.




The resident Pratchett fan is pleased, and warm*, and that's all that matters.

*Hey, it's summer in the Bay Area. It's chilly!

On the go, go, go

I was thinking of writing up my day yesterday and seeing if it made the top of anyone else's head lift off. It went something like this:

Up at 6:30, graded papers.
Showered.
Woke kids, fed kids, made lunches.
Got Eric to drive kids to school.
Decided what to make for dinner; made shopping list
Woke up Sarafina.
Woke up Sarafina.
Woke up Sarafina.
Suited up, got bee stuff together to take to school.
Got Sarafina to take pictures.
Took bees out of hive, put in carry box.
Got Caterina and bees in car.
Went to school, got stranger to close car because I was holding bees and a hive box.
Did presentations about bees in three classes.
Got call from Sarafina; needed an emergency ride to class.
Got home, put bees away.
Regular ride showed up.
Got shopping bags together.
Realized Tor's doctor appointment wasn't at 5pm, it was 2pm.
Got in car, called back up to pick up Ellie after school.
Picked up Tor, got him to doctor.
Walked 6 blocks to get tea with Cat.
Knit on baby sweater.
Walked 6 blocks to get Tor after appointment.
Tried to get ice cream, they only take cash.
Nice lady offered to treat.
Cat said she'd rather have ice cream in Alameda.
Thanked nice lady, drove through afternoon traffic to ice cream shop.
Talked to Denise on the phone about getting together right then.
Got ice cream.
Drove to grocery store, got milk in recylable bottles, asked about the honey which is all gone.
Drove home, put away groceries, cleaned up kitchen, put beans on to boil.
Denise came over, we picked vegetables.
Cleaned and weighed veggies, chopped kale.
Denise left, Italked to my mom on the phone while I made soup.
Eric home, talked while I made rest of soup.
Ate dinner. Eric made me laugh so hard I almost shot soup out of my nose; Sarafina followed suit when he made a crack about that. Tor dramatically fell over "dead" because he had eaten kale.
Tor and Cat began to kick a large ball back and forth.
Eric and I and Sarafina cleaned up.
Tor ate a bagel.
After multiple tries, got Tor and Cat brushed and in bed.
Ellie came home.
Got her in bed.
Read bedtime story.
Turned off lights.
Knitted while Eric drew shelf plans.
Cat got up saying she was hungry. Offered her soup. She took it, therefore she really was hungry.
Put Cat back to bed.
Went upstairs and got read to while knitting on sweater.
Collapsed.

Today seems much calmer, although I realized I've repeated the get up/lunch/drive routine, plus taking Ellie for an 8am tooth extraction, then grocery shopping and driving the teens to writing class. Now I'm going to make lunch for park day and pick up some baseball supplies. Maybe I'll finish that baby sweater today! And maybe, just maybe, I'll do some running of the sweaty kind today and tomorrow.

Right on schedule

I am, weirdly.

But first, pictures from that three year old Christmas present.




I think she likes it. If she doesn't want to wear it, it would make a nice table runner:


Close-up of mistake free section.


Friends and acquaintances keep telling me how stressed they are by holiday preparations. I keep waiting for the "oh no oh no oh nos" to hit, but they haven't.

You see, I have a Secret Plan. It involves A List:


If I do everything on that list, in the order listed, I should arrive at Christmas morning serene and with enough sleep. We shall see. Tonight, I finished one Fetching, in Jimmy Bean's 8 ply from stash.


Here it is spokesmodeling one of the uneaten gingerbread houses I got made up and decorated with the kids yesterday. (I delivered them, fully assembled, right on time. A List.)


Now I have to go and quilt one end of a lap quilt before I go to bed. Yawn.

Knitting while Traveling

A big family Thanksgiving isn't the only way to go, but every few years I like to get together with all of my cousins, or at least as many as will get together at the old farm place, and Thanksgiving is a fine time to do it. So I'm in Tennessee right now.

I brought an early Christmas present to my mom. This was started back in 2006, and put in time out for some mistakes I couldn't fix then. Denise suggested that I neither fix them, nor even find them, but bind the piece off and call it good. After I knit that edging, then pinned it out for blocking, I found the mistakes. . . but it's okay. After three years, my memory sort of softens.


She said she'd put on a nice blouse and model it for me tomorrow.

A stop at Bliss Yarns in Brentwood to meet up with some absolutely lovely Ravelers led to these two skeins of local alpaca coming home with me. I love that the name of the animal is on the label. These come from Teardrop. Teardrop has a nice gray coat.


These are going to become either Brünnhilde or Ceangaltas Mittens from Knitting New Mittens and Gloves. Is it only coincidence that they almost perfectly match the Araucania Nature Wool in this sweater?


Yes, this sweater now has only a start to a sleeve. . . I took the plunge and ripped it out after discovering (through the magic of counting) that I had cast on approximately half the stitches of the entire body for the sleeve. No wonder it got too big. My arm isn't half of the circumference of my waist; it's nearly a third. I hope this one works well. It's going to be my "flight home knitting," but I'm going to switch to a longer cable for easier magic looping.

I also discovered that the lovely orange/yellow raglan cable sweater I made for a little one has a tiny mistake in it -- right in the front. I was gazing at my littlest daughter wearing it and thinking how nice it is to see my kids wearing sweaters I make, and saw a miscounted stitch right on the front of the sweater.

Sigh.

Basking in reflected competence

I had a fun morning today because I went to a breakfast hosted by one of the City Councilmembers where Eric works. I kept snickering to myself that it was "Take Your Spouse To Work Day," and kept telling myself that possibly no one there knew how to make paired increases and decreases, but there were many interesting people there.

I also enjoyed listening to the speaker, who was the reason I went. He'll have some impact on our family, I think.

And the nicest part of the whole thing, besides the hanging out together, was hearing Eric very publicly praised and lauded. I mean, I know he does good work, and I know there are people there who know it, but it was a pretty loud, big deal.

Hee.

'Cause, we only see him like this usually:


And in the morning, he just gives the sugar out:

Only a little stinky

The "corpse flower" actually smelled more like "musty old house flower," but it was fun to go. There's a bit of the eternal tourist in me, that wants to check off sightings and activities, and make sure that my children also have those experiences, so, "Stinking flower? Only blooms every so many years? Check!" Since I balance this by being boring and uninterested in other stuff, I figure it's an okay urge.

And then some of us ended up in the newspaper. Usually my sister and I don't let reporters use our kids' names . . . and we've had some very weird reactions from reporters. But this felt a lot more educational, I guess. Two of mine are in the background of this picture. We have some other pictures of the kids there I'll add to this post when she sends them to me.

Then, the leather-repair place had moved, and the tailor was gone, so it didn't matter that I remembered to bring my beloved but torn jacket into town with me, but we did get oodles of basil and I made pesto for dinner tonight -- three kinds of ravioli: butternut squash with brown butter sage sauce, pesto, and goat cheese and walnut. I'm hungry just thinking about it. Maybe I'll make a tart too. If I get all my whack of grading and teaching done!

Good run doing intervals this morning, and I feel not-injured, which is a very pleasant place to be.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow I win back my body in a really profound way. Thing 4 turns three tomorrow, and that's weaning day. For any of you who have nursed toddlers or who plan to, believe me, I'm not going to miss nursing. Eleven-plus years of nurturing children in just this way has fostered in me a deep, deep appreciation for fancy undergarments, tucked-in shirts, and dresses with no front openings. Really.

A pretty fair day

Heh heh. I know the pun is allegedly the lowest form of humor, but I can't help it. I like them and many other obvious funny things.

So, on Friday, we scooped up all of our children, plus a friend for Thing 1, plus my sister and her kids, and we all went to the county fair. It's another summer ritual that my children are beginning to insist on.

And every year, I have the same range of reactions. First, it's incredibly hot. This year wasn't as hot as last year, but we had the added fun of air you could practically cut with a knife. I felt guilty for driving, guilty for breathing it even.

One of the things I most enjoy -- albeit not guilt-free (is anything, for someone with a brain?) -- is roller coasters. Preferably in the company of my sister, but I'll ride with anyone. That said, the ones at the fair always give me the collywobbles. I wonder if they're put together well. I wonder how far they've traveled and whether the folks tightening the bolts were on illegal substances. So at the fair, I want to love the coasters, I want to share them with my kids, and I'm worried. Of course, my children love the rides. As far as they're concerned, the county fair is an amusement park with rides, cotton candy, and a few animals their mother forces them to look at.

So I rode. I rode with anyone who needed an adult; I rode with people who just wanted company. I rode and rode and rode and rode, but not the rides I like, because the kids who are big enough to ride those were off riding them -- I rode anything the kids wanted to ride. Thing 2 said at one point, when I was shrieking with laughter while spinning backwards, "I didn't know mamas liked this kind of stuff," and I thought, "Oh honey. . . you have no idea."

There wasn't much shrieking, however, because mostly it was swinging. Over and over and over and over. I think Thing 4 and I went on the little swings about 73 times. I kept saying "Yes," because that was my mode for the day, but I discovered that I get tired of little swings.


I even get tired of big swings.

Especially when the midway features really loud, loud loud bad covers of '80s music. My ears, like my eyes, are quite tender.

Thing 4 revealed that she's much like her mother in her love of rides. I was pleased to note, when I saw this picture, that her cropped hair still looks okay to me. The operator of this ride was terrifically understanding. She allowed this little one to ride without getting off between rides. So she rode. And rode. And rode. She rode with cousins, she rode with siblings, she rode by herself. She just loved it. And we got to stand in the background and not ride, for which I, at least, was devoutly grateful.


That operator actually took a lollipop out of Thing 3's mouth so he could ride -- endearing her to me forever. He's not so jaded yet, so that even though he's just tall enough to ride the adult-sized swings -- will I ever get over the stomach-sinking feeling of watching them fly through the air? -- he's still able to enjoy a carousel.


So I have ideas for next year, based on this year's experiences. We need to stay home until after naptime, if anyone is napping. We need to bring the big stroller with a cooler and lots of half-frozen iced tea and lots of food. We need to save up our money, so it doesn't seem like such a shock to pay for everything. We should buy discounted tickets ahead of time. Maybe, just maybe, Eric and I should go alone for one day, so we can do the looking at tatting and petting baby cows stuff that missing makes me so cranky. We should definitely go when a bad band is playing so I can see them. I think I missed The Village People (!) this year. Rats.


I want the kids to appreciate the things that mean "Fair" to me, too, and they tried -- really they did. They were excited that their friend's duct tape shorts had won first prize and that my friend had won best in show for her yummy-looking pie, but . . . the loudness of what was marketed as "fair" overwhelmed any more contemplative pleasures.

And that, finally, may have been what really wiped me out.


My love for coasters doesn't overwhelm the setting in my brain that says "Fair=harvest festival" so when reality feels like Fair=loud, loud, loud "entertainment," and I see so many beautiful, really beautiful young women in all their glory, wearing more makeup than they need, in teeny skirts (funniest comment of the day was when spouseman nodded toward a lovely young blond thing in a scrap of camoflauge skirt, and said, "That makes me feel really patriotic"), and I realize that they're incredibly anxious, because, look at them, they're beautiful, and my kids are wildly overstimulated and I just want to wander around and look at the knitting and the quilts and eat homemade cake and maybe ride a few big coasters. . . well, it's a lot of expensive cognitive dissonance.

I'd rather go to an all-animal and knitting and pie fair and save the big bucks for a coaster park. But I will keep going back to this one -- maybe we'll enter things again and that will help -- because the kids enjoy it pretty thoroughly. See?

Amateur Hour

When I die, I half-seriously want chiseled on any commemorative stone: "How hard can it be?" because that is so my approach to life. I've posted about this before even though I can't find it now. In so many of my activities, like beekeeping, schooling, gardening, childbirth, house repair, I follow that leading, with varying levels of success. I don't think that "experts" have all the answers; I do believe that people can do more, far more, than they think they can, and most things reward just leaping in and trying.

There are one or two areas, though, that I've discovered this attitude isn't a big help. Household electricity, for one. There are probably one or two others, but the one I'm thinking about right now is even closer to home.

Hairdressing.

I discovered a few years ago that paying through the nose for a really good haircut made a huge difference in my hair, which I've loved for years even with a bad cut. A good one? I'm a hair-goddess. And my spouse wore his hair the same way he had since he was 12 until I talked him into going to Expensive Hair Salon with me, and now he looks. . . updated, and very nice.

All that to say I should have paid closer attention the other day when my nephew and youngest daughter were being very very quiet.

Berry, Berry Good

I've been struggling with this post for about a day now. There is so much more I want to say than, "Look, we picked berries." And I've been wondering why.

Finally, I figured it was because I was trying to talk about other things and using berries as a lens or metaphor or something. And it wasn't some weird attempt to be profound, it was trying to put words to what my experience around this yearly trip is. I'm still not sure I have it right.


Our outing to the berry patch yesterday felt kind of like a pilgrimage. I was thinking about why we do this. It's a long drive, only me and two of my kids really love berries (spouse and first child loathe them), and we can only go about once per year. But the summer doesn't feel right to me without this trip, and it dawned on me that this is how you build a family's memories -- layering experiences over and over again, so that each repetition of the activity is informed and colored by the previous ones. Like fine layers of glaze building up to make luminous colors, rather than one thick blob of paint which doesn't let light through.

All of that aside, it was like the Keystone Kops getting there. While we waited for my sister to get her hair cut, the Things and cousins picked about 10 pounds of tiny plums in her back yard. A friend who was going with us was dropped off; another friend called and said she'd come and meet us.


I figured that cooking down and straining the plums was probably a good use of our time. Finally, she had about a gallon of "plum gunk." We'll make jam on our schedule that way; the rest of the week and weekend didn't look promising.

Then our friend showed up and we began the "who sits where" negotiations. I ended up with all of the (rather loud) middle aged children, while my eldest and youngest rode with my sister. I could see my big child talking, laughing and gesturing cheerily at her aunt. "At least they're having fun," I thought. Needless to say, I rarely get the incandescent side of that child these days.

On the way there, we made a total of four stops. One bathroom indoors, one bathroom outdoors. The indoors one was accompanied by coffee-purchasing. One re-buckling of a carseat, one gas. I thought, "This is what happens when you get more than two homeschoolers together. . ." and decided, quite consciously, to let go of any expectations about when we'd get there or what it would be like. This trip is just something I love, and it didn't matter how I executed it.

Finally, and it's taken me years to learn to read the road cues, we got to the farm. Loading up into their car were beloved friends, and while I would have loved time to catch up, they were done. Of course, we couldn't go right out and pick because the kids were predictably hungry.
Since we're veterans, there was food to stuff in them and, armed with insider knowledge from our departing friends, we headed to the "good end" of the patch. Some of us are more serious about picking than others. We call Thing 1"The Machine." Her brother inspires different thoughts:

Just like that, while the day was unique, the rhythm felt exactly the same as every other year. I remembered the year I made myself sick eating berries, hanging a very pregnant belly over my knees sitting on a little red wagon. I remembered the year the berries were all over 1.5" long, and the year that they didn't taste very sweet. So it was like looking at a beloved face and seeing it at different ages -- or looking at pictures of someone younger and seeing their adult face in them. Layers upon layers, all in some irrigated berry vines.


The children are getting better at picking, or at least better at picking when they want to pick. We had to remind some of the male ones not to throw berries, and Thing 2 seemed to get distracted by the cosmetic options offered by them.
I tried to make Thing 1 laugh and she dismissed my efforts.


This year, the berries aren't as large as I've seen them, but they've never tasted like this -- the best of blackberries with a tannic kick at the end. Easy to gorge instead of picking, and the organic practices of the farm make it okay that the kids do that. Someone, due to her height and total lack of impulse control, had it easy:


We kept crying out, "Make every berry count!" and coached the kids to look for "Dark, soft, big berries!"

I only wish we'd gotten one flat more. Somewhere I lost count, or we would have had one more. Tonight there will be hand pies for dessert and bagging of the frozen berries, and then the frozen ones will quietly slip into the new freezer, so that we can warm ourselves with the taste of summer no matter what time of year it is. Really, almost nothing makes me happy like this.


I was so mellowed out by the entire berry experience that when my kids asked to stop at the beach, and we were the only ones stopping, I said -- Yes! They know my Rogue Wave paranoia, but I managed to breathe and stay close to the little one and not try to notice the weird color of the sky because of the fires and how ominous that made this little gray beach seem. Instead, I watched my children shed their shoes and run at the edge of the water like gangly birds and I was so glad to be there.

I did try to distract them into a lovely little carved-out cave in the rocks away from the water, for a little bit, but when that faded, I threw seaweed as joyfully as I could and didn't think about my precious babies tumbling in the water like it. I just was there.

Until I couldn't take it any more, so one more cliff walk and we headed back home. It was a very good trip.

Arbor therapy

Well, after the yogus interruptus this morning, we decided to get everyone out into the woods, as the unpleasant heat has lessened.

So our church was wandering straight uphill in one of the regional parks. We missed the redwood area, but ended up in an oak wood.

My kids haven't yet figured out that complaining about things doesn't make the unpleasant go away, but I kept telling them they'd appreciate it later. The withheld bag of coffeeshop treats was the carrot all the way uphill.

While my cries of "Look! Natural beauty!" and "We're so high up!" weren't much help in turning the grouchies around, finding a spreading, huge live oak tree to scramble up and around was the real turning point. There's something about climbing that just does it for my brood. On the drive both ways, my spouse volunteered to drive so I could get the heel done on my last sock. It's only four rounds before the gussets are done, and I know how fast the rest goes.

They weren't perfect on the way down, but they were better, and we saw one of these, and I even correctly identified it! Whoopie for nature guides. Plus, the name "California Sister" just cracks me up. I have one of those. . .


Now I get the fun of marshaling the forces for a quick houseclean and laundry sort, and I'm going to reward the helpful with ice cream, leaving the uncooperative at home to ponder the wisdom of being on the spot the next time it's a choice between doing what you're asked and doing what you want at the moment. The joy of duty, indeed.

Knitting while driving

No, I don't do the driving! But, since home is full of the distractions generated by four children, being a passenger in a car is the perfect opportunity to get some uninterrupted time in on the needles.

I think it's because they're all strapped into car seats.

An outing for which I'm not driving means that my husband is going too, which makes it extra special. At any rate, two hours or so brought us to Sutter's Mill. On the way up, I had this much of the ripple edge sweater started:














After going through the museums, peering into tiny replica cabins (and all I could think of was how easy they would be to keep clean, with so little in them!), eating bread and cheese, and throwing rocks, we had done Sutter's Mill for now. I think this is my favorite picture of the whole day














By the time we had rolled past San Francisco, the sweater was this big














I am fairly pleased with my partially-garter stitch scallops for the edge. Not completely, but I'm willing to go with them and see how they work. A big shout to Janis for not adding "Duh!" when she suggested I try changing them a bit.




So it wasn't really that funny a day, if by "funny," you mean, "bickering children, crabby mother." It was pretty peaceful. And, oddly, quite pleasant.