Suzanne

Busy, Busy, Busy

2012-01-11T09:32:00.000-06:00

Life and preparations for the new baby have accelerated to a considerably fast pace, as well they should. We have a little over a month before we meet our little dude, and while with Hannah we found ourselves twiddling our thumbs during the last month of pregnancy, there just aren't enough hours in the day with this one. Why does that happen with subsequent pregnancies? Let me name a few reasons for me . . .

First, this little one keeps me on my toes. Every day she shows new, stunning independence. There are some days, however, when she understandably regresses. After we assembled the crib for the baby, for instance, she decided she wanted to take her nap there. We obliged, but after her nap we sat down and discussed what it means to be a big sister.

I explained that yes, the baby will get special privileges like sleeping in Mommy and Daddy's bed or a cozy crib, drinking Mommy's milk, wearing cute little teeny tiny clothes that just won't fit a 3-year-old, etc. But there are also things that big sisters get to do that baby brothers can't! I've been keeping a running list with Hannah, so we can refer to it when life begins to feel unfair for her. Here are a few of the things she and I have named.

Baby brothers can't:
1. Eat ice cream
2. Run and jump and skip
3. Color pictures
4. Eat noodles (Hannah's favorite)
5. Change dresses as many times as they want
6. Call their aunts, uncles and cousins on the phone.
7. Go potty all by themselves
9. Walk
10. Sing all the words to "The Wizard of Oz."

Second, what started out as a small play group with preschool undertones has grown into a full blown preschool co-op with 6 moms and 11 kids! With the big move happening in November, this has been my first chance to host preschool. It just also happens to fall in the last month of my pregnancy! I wanted to make sure I hosted at least once before the baby comes, and what a tornado of joy it has been!

Beautiful puppet theater made by my talented sister in law

Celebrating 3 Kings Day

Dancing with puppets!

Third, I am teaching my final month of piano and voice lessons before taking two months of maternity leave. In December we had a small winter recital (only half of my students were able to attend), and though it was a small, intimate chamber recital held in my folks' living room, it took a lot of coordinating on everyone's part, and I am so happy with how it turned out. Music is such a gift, and I'm so grateful for students who are willing to share it.

Fourth, we are diving headfirst into the world of cloth diapering! We didn't really have this option with Hannah in Japan (at least from what I could tell), and now in America it seems we have too many options. After much research, asking around and deliberation, we (well, I) finally settled on a diapering system that will work for us, and I found a wonderful Etsy shop with the CUTEST cloth diapers I've ever seen. I mean, take a look at these beauties-for-baby's-booty!

Seriously, how can you NOT want to dress your baby's bum in one of these adorable prints?! The bottom three on the right are Happy Heiney's that I picked up at a consignment sale, only to find out later that it was one of my best friends consigning them (small world)! The others were made by Tabitha, a work-at-home-mom with amazing talent. Not only did I discover her wonderful Etsy shop KonstantKrafter while browsing Craigslist for diapers, but I learned that Tabitha lives right here in Leavenworth! I immediately contacted her and asked if there was a way for me to come see and feel her diapers. She had so many fabric options that I was getting overwhelmed making my choices. Tabitha enthusiastically replied and invited me into her home to check out the diapers in person, and the rest is history. With a generous supplement of size small Fuzzibuns diapers from my sister in law, I think we finally have enough diapers to cover our baby.

Last but not least, I am still knitting and crocheting. :) Here is another shawlette (my third - I really like the pattern!) I made for a dear friend:

And a hot pink owl beanie (pattern from Inner Hooker) for a little one who outgrew her favorite hat:

Whew! This was just going to be a Yarn Along post to link up with Ginny at Small Things, Linda at Natural Suburbia and Donni at The Magic Onions, but it turned into so much more! This is my life in a nutshell right now - beautifully busy, messy and creative. I wouldn't have it any other way. A friend said to me recently, "this baby will slow you down from 100 mph to 1 mph." I'm looking forward to that slower pace, but until then I'll enjoy the chaos. :)

Happiest of New Years

2011-12-31T09:26:00.000-06:00

In the Japanese New Year custom, I'm spending today cleaning and scouring the house, with the intention of relaxing and doing nothing but fun things tomorrow. In Japan, this would also mean cleaning and ironing all of the curtains in the house, washing all bed sheets, and airing out all duvets/futons before the first of the year. Being 8 months pregnant, I'm not feeling that ambitious, so I'll settle for a tidy house, laundry that is clean, folded and put away, and a kitchen with clean counters and stove tops and NO dishes in the sink. I believe, as the Japanese do, that the first of the year should be reserved for rest, reflection, and recreation. I'm not a fan of loud, drunken beginnings to new years. I think that's why the Japanese tradition speaks to me. While living in Japan we would celebrate the new year with our dear friends Megumi and Miwako. We ate a richly symbolic "osechi" meal (which I do not have the skill to prepare) and quietly watched the news coverage of people visiting shrines, writing their prayers on little pieces of paper, attaching them to balloons, and reverently releasing those prayers into the night. There were no shouts announcing the new year, no miserable hangovers the morning after, and best of all, no reports of car crashes from drunk drivers in the night. It was refreshing and rejuvenating, and exactly what we needed.

Dinner at the Iguchi household

Traditional Osechi meal

Megumi

Teaching us how to eat Shabu Shabu

Miwako

I've also been reflecting on what the past year has meant for us. New jobs, new house, a new baby on the way . . . and yet most of those things happened within the second half of the year. The first half was full of questions - Where did the last year go? Where do we go from here? How do we move on? When will all be right in the world? When will we feel whole? It is easy, when times are hard, to see only what is lacking in our lives and the world around us. It takes far more courage and far more work to see what what we have, and find peace and contentment in that. To those who are suffering right now, whether it be from some hurt done to you, depression that you cannot explain or wish away, or a situation you feel is beyond management or repair, I want you to know that I have been where you are. I have felt your pain, anger and frustration. I have felt beyond repair myself. There came a moment in my life in this past year, however, where I made the choice to see beyond my wounds and imperfect situation, and heal. There came a point when, like the Japanese prayer balloons, I let my expectations and prayers float out of me and into the universe, leaving me only the will to do and be, not wish and want. And once I made the choice to heal, I did. As I have been cleaning house today, I've thought of the "house cleaning" we've managed in our souls this past year, and I am in awe of the steps we have taken, and the healing we have accomplished.

I can't imagine being in a better, happier place than we are right now. I love my family, I love my home, I love my life. Never have I felt more spiritually in harmony with the universe and all of its diverse paths. Never have I been more acutely aware of my connection to the lives around me, and the significance that connection holds in my life. I am full to bursting with wonderment and love of the human experience, however ugly it may seem at times. I am grateful for the gift of a new year, and all the exciting turns and events it holds for us. It is hard to imagine a year topping the one we've just had, but I'm just crazy and optimistic enough to think that it will.

I wish all of you the very Happiest of New Years. May you find the peace you seek, and the courage to grab hold of it and never let it go.

Yarn Along, Other Crafts, and Christmas Snaps

2011-12-28T09:27:00.001-06:00

Now that Christmas has passed, I can post some photos of the handmades I gifted to family. You'll probably remember the piggies I was working on a few weeks ago. I'm so happy with how they turned out. These lucky pigs now have a home in Hawaii!

I also tried my hand at candle making this season. With these little Japanese tea cups I scored at a thrift store I followed this tutorial, adding lavender essential oil to make them fragrant. I think next time I'll add more. :)

For another sweet nephew I made this aardvark, another Mamma4earth pattern.

The construction of this paper lantern was therapeutic for me. I worked late into the night before Christmas Eve, and then just sat there and watched it glow while everyone slept. Tutorial found here.

And another Dory Shawlette for my sister. Seriously, this pattern is so quick and easy to wip up, I want to make one in every color!

Upon request, I made my husband an extremely warm hat using a combination of Malabrigo worsted and some qiviut (musk ox) lace yarn I won from this blog. Having little desire to try my hand at knitting lace, I knew I wanted to double the qiviut with something equally as decadent and warm, and what could be better than merino wool? The pattern is a simple knit 5, purl 5 which I found on Ravelry. I had made Hans the same hat last year, and wanted to make it longer this time so it could be folded further over his ears for added warmth. It seems my efforts may have been a little too exuberant, as now Hans says the hat is too warm for this unseasonally warm weather. Picky, picky!

So that's what kept me busy the last week before Christmas, and consequently my progress on Hannah's Milo vest/dress took a hiatus. Maybe I'll have it completed for her birthday in March. I'm not stressing. :)

And here is what our Christmas looked like. Fondu dinner, a wonderful time with both sides of the family, and my very favorite part, a beautifully crafted handmade Waldorf doll for Hannah. Daria of Nobby Organics made this very special doll for us, and I couldn't be happier with how she turned out. Thank you, Daria!!

My little poser, in her Christmas dress.

Fondu Dinner!

Ready to open presents

Opa tells the Nativity story.

Amazing puppet theater made by Aunt Kerri. Can't wait to use this for preschool!

Every new homeowner's dream come true.

Hannah's new friend, whose current name is "Felicity." We will see if it sticks. The tiny baby doll was another giveaway from Little Chips Handcrafts. Perfect for a little girl expecting a baby brother in 2 months!

I hope your Christmas was merry and bright!

Joining Ginny's Yarn Along at Small Things, Creative Friday with Linda at Natural Suburbia, and Friday's Nature Table at The Magic Onions.

Craft Room Bliss

2011-12-23T07:56:00.001-06:00

I always smile when I think that it wasn't me who insisted on a house with a hobby room for all of my crafting supplies, but Hans. I didn't buy an eight-foot foldable craft table, but Hans did. And I didn't organize this cluttered room so that my craft supplies were easily accessible. Yup, all Hans. He says it's because he couldn't stand the chaos of it all - that knowing this mess was lurking in the basement made him anxious. I like to think there's more to it than that . . . that he is nurturing my need to constantly create, and therefore made my creation room his top priority on his days off this week. Either way, I love him for it.

And maybe, just maybe, this means we can have our dining room table back. I wouldn't count on it, though. :)

Yarn Along

2011-12-21T08:59:00.000-06:00

Santa's workshop is working overtime! Here are some last minute creations for Christmas.

This squirrel was so much fun to make. The tail especially had me giggling as I cut the loops of yarn and saw how incredibly puffy it was turning out. I know my little nephew will be just as tickled. The pattern can be found in Linda's Mama4Earth Etsy shop, and the acorn pattern was a freebie on her blog Natural Suburbia.

I found this shawlette on Lisa's blog OhMyGoodknits. Her pattern can be purchased on Etsy or Ravelry. I have to say, it was nice to put down the knitting needles and crochet for a day. My knitting muscles were getting sore! It was a quick project with beautiful results, and I hope to make at least one more before Christmas.

There's one other little WIP sitting here, but I'll let that be a surprise. :) The book I'm not necessarily reading but hoping to crack open this week is The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making. Something fun to read over Christmas when all the gift making is complete. :)

Joining Ginny's Yarn Along

Family Evening at Home

2011-12-19T20:35:00.000-06:00

I didn't know my heart could hold this much joy, love and light.

Making Wooden Figures

2011-12-16T09:55:00.001-06:00

In October we bought a scroll saw for $50 on Craigslist. After much adoring and drooling over wooden toys and figures that we just couldn't afford, I told Hans it was time we learned to make our own. I was impressed with how emphatically he agreed! So we picked up the scroll saw and made our plans. I bought a sheet of pine, traced our figures, and he started cutting.

At first I was worried about ruining the surprise for Hannah, but I think she has enjoyed being a part of the process even more than the end products!

While some of the patterns were my own creation, I derived a lot of inspiration from Pinterest. :) Our Nativity set probably won't be completed this Christmas, but that hasn't stopped Hannah from playing with and recognizing the characters in their rough cut form. Childrens' imaginations are very resourceful that way. :)

Now comes the even longer and more tedious task of sanding, sanding sanding. I'm trying to be very zen about my sanding. I want them to feel smooth and warm to the touch. By the time they are all sanded, painted and polished, we'll either be sick of the project or have a life long hobby. Either way, we're happy in the moment, and that's all that matters, really.

Yarn Along: Pigs and Birthing

2011-12-14T09:38:00.000-06:00

Today I'm joining Ginny's Yarn Along at Small Things. She says, "Two of my favorite things are knitting and reading, and the evidence of this often shows up in my photographs. I love seeing what other people are knitting and reading as well. So, what are you knitting or crocheting right now? What are you reading? Take a photo and share it either on your blog or on Flickr."

So, without further ado, on this rainy day I am finishing up a sweet little family of pigs for a niece's Christmas present. The pattern is from the book Knitted Animals by Anne-Dorothe Grigaffe. I love the simplicity of her patterns. Many of them only require you to knit a square, and then do some stitching and sculpting into an animal. These piggies have been a super quick project, which is much appreciated this time of year!

The book I'm reading right now is Hypnobirthing: The Mongan Method by Marie Mongan. I cannot believe we only have about 9 weeks before we meet our little boy. In preparation for our home birth (yes, I know some of my friends think I'm crazy, and I simply don't care :)) I'm taking a Hypnobirthing class with my sister in law, Kerri. So far we have had one session, and what I've learned is that I really DO know how to do this already. Hannah's birth in Japan was completely natural, spiritual, and for the most part pain-free. It was really only the atmosphere of the general public hospital that felt "off." Well, that and not being able to communicate with my nurses and midwives in the same language. :) This time around, I feel as though I am learning the philosophy and purpose behind the hypnotic state during labor that I reached without knowing during Hannah's birth. I'll also be surrounded by people who trust that I know what to do, and when my body is ready to birth this baby. Nothing is more disheartening than a nurse walking in the room after you've labored quietly through the night and saying "you still have a long way to go." Little did she know that 30 minutes later I would be holding Hannah in my arms.

We sure showed them.

For the past few months I have really concentrated on keeping a positive and happy countenance, and what a difference it has made. By removing negative thoughts and influences in my life, I have opened myself to the simple joy of being pregnant. It is easy to fall prey to the ever-present mentality that pregnancy is a miserable process, and birthing an excruciating event. It takes much more effort and willpower to be happy with the changes my body is going through, and look forward to birthing with excitement and joy. I am so glad I've chosen to put in the effort to fill my heart with love and positive energy. My baby will thank me.

Unravelry :)

2011-12-09T09:18:00.001-06:00

Some months back, I watched a youtube video on how to unravel old sweaters for the yarn, and I became obsessed with finding just the right sweater for unraveling. My first victim was this men's extra large multi-colored sweater, which I thrifted for $2.

I learned a lot from this sweater. First, if you're going to unravel a sweater, have a plan for how you're going to roll it into balls before you start pulling on that first loose piece of yarn . . . because once you get started, you won't want to stop. Seriously. It's like picking at a peeling sunburn. It's so much fun! But if you don't have a plan, you'll end up with a little thing I like to call "yarn ramen," or "yarn carnage," or better yet, "Yarnage."

Second, if you're looking for your sweater to yield nice long pieces of yarn, pick a sweater that is both one color AND doesn't have surged seams. You want seams that have been hand-stitched together, because a surger just cuts the ends off the sweater pieces, leaving lots of little yarnlets that you can't do much with except throw at the cat. Here is the yarn my sweater yielded. As you can see, there are quite a few smaller balls, and they are all multicolored, because I didn't have patience to separate the colors. This yarn is still sitting in my stash, and I don't really know what to do with it. Any suggestions?

So now that I've grown a little wiser, I waited for the right unraveling sweater to jump out at me, and it just so happens this purple number was the one. No surged seams, no felting of the fibers (it's 100% acrylic. I have yet to try and unravel a wool sweater), and oh, what a lovely color!

Now some of you might think, "what a waste of a good sweater!" But it just isn't my style. Or my mother's. Or grandmother's. So here we go! First, take your sweater apart at the seams. You can do this carefully with a seam ripper or small pair of scissors. This sweater was so chunky, I could do it with my fingers. Once you have the sweater in pieces (this one had three - one back and two fronts), find the "sweet spot" where the knitting ends and the magic begins. Get yourself a toilet paper roll, cut a slit on the top, and wedge the yarn end into the slit. This will make it possible to pull the yarn from the CENTER of your ball when you're all done (fantastic!). Then, have a blast unraveling!

Here is the finished product. Four lovely balls of lavender yarn, all for $2 and about an hour of work.

You will most likely still have some yarnlets from the collar. You can use these for doll hair, stuffing for a toy, or just throw them at the cat. He'll thank you.

Look what else I salvaged from our sweater? Four wooden buttons! Score! These probably would have cost 50 cents each at the craft store.

Unlike the first sweater, I knew exactly what I wanted to make from the unraveled yarn this time. Purple is Hannah's favorite color, so matching Milo vests for Hannah and her dolly were my choice. Within 30 minutes of unraveling this sweater, I had already cast on for something new and exciting. :)

And here is my progress as it stands now. This is the biggest garment I've knit thus far. In fact, it's ending up WAY bigger than I'd hoped due to the doubled-up chunkiness of the yarn. So I'm thinking it will end up more like a dress than a vest, which will thrill Hannah to no end. It's hard to believe that my sister taught me how to knit only a year ago. The human brain is truly an amazing thing. It makes me think, "what else can I learn in a year?" Notice the little heart detail. First cable knitting, too!

I hope to get this finished by Christmas, and a matching one for the beautiful doll she's getting for Christmas (more on that later). I better get to work!

St. Nicholas Day

2011-12-06T22:19:00.001-06:00

I have a lot on my plate right now . . . moving houses, unpacking, teaching lessons, preparing for our first recital tomorrow, participating in a Christmas show, going to chiropractor and midwife appointments (oh yeah, I'm 30 weeks pregnant!) . . . but I was determined to celebrate St. Nicholas Day with Hannah this year. I especially wanted her to feel the joy of giving gifts to others before the endless receiving she'll be doing for Christmas. So we made it happen. With all I've got going on, people might think me a glutton for punishment, but the truth is, I enjoyed preparing for St. Nicholas Day just as much as Hannah and Hans had celebrating it. That's right. So busy was I with my many commitments, that I didn't even get to see how it all played out.

I spent the morning and Hannah's nap time wrapping oranges, nuts and chocolate in tissue paper for Hannah's cousins and a couple friends. I made homemade macaroni and cheese for Hans to throw in the oven for dinner. I printed a St. Nicholas poem card for each family receiving gifts. And Hannah and Hans had a lovely time delivering it all and eating a warm dinner, just the two of them. Hans said it actually put him in a better spirit for Christmas. And that made it all worth it for me. That, and seeing these few snapshots he took of our sweet little girl.

What a little sunshine she is to all who meet her. People tell me that all the time. What a gift I have in her. How warm, friendly and spritely she is. And you know what? Tomorrow morning I get to see that warm, spritely face when she sees how her own acts of kindness have come round circle. Believe me, they are big shoes to fill.

I am thankful . . .

2011-11-28T13:56:00.001-06:00

I know this is a few days late, but seeing as how I'm moving into a new house right now and unpacking things that have been in storage for FIVE YEARS (yes, five), I'm cutting myself some slack. So here is my Thanksgiving post. I am thankful . . .

For the satisfaction of finished projects.

For a healthy pregnancy and an at-home (MY home!!!) birth plan that has me so excited to bring this little boy into the world.

For a little girl who kept me company through the peeling and dicing of four huge "peanut butter squash" for Thanksgiving. :) As I peeled, she sat in front of her cereal and, without prompting, said a prayer of Thanksgiving for each and every member of our family. Amen.

For living close to my two favorite women, my mom and my sister.

For a game of Trivial Pursuit (a very serious pastime in this family) where I didn't lose by a landslide.

In fact, the three of us were tied. That's me in the middle. Unfortunately I didn't win. Stupid Sports and Liesure.

But guess who did win?

I'm thankful for heirlooms. More on this dining room set later . . .

And of course, I'm thankful for our new house, which we are quickly transforming into a Home.

Just a quicky today :)

2011-11-23T06:13:00.001-06:00

We bought our first house yesterday!!! It's beautiful, has a wonderful old soul, and I can't wait to start moving in, decorating, and nesting for this baby who is supposed to arrive in less than three months!

This maple tree is my favorite feature!!!

Yes, I cried when I read this. The family before us had 6 children in this house. Those are big shoes to fill!

Those who know us know what a long time coming this has been, and what a wonderful miracle it is that we are finally here. At our house.

No, our Home.

Our First Month of Preschool

2011-11-22T07:00:00.000-06:00

Meet our preschool co-op. We sing, we craft, we read stories, eat healthy snacks, and one of our moms (my sister in law Kerri) lives on a farm, and hosted our first month of preschool. Here are our adventures from that month.

In September our theme was farming and fall. On this particular day we made apple crowns, read "Ten Apples Up On Top," and ate apple compote. Here's MaryAnn, one of the wonderful women in our co-op.

Kerri is our farmer mama, and so, so, creative with children. We made these cute little toadstool pillows for story time. Each child's is so unique!

When the older siblings are out of school, we all go to the park and play in the dirt. I loved seeing the little city they built from old bottle caps and things they found lying around the park!

I think the giant cockroach is a nice touch, don't you?

Hannah loves her cousin, Baby Rivers. She's going to be a great older sister. :)

For our last day of preschool on the farm (at least until the rotation hits Kerri again), we had a special treat - a field trip (literally) on Farmer Glen's tractor trailer!

He even let the kids climb around and explore the tractor. How cool is that?

Golden was a wonderful tour guide, and even let the kids sit on HIS red tractor. :)

I'm so thankful for this group of friends who have taken such an interest in the teaching and enrichment of all our kids. I hemmed and hawed about enrolling Hannah in a regular preschool in town, but what is a classroom filled with plastic toys, two teachers and 20 kids, compared with this:

No contest.

Michaelmas in September

2011-11-21T07:00:00.000-06:00

September was a month of exuberant festivals! We attended Buffalo Bill Days, complete with line dancing, face painting, donkey riding, and outhouse racing. We also took part in a wonderful barn dedication at Lambourn Farm. I think my favorite of the September festivities, however, was Michaelmas. This was our first time observing the feast of St. Michael, me being the fledgling wannabe Waldorf mama that I am, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. I wish I had taken more than a week preparing for this festival, and will remember to do so next year. For those interested, you can read a little more about Michaelmas over at Parenting Passageway. I drew ideas from many of the links on this page, and also from the book All Year Round.

We invited my sister and her boys to take part in the festival, and we told the story of St. George and the dragon with little peg people I clothed as the characters in the story. My nephew Ethan especially liked the knight with his tiny little sword. Hans was a rather flamboyant puppeteer, and my narrating just couldn't compete with his theatrics. :)

Hannah and I also sculpted a dragon out of beeswax to go on our Michaelmas candle, which is meant to be lit every night until Halloween. It is a symbol of keeping darkness (the dragon) at bay as the days grow shorter, and we begin to turn inward to find the light and strength that will carry us through winter.

After telling the story and lighting our candle we ventured outside and reenacted the St. George story, with nephews as knights, Hannah as the princess (of course) and Hans as the dragon. I think this was the boys' favorite part. What little boy doesn't like being given permission to beat on his uncle with a sword?

Doesn't this chivalry make you swoon? :) After role playing, we came inside for a warm supper of chicken noodle soup and dragon bread, of course. I got the recipe for this yummy bread from the book All Year Round, and have since used it at least three more times! My bread sculpting skills could use improvement . . .

We then took the children outside for a Grandpa-built bonfire that ended up being a little more than we'd bargained for. Hannah spent the entire time nursing the "dragon" back to health. She was quite distraught that our knights had to hurt him. I'm thinking next year the story needs to go " . . . and then St. George told the dragon to 'be good!' and the dragon obeyed, and took up baking bread with his fiery breath for the village baker. The end."

Almost caught up! Thank you for bearing with me and reading through these memories with me. This has been a wonderful exercise in record keeping. I'm excited to finish up though, and talk about all the fun things that are happening now!

Acting From a Place of Truth

2011-11-19T07:00:00.000-06:00

Remember that little bit about playing Cinderella? While all our other crazy adventures were happening, I was also rehearsing my butt off 5 nights a week! Our community theater's production of Rogers and Hammerstein's "Cinderella" went up in August. I love taking part in community theater, especially in summer when spirits and energy are high. You might remember the down feeling I had after "Annie" last summer, but I had very little sense of loss when this show was over, not because it was a negative experience, but because I wasn't using theater as a diversion from reality this time around. I was in a much better place in my life, a place where I could give much more, and consequently I took away much more. Not only did I have my ever-thickening pregnant belly to nurture, but I gained wonderful new friendships and a healthy boost to my number of piano and voice students. Plus, who doesn't like to dress like a princess and sing and dance across the stage? :)

It isn't always easy to explain why I love performing so much, especially at this little old theater. You rehearse to ungodly hours of the night (I sometimes didn't get to see Hans, because as soon as he came home from work I had to leave for rehearsal, and when I came home from rehearsal he was fast asleep in bed). You deal with the oldness of the building - broken air conditioning in the middle of July, dust, feathers and bird droppings (and sometimes whole birds) are constantly falling from the rafters and invading your senses. The water gets shut off and you have to go hours without a bathroom during performances. Our tiny backstage area is always ripe with drama - the kind that doesn't entertain or make anyone feel good. Oh, and did I mention the being pregnant while performing part?

Many think that theater is a self-centered hobby. That we like it because we like the attention. That's true. But I wouldn't dismiss it as anything less than a meaningful and worthwhile art form that enriches the souls of both the actors and the audience. I don't have many opportunities to step in someone else's shoes, or truly sympathize with an infamous character in literature. In fact, I always thought Cinderella was kind of a drag. This show allowed me to not only find worth in this short fairy tale, but to inject it with the spunk I'd always felt was missing!

And then there are the people. The "community" in "Community Theater." People from all walks of life - small business owners, insurance agents, district attorney assistants, physical therapists, teachers, stay at home moms - somehow manage to come together in this musty old theater and share their love for music and acting, and breathe life into their characters in ways I hadn't thought of. They are a joy to watch, and a pleasure to know. I treasure these people like my own family, and every show I'm involved in expands the family a little more.

And isn't that what community is all about, anyway? It invites new people to play a role in our lives - allowing them to influence us, love us, and remind us that our separateness is a lie. The truth is not that we all long to be connected, but that we already are.

Photo credits: Nick Schale Photography

July Part II: Everyone Needs an Uncle Paul

2011-11-18T07:00:00.000-06:00

Later in July we had a special treat - a visit from my brother Paul and his kids Morgan, Connor and Riley. I hadn't seen them in about 3 years, and this was the first time Hannah would actually remember meeting her uncle and cousins. We missed having Paul's wife Sara for the visit. Hopefully we'll be seeing them all for Christmas this year (hint, hint!). :) Paul is closest to me in age, and though we have two older siblings, much of my childhood was spent with just him. Watching him play with the kids in the pool reminded me of being launched across the swimming pool by my brother, and I just had to smile at the full circle those adventures have made.

We'll start off with my single most favorite photo of the summer:

Pure glee. There are no other words.

This is the position Ethan usually assumes when uncles are in the pool.

This is the face Hannah inspires in most people.

Lessons in bravery . . .

Another sweet moment.

Tandem cannon balls.

Pizza in a hammock. Can you think of a better way to spend a July afternoon?

We also celebrated the 10th and 11th birthdays of Zach and Morgan, and my sister Amy made this fabulous Harry Potter cake, complete with sorting hat, golden snitch, glasses and monster book.

Love their faces while we're singing to them. Let the embarrassed phase begin. :)

This was my gift to Zach, it's called a Loopz Game, and a really funny video advertisement can be found here. So naturally, Uncle Paul the Pianist had more fun with it than anyone. I think he did this for a solid half hour. I kind of want to post video of it too, but I've had such a hard time loading photos that it sounds like a daunting task (anyone else finding blogger slow and cumbersome with uploading photos? Tips, please?)

Those were our happy times in July. I'm on a roll, so help me stay motivated and tell me your favorite memories from this past summer!

July Part I - Utah.

2011-11-17T07:00:00.000-06:00

July was a month of visiting and being visited by family. We took Hannah on her first extended road trip, which means it took us 24 hours to drive to Utah, as opposed to our usual 18! To be fair, it wasn't only Hannah's fault we had to stop so much. I was in the clutches of first trimester nausea, and embraced every rest stop like it was heaven on earth. During our short few days in Utah we went to Hans' family reunion, where Grandma Hansen celebrated her 91st birthday! This was our first family reunion since Grandpa passed away a year before, and I have to admit there was a melancholy feeling of missing him among the family, and many wondered how Grandma was faring without him. It's obvious she would rather be with her sweetheart than here on earth with us, but even she couldn't help smiling as her hundred some-odd posterity sang "Grandma, I Love You" in the midst of the beautiful Utah mountains.

While in Utah we stayed with our good friends Rick and Aileena, who we met in Japan, and their sweet little girl Audrey. Hannah loved how little and cute Audrey was, and they played together nicely. I miss those guys so much, and can't wait for another chance to see them. So here's what July looked like:

Our fearless leader drives across the Western plains of Kansas. Probably the most boring scenery you'll ever see.

Hannah looked like this most of the time.

Tending to a killer tension headache with a heating pad. So glad we had the A/C adapter to do this.

One of our desperate rest stops was at the "Tallest prairie dog in the world" zoo, full of really sad, dirty animals, including "muntant" chickens (that's how the sign was spelled. I renamed them "mutant mutant chickens") and three legged cattle. I'll save you from the grotesqueries and leave you with this. Yup. That's it. The tallest prairie dog in the world, standing in the dusty, 106 degree heat of Hayes Kansas. Totally worth the $5 admission.

We finally made it to Utah, and Hans water skied to his little boy heart's content on the Deer Creek Reservoir. I'm impressed his form is still so good! Grandpa taught him well.

Meanwhile, I spent some quality time with Rick and Aileena's sweet little sprite, Audrey-Camille.

. . . and Hannah traveled the foreign land of Utah in Style.

We drove over a thousand miles for this photo. Again, worth it.

Children, grandchildren and great grandchildren wish Grandma a happy birthday.

. . . followed by some muddy fun in the creek. :)

Hans and his cousins have a longstanding tradition of building a dam to create a swimming hole in the creek. Good work, boys!

Some of our favorite people, Rick and Aileena. Thanks for letting us crash at your place!

. . . and just like that, we were on our way back, this time with Uncle Jed as an extra driver, which shaved a good 6 hours off the drive. Here is Hannah, fervently reminding him NOT to poop his pants in the car.

Tomorrow will be July part 2 - where the visitors come to us (yippee!).

What happened in June

2011-11-16T07:00:00.000-06:00

June was momentous. Not only did I audition for and get the part of Cinderella in our summer community theater production (more on that later), but I found out I was pregnant with our second child! Actually, I found out about both on the same night, so needless to say it was difficult getting to sleep that night. I was worried about how I would keep up with the rigorous demands of playing a lead role if I wasn't feeling so hot, but luckily this pregnancy has been pretty easy breezy so far. We are having a boy in February. More on that later, too. :) Here's what the rest of June looked like:

We went strawberry picking with Kerri and Golden and picked about 4 lbs of strawberries! Hannah probably also ate a pound, as none of the berries she picked made it into the basket.

I figured the best way to use them all up was to make puree. So I started stemming, stemming, stemming . . .

We made the best popsicles and sorbet EVER, but I couldn't find my photo of the sorbet. It didn't last long.

We also made strawberry cupcakes with strawberry butter cream on top. They were as divine as they look.

Hannah acquired some new skills. Woodworking, for instance. She worked hard in Home Depot's kids workshop to make a cell phone caddy for Father's Day

She also learned how to paddle around Aunt Amy's swimming pool in floaties and a life vest, which made pool time infinitely more fun for all of us!

Lots of Daddy-daughter time was spent in the hammock. :)

And I finally caught the thrifting/garage saling bug. Leavenworth has phenomenal thrift stores and yard sales. This was one of my first exciting finds - a handmade train table, complete with tracks and trains, for $35. The best part is the legs fold under, so you can slide it under a bed for storage, if needed.

We had a couple fun encounters with our Kansas state reptile this summer, including this one we rescued from the highway. If you're a parent, you'll understand why this event deserves three photos.

Setting him free for new adventures.

Be safe, little thrill seeker!

Thanks to Uncle Pete's mad negotiating skills, the best slip 'n' slide ever was procured from a local construction company that was downsizing. With a little dish soap and water, those kids were flying down the hill at record speed. Luckily there were giant bales of sod to stop them from hitting the barbed wire fence at the bottom.

And we continued to eat well, getting a large portion of Jed and Amy's swiss chard overload. I love Hannah's face in this picture. "Swiss chard? Again?"

Growing a fetus, playing a princess, rescuing turtles . . . that about wraps up June! We did quite a bit of fun crafting over the summer, but I'll post about those in an all-craft post! Stay tuned!

I'm back! (May edition)

2011-11-15T11:41:00.001-06:00

At least I think I'm back. It's been 6 months since I've posted here, and the longer I've waited, the more intimidating "the update" has felt. So this is going to be a gloriously messy whirlwind of a journey. Our lives have changed considerably in the past 6 months, and all for the better! We are all happy, healthy, productive, and (finally) on our way to finding our niche here in Kansas again. It has taken us almost 2 years to acclimate after our time in Japan, but we're finally there. I'm thinking a photo journal is the quickest way for me to get it all out in an efficient way, hopefully with one post per month missed (some months were more eventful than others, and may require multiple posts). So here's what May looked like!

We spent a lot of time supporting our local farmers (two of which happen to be Hans' brother Jed and his wife Amy) at the farmer's market.

Their greens were heavenly, and kept us well fed through the early summer months.

I developed a love for green smoothies (blended fruits and green vegetables - you must try it if you never have before!). I even tried out a 4 week cleanse that only ended up lasting about two, because of some news I discovered around that time. :)

This is what a lot of our meals looked like. Looking back, I wish we still had access to all those garden fresh vegetables now!

Hannah learned all about farming from her cousin Golden. Here they are enjoying popsicles while communing with the chickens.

She still knew how to glam it up, though, when the time was right. :)This is her right before our family photos.

Here's Hans on his first day of work as an emergency 911 dispatcher. We sure are proud of him.

And here he is with his team on his last day of soccer. He decided this would be his last season after his own rib injury, his team captain tearing his ACL, one guy breaking a leg, and one guy losing his front teeth from a run in with the goalie box. I'd say it was a wise decision.

He also had the chance to volunteer with his brother and father in Joplin, MO after the devastation of the tornado. Here are some heart rending photos from their time there.

That's all for today. Stay tuned for June. It was an exciting month!

Hans: manager of disasters

2011-05-13T16:34:00.000-05:00

Hans, Hannah and I moved back to the US almost a year and a half ago after teaching English in Japan for 3 years. In some aspects Japan was kinder to us than our homeland ever was. For the first time in our marriage we were both working full time, and pulling ourselves out of debt rather than falling further in. Japan also gave us the best health care we'd had since getting married, and consequently we decided to have Hannah while we were there. We met some of the kindest, most loving and selfless people we've ever encountered - Megumi and Miwako (whose affectionately given nicknames are "Baba" and "Wakan") - who helped us through the toughest aspects of living and giving birth in Japan. If not for them we probably wouldn't have stayed as long as we did, but life has a funny way of connecting us with the people we need in order to thrive in our circumstances.

Other aspects of our life in those 3 years were not so kind to us, and our homecoming wasn't as triumphant and momentous as most would have liked it to be. With broken spirits and a rather bruised relationship, we felt truly lost coming back to Kansas. On top of it all, America's economy was grim at best, and finding employment would prove to be a long and arduous journey. Hans had begun online graduate work in Emergency Management while in Japan, and upon our return tried for months to schedule a meeting with Leavenworth's Emergency Manager to see if there was some kind of internship he could do while taking classes. Meanwhile he worked for the Census Bureau (which would only last the summer), attended networking gatherings at bars where he was completely out of his element, and applied, applied, applied for anything and everything. But nothing.

This is how we found him most times of the day. :)

Somewhere along the way, Hans was advised that the best way to get his foot in the door in the the local Emergency Management field was to get his EMT and paramedic licenses and volunteer or take part in the various branches of emergency response in our town. So, in a single semester he finished his EMT license and volunteered at the fire department, for which he is now on call two nights a week. While continuing to apply for jobs as an EMT, dispatcher, intern for FEMA, and about a dozen others, winter came, and Hans and his brothers chopped and sold firewood for a little extra money, and were rather good at it too. They called themselves the Lumberjack Guild, and they are lucky to still have all of their limbs in tact.

As a doting wife, I'm ashamed to admit I'm a bit out of practice. I don't think I will ever fully understand or appreciate the pressure and stress that husbands and fathers endure in order to provide for their families and be called "Real Men." In fact, I'm not sure I give much credence to the title "Real Man" in the first place. Hans is a Good Man. For 8 months of late-night studying, odd jobs, volunteer work, and rejection, he has been patient, determined, focused, and optimistic. Somehow he has managed to keep himself pulled together and happy, and subsequently, so have we. It has been no small feat, and I admire his sheer gall and courage which have taken him this far. For that, and for being a giving, affectionate father to Hannah and bearing with me through the most difficult time our marriage has seen (and hopefully will ever see), I should probably take more time out of my own trivial schedule to dote, and dote often. There are more disasters in the world than we know what to do with, not only natural disasters and national security threats, but disasters of the heart and mind that take years of forbearance and dedication to manage, clean up, and heal. It's a good thing he specializes in this stuff, because I would be lost without his steadfast bravery and love.

It's true.

We finally heard back from two of the four employers he was really hoping for, and this week he began work as an emergency dispatcher for Leavenworth County. So far he loves the job, and even better, he loves the people he's working with. This is still only one step on his path to becoming an emergency manager, but it is a big step, and I am so, so proud.

Playing Catch-up

2011-05-05T18:52:00.000-05:00

When Hans left for class I begged him to leave the laptop at home so I could write a blog without having to sit in the cold, windowless basement where the desktop resides. He agreed, "but only if I promised to write a blog."

Er, ok . . . since then I have:

1. Taken a nap (which was less napping and more tossing and turning, scratching my nose and wondering why I always have to pee when I'm trying to sleep).

2. Checked facebook (for what feels like the zillionth time)

3. Researched doll-making patterns and materials, comparing prices, adding and removing things from my shopping cart, all the while thinking doll making? Really Suz?

It's now close to dinner time, which means I only have a short time to make my mind sit still long enough to write a few cohesive sentences about my life, which really is a challenge when I haven't done it in so long. Seriously, what has happened here? I spend hours each day reading blogs about other people's lives - what they feed their kids, crafts they make for themselves or their Etsy shops, divorces and separations, new babies, new homes, new jobs . . . and when I am done I think I should walk away feeling informed, refreshed, full. Instead I feel numb, complacent and silenced by all the amazing people in the world - the work they put into their lives - the things they must struggle with. Everything I write and the pictures I post seem so trivial in comparison. But this is not a competition.

So . . .

I'll start with what I've been doing the past few months. In February I auditioned at the University of Kansas (KU) to begin work on a Masters in Music with an emphasis in vocal performance. After being accepted (yay!) I am now left with the daunting task of deciding: a) Whether I should go, and b) How we are going to pay for it if I do. This inner dialogue is still very private, and there are a lot of factors playing in the decision-making, but suffice it to say I am happy/conflicted/elated/confused/excited/anxious about what the future may hold. Does that clear things up a bit? Good.

Most of my time is filled with Hannah. We try to go on 3-4 outings a week - to the park, to the library, to the farm, to Amy's house, shopping . . . whatever I can think of to get us out of the house and burning as much winter-stored energy as possible. On the stay-at-home days we usually play outside, where she likes to pick flowers from Nana's garden, dig in the sandbox, pick up shards of glass (don't ask) and pedal around on her trike. We're also learning how to build fairy houses in the forest, which I'm beginning to think is more for my own benefit and entertainment than hers. I try to plan at least one art project a week for her, whether it's painting, coloring, sculpting with play-doh, making tissue paper flowers, or dying Easter eggs. Next week we are going to try dying our own wool felt and play silks with my sister-in-law Kerri at the farm. I love to see Hannah's little mind, hands and heart create.

Enjoying the mud puddles at Powell Gardens

Our Fairy Houses so far . . .

We crashed the Baptist Church's Easter egg hunt and got tons of loot.

Well, Poop.

2011-02-16T21:41:00.001-06:00

By the end of this post you'll either think I'm incredibly creative and witty, or completely off my rocker. I've thought about it, and I'm OK with either. After all, they're not so far apart. Potty training has been a topsy-turvy journey for me Hannah. If you've read my blog in the past you might recall this colorful post, wherein I was a slave to Hannah's bladder for a week. She "got it" eventually, and was a regular at all the local restrooms for a while, because she knew she would get chocolate or marshmallows every time she peed. She even got so good at it that she could stop mid stream, get her M&M, and then pee again 5 minutes later for another. Mommy caught on though, and stopped rewarding Hannah for peeing. I had my sight set on bigger, more solid things. Like poop. Yes, try as we might to make her sit there for just a liiiiiiittle bit longer, Hannah would not, could not, poop on the toilet. She huffed, and she puffed, and she pushed with all her might. But it was always the same story. "No poo poo. I can't." She even developed a gag reflex to the sight/smell of her own poop. I know, gross. If you saw the picture at the beginning of this post and you're still reading, I suspect your stomach isn't that weak, though. So on would go the Pull-up and out would come the poop. Like clockwork. She also started becoming more stubborn about peeing, too. If she wasn't to be rewarded with refined sugar, what was the point? So I let it go . . . let her regress back to soggy diapers and a trash can that always smelled like Johnny on the Spot. I figured some day she'd get it . . . at least by the time she graduated high school.

I don't know what made us get back on the potty training wagon. I think it was a combination of the cost of diapers and seeing how much waste they created, Hannah's impending 3rd birthday, and a heavy sense of Mother's Guilt that my child was some how becoming accustomed to sitting in her own excrement. So we tried again. This time, no Pull-ups, no sticker chart, minimal rewards UNLESS . . . unLESS she went poop in the potty. I promised her the WORLD if she would only poop in the potty. The world, in Hannah's eyes, consists of shopping, ice cream, and going down a slide. So of course those are the three things I promised her.

But the pressure was too high. For three days the two of us camped out on the ~~battleground~~ bathroom floor, she on her pink cushy potty and me on the not so cushy linoleum floor. The conversation went a little something like this:

"Hannah, if you poop in the potty, we'll go shopping and have ice cream and go down the slide. Do you want to do those things?"

"Yeah! Let's go!"

"Ok, but first you need to poop in the potty."

"No thank you."

"But don't you want to go shopping and have ice cream and go down the slide?"

"Yeah! Let's go!!"

It was easy for me to lose my patience in what felt like this desperate situation . . . to the point of becoming cross with her when she either didn't deliver, or when she delivered in a paper diaper during nap time instead of in the toilet. Pressuring her with bribes she clearly wanted but didn't know how to earn put an enormous strain on our relationship, and on what little energy and sanity we mothers have left for potty training. More often than not these manipulative conversations would culminate in tears and giant sobs of "I caa-aaa-aaa---aan't" which would then reduce me to tears and holding my half naked toddler in my lap, rocking her and apologizing for being so manipulative and mean.

I took her to my sister's house, pink potty in tow, for a little change of scenery. Amy and I sat on her (very spacious) bathroom floor while Hannah ran around with no pants on, luxuriating in the air on her naked tush and the freedom to sit on the potty when it pleased her. I even brought along "Little Bunny Poo Poo," a puppet who talked to Hannah while she sat on the potty, and made farting noises to make her giggle. Now when Hannah plays with the puppet she does nothing but make farting noises. Nice one, Suz. We were in there for two hours, but no poop. I knitted a hat during this time:

. . . and now whenever Hans wears it I'm sure to remember that day, in the bathroom with my sister, waiting for the poop to come while Little Bunny Poo Poo mocked my haphazard ambition.

On Sunday we rested, and feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, I gathered my creative faculties on Monday and made play doh poop. It was a delicate mixture of neon orange, hot pink and kelly green, but I think I got the hue and swirling just right. When I sent the photo of my creation in text messages to all my friends, a few replied that it was almost too perfect and could do with a few specks of indigestibles, but I thought that would be going a little to far, wouldn't you?

When she was otherwise occupied, I dropped the play doh in Hannah's (sanitized!) potty and set her favorite little doll on top and just waited for her to discover what "dolly" had done. I only wish I'd video taped the reaction.

"MAMA! WOOK! DOLLY POO POO!!!!!!"

"She did?!?!?! WOOOOOOW! Way to go, Dolly! You did it!"

" . . . . how 'bout . . . Hannah poo poo?"

And after 20 minutes of singing, reading books, and having a long conversation about all the people and things that poop ("And elephant poo poo? And tiger poo poo? And lady bug poo poo? And Uncle Kevin poo poo?") she FINALLY POOPED IN THE POTTY HALLELUIA!!!! It was one of the 50 most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. Ever. My play doh replica paled in comparison. I'll admit I felt just as accomplished as Hannah did. Probably a little bit more. Yes, I thought, We did it! No one was more ready for shopping, ice cream, and about 50 rides down the biggest, reddest slide in town than Hannah and me. We. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Watercolors

2011-02-15T23:00:00.000-06:00

Here are some paintings by Hannah. The first one is a family of anacondas. I know this because while Hannah was painting it she was singing "Purple Anaconda, Mama Anaconda, Dada Anaconda, Uncle Pete Anaconda . . . " She also mentioned a "Nanaconda" and a "Hannahconda." If you squint real hard you can see them.

This next one I like to call "Conversing Paint Brushes." She painted it with a baby paint brush and a Mama paint brush, and her technique involved dipping Baby Paint Brush in the paint, putting it on the paper, and then chasing it with Mama Paint Brush. Then the paint brushes spoke in high pitched voices: "Hi Mama. I'm running. See? Weeeeee! You wanna run? No? Ok. How 'bout potty? You wanna potty? No. Yes. No. Yes. NO! Ok, how 'bout chocolate. I'm running Mama. See?"

Artistic soul that she is, Hannah likes to paint at least 2 or 3 times a week. What do I do when there is no more room on the refrigerator? I do what any good mother would do. I cut her paintings into (heart-shaped) pieces. . .

And re-purpose them for Valentines. :) Hannah did the gluing, of course. I'll tell you what the baby glue said to the Mama glue another time. Happy Valentine's!

Quiet Time

2011-02-11T14:30:00.002-06:00

I've needed some quiet time away from blogging to gather myself, take care of my family, and just plain be without worrying about getting the right photo or writing the perfect description to catalog the events in our lives. I know it's been a long time since I've expressed myself here. I keep coming here and wondering if I even know how any more. I'll start with some pictures . . . mostly of Hannah, of course.

Hannah visits her cousin's first grade class and fits right in . . .

My favorite birthday card:

My 27th birthday at the Cheesecake Factory:

Kevin is commissioned into the US Marine Corps, and the "three little boys" don't look so little any more:

Hannah keeps her cousin Rivers entertained . . .

The technicolor dreamcoat . . .

Hair just out of curlers . . .

Lunch at my favorite Greek restaurant after grad school auditions:

And last but not least, some crafts that have occupied my time:

I think I'll close with the rainbow dragon. He represents what my life has been lately . . . colorful, precious, and a little scaly. What? I have much to catch up on - the job hunt, the journey toward grad school, more potty training anecdotes (I know these are what people really come here to read), and maybe, just maybe, a little philosophy and introspection. That is my empty promise . . . for now. :)

Stop Being So Religious

2010-12-06T18:54:00.001-06:00

What
Do Sad people have in
Common?
It seems
They have all built a shrine
To the past
And often go there
And do a strange wail and
Worship.
What is the beginning of
Happiness?
It is to stop being
so religious
Like
That.

-Hafiz, "Stop Being So Religious"

I'ma get all poetic on you now

2010-11-30T23:01:00.004-06:00

Just checked out "The Essential Rumi" at the library. Here's a little taste:

Where Everything is Music

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.

-Rumi

8 weeks, 6 days and 13 hours later . . .

2010-11-18T10:30:00.001-06:00

No excuses, except I have a life! Here's what's in it:

1. Hannah looks like this:

. . . and it kills me to see her getting so pretty, so big, so fast.

2. We went to the Renaissance Festival and met these guys:

. . . and Hannah got to ride an "Element."

3. Halloween looked something like this:

Hannah couldn't choose between the dragon costume, the tutu, and the butterfly wings, so we told people she was a "dragon-fly."

4. I've been crocheting a lot. Unfortunately I can't post many pictures because I'm giving my projects away as Christmas gifts, but here's a preview of cuteness to come:

5. Hannah has been working hard on Christmas gifts as well. Here are some sneak peeks of her beautiful watercolor work:

6. We had a new addition to the family for about a day. A little woolly bear caterpillar we affectionately named "Hairy." Hannah still asks about him long after we set him free.

7. I submitted my application for grad school yesterday! Yay!

First Fall Morsels

2010-09-23T21:35:00.000-05:00

You're here, Fall, and everyone's talking about you. Your brisk morning air, your pumpkin spice lattes, your back to school sales. By the sounds of it, no one would know you've only been here for two days. I think you've been in our sights and in our hearts for much, much longer.

feeding the chickens at Red Barn Farm

pumpkins of a different color

thank you Hannah for sitting down longer than 4 seconds

following the drinking gourd with Amy

three generations of apples who don't fall far from the tree

When I draw from my bank of Fall vocabulary, a few of the words I find are Crisp. Fresh. Cool. Fragrant. Crunch. Sweet. Orange. Harvest. Pick. Leaves. Squirrel. Nuts. Squash. Figs. Apples. Pumpkins. Wheat. Gather. Wind. Tea. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Simmer. Golden. Brown . . . a bevy of words that taste good because, Fall, you are a time of harvest and plenty. A time of food. What better way to celebrate your return than a bag of apples and a fistful of recipes?

Apples from Vaughn's Apple Orchard in Weston, Missouri. Some of the only ones left after the windstorm two weeks ago.

Apple turnovers, recipe here.

Apple strudel, recipe here.

and my favorite so far, Apple Risotto, recipe here.

Persian Basmati Rice Pilaf

2010-09-18T09:55:00.001-05:00

I've had this little thing up my sleeve for years now, and I can't believe I never posted a recipe!

Persian Basmati Rice Pilaf

2 tablespoons butter
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves minced garlic
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1 1/2 cup rice* (if using brown you'll probably need more water)
1/2 cup raisins
2 teaspoons curry powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
salt and pepper to taste

*Obviously this calls for Basmati rice, but any type will do. I personally like Jasmine rice. If you are using brown rice, you'll need to add more water and increase the cooking time.

Sautee onions in butter until they begin to soften. Add almonds and garlic, then sautee until almonds begin to brown. Remove from heat.

In a pot or rice cooker, combine rice, sauteed mixture, raisins, curry, cinnamon, salt and pepper, and broth. Cook according to instructions on rice package, or press "start" on rice cooker and forget about it. :)

Lemon Caper Tofu

2010-09-17T10:14:00.000-05:00

This recipe, originally meant for chicken, is from my sister. I have no idea where she got it, but we found out that tofu works just as well! Be careful when working with hot oil. When I was laying the tofu steaks in the pan, my fingers were covered in egg and flower, and I didn't realize I was actually dipping my finger in the oil! Ouchy!

Lemon Caper Tofu
Makes 6-10 servings

2 packages extra firm tofu, cut into 1/2-inch steaks (this made 14 for me)
1 cup all purpose flour
Seasoned Salt (or salt, pepper, paprika, and whatever else you like)
2 eggs
2 whole lemons
1 small jar capers
Olive or Canola oil

Drain tofu and slice into 1/2 inch steaks:

Lay tofu steaks on several paper towels, and using more paper towels gently press and soak some of the liquid out of the tofu. The drier your tofu is, the better it fries up.

Mix flour with seasoned salt and pour onto a plate. Beat eggs in a bowl big enough for dipping the tofu. Heat enough oil to cover the bottom of your skillet, then dip tofu in eggs, flour, then lay in the pan to fry. Cook each side until golden brown, then remove from pan.

Keep the frying oil to make the sauce, unless the drippings are too burned, in which case you can heat a new pan of about 1/8 cup oil over medium-low heat and add a tablespoon or two of the seasoned flour. Squeeze lemons into pan and stir until sauce thickens a little. Remove from heat and add drained capers (If you've never cooked with capers, taste them first - they pack a punch! I love them, so I used a whole jar, but use your own discretion)

Pour sauce over tofu and you're done! This is great with roasted vegetables and Persian Basmati pilaf, for which I have another wonderful recipe that I'll share soon. Enjoy!

Hummus

2010-09-16T21:18:00.000-05:00

I'm hoping this will open a tasty dialogue with my fellow hummus-makers. Below is a pretty basic recipe that I found on this website (which, by the way, has a lot of FABULOUS Mediterranean recipes!). I really like this recipe because of the creaminess the yogurt lends. I think the liquid from it also makes blending MUCH easier. I usually double this recipe:

1 can garbanzo beans, rinsed
1/4-1/2 cup tahini
1/4 cup yogurt (non-fat is good)
3-4 leaves fresh mint, chopped
1-2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (she suggests 1/4 cup, which I don't like)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2-3 cloves minced garlic

Mix in blender until smooth or desired consistency. If the hummus is too thick, add water by the tablespoon, blending in between to check consistency. If you're making it for a party, you can garnish your hummus with parsley, cayenne or paprika, olives, bell peppers, whole garbanzo beans, and a little olive oil drizzled on top.

If you're like me and could eat hummus all day, every day, here are some extras you can add to the blend for a little variety (use your discretion on how many to add!):

Roasted red bell peppers
Cilantro
Sundried tomatoes
Basil
Parsley (flat leaf is best, in my opinion)
Roasted Garlic
Oregano

What are some other things you add to your hummus? How do you get the best consistency? Do share! In the meantime, feast your eyes on this magnificence:

How Hummusing . . .

Les kisses to you

2010-09-15T20:35:00.011-05:00

Dear Hannah,

It's been some time since I've written to you. Maybe I've been lazy, or maybe your expressive nature has made my letters obsolete. Maybe I just haven't known what to say, or how to say it. The dust is finally settling from our massive uprooting to a country that at first was foreign to you but home to us. You've adjusted beautifully and I am so, so proud of the little lady you are becoming.

You are almost 2 and a half years old now, and while I will be making a new photo/video montage of your latest and greatest, I'd also like to capture you here, in my mind, so you can not only remember how you looked and sounded, but how the rest of us adored your every breath and movement.

I'm duty bound, as your doting mother, to share a few of what I affectionately refer to as "Hannacdotes." Every morning you tackle the daunting chore of getting me out of bed, and you do it with style and panache. If the bedroom door is closed, you lay on your belly and sing songs to me through the crack under the door. "Bear Necessities," "Twinkle, Twinkle," and "Bippity Boppity Boo" are among your favorite repertoire. There I'll be, laying in bed, searching for just ONE thing motivating enough to get me up, and then I hear a sweet little voice drifting from the floor:

"Ee da da, BEAR Negessities,
da pimple Bear Negessities
aget abou' da wawies ah da tife
AMEN!
I mean da, Bear Negessities
da why a Bear can resteties
wi' just a Bear Negessities a life!
AMEN!"

On days when Daddy ~~pitilessly~~ benevolently leaves the bedroom door open for you to enter as you please, you patter to my side and whisper sweet nothings directly into my eardrum. "Hi Mama. Mama sweeping? Come on, Mama. Ged up! Come on!" You pick my glasses off the nightstand and put them on my face ("Eee go Mama!"), hand me a glass of water and I take a drink ("Is it gooooood?"), then pull a tissue out of the box so I can blow my nose ("Le wachoo Mama? Goooood job!") Then you pull the covers from my warm, sleepy body, take my hand, and tug with all your 30 pounds to get my . . . much more than 30 pounds . . . walking to the coffee maker. It's a wonder you don't just give up and leave me for dead. I am, however, flattered you think my presence worth the effort.

When you aren't busy eating us out of house and home (three breakfasts you eat before shouting "what about elevensies?!"), you can be found diligently taking care of your babies (of which there are five, you busy little Mama you), climbing into laundry hampers, changing your clothes 50 times, applying orange marker like lipstick, following everyone into the bathroom ("You did it, you did it, you pee-peed in the potty! Yaaaaaay Nana!"), or on lucky days when he's home, being chased by Daddy. Last week he was chasing you around the upstairs hallway/bathroom circuit, and steadily gaining, though you were swift in nothing but a diaper. Then suddenly you stopped, turned around, and with your biggest, boomiest voice yelled "STOP! Care bears . . . STARE!" Such was my pride in that moment, that had my chest puffed up any further it would have exploded, sending me flying away like a farting balloon. My little girl just quoted Care Bears! I get a little choked up just thinking about it. Just a little.

So much playing is bound to inspire mischief in my creative little sprite. Aside from the various uses you've found for markers and crayons (lipstick, body paint, wall decorators, fabric softener), you also ransack drawers, summit furniture, and jump jump jump to your heart's content until something goes CRASH and the only thing left to do is to run in the opposite direction and not look back. Those times when I catch you (and most often I do), and begin to scold, you, my little actress, will stall like a stickshift car:

"I, I, I . . . hug?"
"I, I, I . . . snack?"
"I, I, I . . . love you?"

And when Mommy doesn't budge, though it's difficult not to laugh out loud when you're trying so hard, you conjure up the most beautiful, contrite little face and say with perfect sincerity, "I, I, I . . . I sorry."

We recently moved you from your tiny pack 'n' play crib to a big girl bed, complete with purple Tinkerbell bed tent. You've not only adjusted to your new bed/nest/fort for bunnies and bears, but you've become a master of luring unsuspecting parents into your lair and capturing them in your embrace. Sometimes they don't return until dawn, so seduced are they by your warmth and sweetness. "Mama nap? Come on Mama, right here," you tap the pillow next to your head, "Mama lay down. Please? Oh, Mama. Night night." No, not tonight, sweet baby. Your siren's call is tempting, but my ribs can't take the kicking.

you are getting sleeeeeeepy . . .

I apologize for this waterfall of sentimentality, but I need to say one more thing before closing, my darling. I've met a lot of wonderful people in my life, Hannah, but no one has the same capacity to love and empathize as you carry in your little toddler body. If ever you accidentally:

Poke someone in the eye
Kick someone in the groin
Step on someone's face
Knee someone in the ribs
Pull something's tail

Spill someone's drink

. . . or see someone, something, hurt in any way, whether or not you are the cause of that pain, you become almost sick with grief, wrap your arms around that person/animal and say "Oh no? Le ouchy? You ok? Oh no! I sorry. Le kiss? Mmmmuah. Dere. All bedder?" Seeing how empathetic you are and knowing how very much you strive to emulate your parents, it feels good to know we're doing something worth emulating. Yesterday you were playing outside, collecting walnuts to roll down the driveway and every so often pausing to gaze heavenward and marvel at the trees. Then you were gathering muddy rocks from Nana's garden, and when you dropped a big one I thought it had landed on your foot. I gasped and asked if you were ok, and you looked at my worried face, mirrored my expression, then picked up the rock and held it next to your cheek and crooned "You ok rock? Ohhhhh. I sorry. Here, le kiss. Mmmmmmuah." Because deep down inside you is the desire to always do good, to always do right. And though you don't mean to, you will mess up sometimes and I have every confidence you'll know how to make things right. And some day, in the quiet shade of the trees you love, that rock will forgive you.

How can it not?

All my love and then some,

Mama

Fragments of thoughts

2010-09-02T22:06:00.000-05:00

Coming down from the thrill that was being a part of "Annie" has been rough. Really rough. I miss the people. I miss the diversion . . . spending 3 hours of my evening back stage in musty dressing rooms and between cobwebbed cement walls covered in signatures . . . it sounds dreadful, but it was bliss. It was theater. Screwed up lines and improvisations, costume changes and clouds of hair spray, eating our weight in Twizzlers while giggling that our mic packs were encased in latex condoms to "protect" them, doing sheep and velociraptor impressions between acts and making Daddy Warbucks laugh so hard he couldn't stop when we were on stage. We sold out 5 of the 8 shows. I had friends who literally couldn't come because they couldn't get tickets. It was just that good. I miss it. So. Much.

The aforementioned "adventure" that was to occur after "Annie" was a Broadway music review in conjunction with the First City Festival on September 11th. For reasons too numerous and multi-faceted to name, that didn't happen. Suffice it to say that 7 of the 10 people involved were in agreement that the show wasn't working, and wouldn't be something we could put on stage and be proud of. It was a painfully difficult decision to make, and I'm still not 100% sure it was the right one for me. . . but it's done, and it's time to move on.

Now the carpet has been swept from under my feet. Disoriented and slightly depressed, I feel like I need to be somewhere when I don't. There's more than meets the eye in that dusty old theater full of fire hazards, Stetson hats and feather boas. It draws you in with bread crumb trails and eats you whole if you're not careful. It fills your life with interesting people and forms a hunger in your heart for more. More tours through labyrinthine prop rooms and haunted basements. More opportunities to be bathed in sawdust and spirit gum. More mic checks and vocal warm-ups, curtains and backdrops, green rooms and rituals. I need an outlet for all this creative energy I had intended for the next show. I have a mind to put together a recital - a marriage of classical and Broadway songs for soprano. I'm excited to brainstorm and draw ideas and inspiration from a very dear friend and former voice professor next weekend. I'll keep you posted on that. I also looked up audition dates for the KC Symphony Chorus (they just had them recently, but will have more in January) and the Lyric Opera of Kansas City (February). I'll find something.

In the meantime, I'm trying to gather as many voice and piano students as I can. Teaching fills me, though I know it doesn't fill my pockets. Because he is trying to complete his EMT certification in one mind-blowing semester Hans is up to his ears in class work, which makes getting a job and moving out of my parents' house nearly impossible. I'm grateful for their patience and love while we try to detangle our messes and piece our post-Japan life back together before their eyes. This has been easy for no one.

For those still reading, thank you. Your open hearts and listening ears give me a safe place to keep my thoughts.

Oh yeah . . .

2010-08-16T16:55:00.000-05:00

Hi there, little bloggy blog. I thought I would let you know that this happened:

And that I owe every happiness these past two months to the people who loved and supported me throughout this endeavor. Thank you, people too numerous to name. You don't know how much I've needed this. A tip of my hat and wave of my hand to "Annie," big breath now . . . and on to the next adventure. I'll write about that soon.

Noteworthy and Not Worthy

2010-07-09T09:31:00.003-05:00

Between rehearsals, family reunions, holidays, a sick toddler (breathing treatments, steroids and all), and catching some nasty "bacterial pharyngitis" (a fancy word for a really, really sore throat + persistent fever) myself, I've come up with plenty of excuses for neglecting my blog, and don't know quite when I'll get back into the habit of writing, which is really starting to make me quite sad. So let's start with a list. Things worth noting:

1. Hannah's first complete sentence has been "Mama, I went pee pee. Yaaaaaay!"

2. My nephew is kicking butt on his competitive swim team. I think he's up to like, a million first place ribbons now. I'm really, really proud of him.

3. Hannah has taken to picking out her own outfits in the mornings. She pulls things out and says in a high pitched voice "Le cute?"

4. She has also taken to putting French articles in front of everything. "Le pool. Le Ethan. Le bock bock. Le Mama. Le poo poo." It's very, very, le cute.

5. I finished reading Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer" and have moved on to Mary Roach's "Stiff: The Curious Life of Human Cadavers." I find them equally repulsive, but the latter far more entertaining. I'm also digging Neil Gaiman's book "Anansi Boys" which I picked up in the $3 bin at Books a Million. No matter how many books I knock off, my shelf gets heavier and heavier. Sometimes I wish I had 43 eyes. The odd number leaves room for error.

6. Barack Obama was in Kansas City yesterday. He paid homage to KC barbecue by eating at "Oklahoma Joe's." Nice.

7. Anyone looking for a quick diet, try taking amoxycillin with 3 cups of coffee a day. Ok, maybe that wasn't worth noting. Man, I'm running out of material already . . .

8. I almost have "Claire de Lune" memorized, and am tackling the Pathatique Sonata in this order: movement 2, movement 3, movement . . . 1? If you don't get that joke, get thee to youtube and take a listen.

9. A lot of my dreams take place at the theater now. I had one last night that our set was like one of those emergency blow-up rafts, where you just pull the tab and WHOOSH! Warbucks Mansion! WHOOSH! Hooverville! WHOOSH! White House! I think my subconscious is on to something . . .

10. My grandma is turning 90 in two weeks. How freakin' incredible is that?

I noticed on "Stat Counter" that a lot of you are coming here for recipes. To make it a little easier, I added a list of tags below my profile picture - just click on "recipes" and there you go! I'll return to normal blogging again some day, whatever that means. For now I'm just taking it all in while it's there for the taking. Believe it or not, I haven't been this happy in a long, long time.

Just a few happenings

2010-06-21T09:01:00.000-05:00

Oh, hello

2010-06-10T07:35:00.000-05:00

I think the less time I have to write, the happier I am. Not because I don't love writing, but because it means I'm doing something. I have a lot to write about . . . reflections on the last 12 months of my life, Grandpa Hansen's funeral, more potty training anecdotes (I know you can hardly wait) . . . but for now I'm just unbelievably happy, and I don't want to write. (gasp!)

Auditions for "Annie" at the RCCP were this week. After a 5-day casting process, I am ~~bouncing off the walls~~ calmly, maturely announcing that I got that part I auditioned for! If you're either in the area or drawn to it by this news, you can see me play Grace Ferrell with a ridiculously talented cast on one of these dates:

July 30,31
August 6,7,8,13,14

I'll write again when my nerves are back in check and I can sit down to a full meal again. Or, you know, when I feel like it. :)

Yippee!

Excuse my potty mouth

2010-06-01T15:31:00.008-05:00

I'm writing about this because I can't seem to speak 5 words in a row these days without one of them being pee pee, poo poo or potty. I decided last week that the day after Eric's funeral would be the day I'd start potty training Hannah. Why, you might ask? Why indeed. There's a lot of pressure on moms to start potty training as soon as possible. Here are some of the things people have told me:

1. You want to start potty training before your child becomes too willful and stubborn to listen.

2. Your child needs to be potty trained by the time she goes to preschool (usually around 3-3 1/2 years old).

3. It's unhealthy and unnatural for your child to "get used to" running around in her own pee and poop.

4. You'll save in diaper costs the sooner she's potty trained.

5. You are supposed to begin training at 2 years old.

6. You won't have spend so much time changing diapers any more.

7. If she's letting you know when she's wet or poopy, it means she's uncomfortable and ready to start potty training.

8. You'll help the environment by getting her out of diapers earlier.

Believe me, nothing gets a mom moving faster than making her believe she might not just damage her child but MOTHER EARTH if she doesn't make haste with potty training. I can't say that any of these reasons are a good "fit" for me. Honestly? I was curious. And bored. And sad. I needed something to do, a mission to take my mind off of myself. I also needed some good writing material. So I decided now was as good a time as ever.

Seriously, Suz?

So maybe my motives aren't pure, but here I am doing it anyway. Yes, potty training takes planning, patience, and creativity. It also takes cunning, vigilance and a touch of insanity. Do you know how grueling it is to make a 2 year old sit down in one place long enough to figure out her bodily functions? I read a book that suggests keeping "a couple" books next to the potty to keep your toddler occupied. We have a CRATE FULL. And I've already rotated new books in, not for Hannah's sake but for mine. I'd say a quarter of my day is spent huddled over Hannah on the bathroom floor singing potty songs*, serving beverages to her royal highness on her little pink throne, and reading every. book. in. the. house. I swear, if I have to read "The Belly Button Book" one more time, I think my head will implode and become a belly button itself.

In preparation for the ~~inevitably disastrous~~ beautifully momentous process of potty training I read the book "How to Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day," and I have to say it is a load of CRAP (sorry). The plan Teri Crane lays out sounds fun and easy: Have a day-long potty training party. In the morning give your kid a doll with diapers and have your kid potty train the doll. In the afternoon load your kid up with juice and potty train your kid. Easy peasy! Ha. Not only does the plan require you to have the energy and demeanor of a crack addict, but the language skills required of the child are that of a 4 year old:

"Each time you and you and your child discover that Dolly's underpants are wet or soiled, after you've asked the questions suggested in the accidents section, suggest, 'Let's help Dolly build her potty training memory muscles!' When you make that suggestion, tap your temples. Tapping your temples as you say the words creates a visual image to reinforce the verbal message. Explain to your child that after each accident, Dolly sits on the potty to build her potty-training memory muscles so she can remember that she doesn't have accidents in her underpants. She goes on the potty."

Like the nice urine yellow color I chose for highlighting? That's because I want to pee on this page. If I tried using words like "potty training memory muscles" with my two year old while "tapping my temples" to create a visual image, she would probably a) run out of the room, b) throw her doll down the toilet for making her life so complicated, or c) start singing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes."

You know what I say? Ef Teri Crane's method. I'm going on the fly. I've got this potty training thing in the bag, complete with shiny new potty, colorful "big girl" underwear for Hannah, a potty chart most kids would donate their left kidney for, and a very large jar of M&M's. With bribes like this we can't possibly fail, right?

Wrong.

Day 1: The Big Girl Panty Approach: Wake up and put Hannah in new underwear. Let her have an accident so she can feel herself peeing, then take her to the potty and explain where the pee goes.

Results: She peed on the back deck twice (while playing with a bucket of water, so she didn't really "get it") and in the sun room once. Amy tried carrying her to the bathroom mid-pee, thus leaving a glistening trail of urine all the way to the bathroom, and not a drop left for the pot. We switched back to the diaper by 6:00 pm.

Day 2: The Naked Approach: I decided to let Hannah run around naked while I stalked her throughout the house with her potty. That way when she peed I could just "catch" it, and that would be our segue into potty training! Tricksy, huh?

Results: Hannah spent her morning activities sitting on the potty. She played with her bucket of water out on the deck . . . sitting on the potty. She colored her coloring books in the living room . . . sitting on the potty. She sat on the potty . . . sitting on the potty. I was beginning to believe she would never pee ever in her life again. Ever. I was also worried that I might not get a shower that day, and wondered if duct-taping the potty to her butt would be considered child abuse. My dad came upstairs with a basket of laundry that needed sorting, and needing a break from potty-stalking my kid, I dug in without another thought. Within two seconds Hannah was in the bathroom peeing in the very spot her potty USED to sit before I had the brilliant idea to follow her around the house with it. I wouldn't have found the puddle so offensive if a pile of her beautiful board books were not sitting in the middle of it. It looked like she'd just straddled them and let go. That's when I cried. I tried throwing away some of the soggy books, but my mom fished them out of the garbage and laid them on the deck to dry. Round 2 goes to Hannah. After her nap I let her play in the kiddy pool with NO swimmy diaper so she could feel when she was peeing. And you know what toddlers do when you don't put them in swimmy diapers? They poop. Twice. And when that happens, you get to spend the rest of the afternoon explaining to their cousins why flies like eating poop.

Day 3: The Pull-Ups Approach: Lots of sitting on the potty and batting of eyes. Waiting. Waiting.

Results: Nothing but a lot of dirty pull-ups. Round 3 goes to Hannah.

Day 4: The Pull-Ups/Naked Hybrid With a Little Extra Running Approach: By this point, seasoned potty trainer that I am, I can note a little twinkle in her eye when it's "time." We take off the Pull-Up and run to the bathroom together. The next 20 minutes are full of songs, books, games, and random wild goose chases around the house when she and her naked little butt manage to escape the bathroom. Around the house we go, trot trot trot, and every time she stops running (I'm assuming to try to pee), I pick her up and run her back to the bathroom.

Results: After 3 or 4 rounds of this, when I was beginning to think that duct tape might not be strong enough and a staple gun was in order, we started play "Inai inai Ba!" (Japanese Peek-a-Boo) while she was sitting down. Hand towel goes on my head "Where Mama? Inai Inai . . . Ba! Ih iiiiis!" Hand towel comes off. HYSTERICAL laughing, and in her distraction she FINALLY PEED THANK YOU GOD. Much celebrating. Much showering toddler with chocolate and stickers and presents.

And homemade frozen fruit pops . . .

. . . an hour later we tried the same method, only she outsmarted me and peed on Mom and Dad's bedroom floor, then pooped in the pull-up I promptly slapped on her. Round 4 goes to . . .

*I'm thinking of copyrighting these:

Potty Training Rhapsody (to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen)
Mama, just peed again
Put the pee pee in the pot
And it really hit the spot.
Mama, life has just begun,
And now I'm gonna pee on eeeevery floor!
Mama! Ooooooo.....

You Can Do It (to the tune of "We Can Do It" from Cinderella - you know, the one the mice sing)
You can do it, you can do it
You can pee pee in the potty
You can make a pretty tinkle
There's nothing to it really.
You'll keep your diapers dry,
Put a sticker on the chart,
Then dancy down the hall
You will be happier than all,
It' a lovely pee you'll put into the potty.
Hurry hurry hurry hurry got no time to dilly dally
Got to pee pee in the potty
and dump in in the toilet . . . .

Antidepressifying

2010-05-24T21:16:00.000-05:00

Thank you, AC.

And I can't lift you up cause my mind is tired
It's family beaches that I desire
A sacred night, where we'll watch the fireworks
The frightened babies poo
They've got two flashing eyes and they're colored why
They make me feel that I'm only all I see sometimes

Typing with broken fingers

2010-05-20T18:48:00.000-05:00

I'm reflecting on the life and death of a great man. I'll be back. I just . . . can't do this right now.

Teeth and Poop

2010-05-17T09:00:00.017-05:00

Have I got your attention?

Hannah has her first dentist appointment today. 16 little choppers and 4 on the way. We've come such a long way in the tooth department. Sigh.

Also, she's speaking in sentences now. Here are some of her favorites:

     Where [cow, pig, horsy, choo choo, nunny, Etan, Dack, Kokot, Thonas]?

     Ih is! (There it is!)

     Ee go (Here you go)

     Wuh GO! (Let's GO!)

     Tee tee. Wehcun! (Thank you. Welcome!)

She started calling me "Mom" the other day. Not Mama, not Mommy, just "Mom." She says it with kind of a condescending tone, if you can imagine such from a two-year-old. Like "Mom! Get me a drink!" or "Mom! Pay attention!" I don't like it. I'm not Mom. Not yet. I guess it's better than what she calls her daddy.

"HAAAAAANS!"

I think it's time I really get serious about the potty training. I got myself a little intimidated reading "Potty Train Your Child in One Day," psyching myself out and buying all the "necessary" supplies (to include a doll that pees and a book of 700 Thomas the Train Engine stickers for her progress chart), then insisting she learn how to pull down her pants, sit on the toilet, wipe, pull up her pants and wash her hands BEFORE I even let her try using the toilet. If I stick to this method, I think high school graduation as a deadline might be cutting it a bit close. I just need to devote a few uninterrupted days to camping out in the bathroom with a stack of books and a jar of M&M's, and doing a few extra loads of ammonia-scented laundry. She's well aware of her bodily functions, announcing in the middle of dinner when she's peeing. She gets this worried little look on her face, like her cat just died, and says "Uh oh. Oh no. Pee pee! Where die-der? [Where diaper?]" When I'm changing a poopy diaper, she talks about it the whole time "Heh heh. Ida poo poo. Heh heh, poo poo," like she's saying "Heh heh, I accidentally crapped my pants. How embarrassing."

She says "poo poo" with an umlaut, so it's actually more like "pü pü."

These are things I thought you should know. I'll let you know how the ~~scream fest~~ dentist appointment goes.

Tossing and turning

2010-05-14T10:25:00.002-05:00

This hasn't been a great week for blogging. I'm not sure I've had one of those in a while. I will say that I got an amazing amount of sleep last night - much better than the 4 hours of the night before. What are the things I lose sleep over?

1. Wanting to squeeze every last drop from those evening hours after Hannah's in bed with reading, writing, drawing and connecting with people.
2. Allergies and a sore on the back of my throat from scratching it with my tongue (I know, it takes talent).
3. My unmerciful daemon (thank you, Elizabeth Gilbert), who must still be on Japan time.
4. Very sensitive ears. I don't mean that every little sound wakes me up. I sleep in the basement, where sounds are muffled and closets flood. I mean my ears physically hurt from sleeping on one side for too long. I don't know, maybe my cartilage is too firm, or my ears are just extra pokey. Maybe I need headgear for bed. But I can't stay on one side for more than 30 minutes before I have to either switch or roll onto my back, which inevitably ends up with a stuffy nose because of number 1 on this list. It's true that you never sleep the same after having a child, but I don't think the child has very much to do with it (at least mine doesn't). My body is just way too sensitive now.
5. Have you read my dream journal?
6. Sleeping in the same room with my computer and thinking about tomorrow's blog.
7. Facebook, facebook, facebook.
8. Dumb people.
9. Dumb me.
10. Waiting until the lights are off to start my "to-do" list for the next day. You would think the list would be relatively short compared to someone with, oh, a job. But my "to-do" list has things like:
   take a shower
     cut back to 2 cups of coffee
     work on dying goat essay
     draw a pig
     take pictures of living room from different angles
   sleep for 30 minutes of Hannah's nap, finish laundry, read book
     go to library
     walk to park with Hannah
     reply to ____'s email
     cook something new
     practice "Pictures at an Exhibition"
   write book review for "Storm of Swords"
     pick new book to read
     dry sand in sun, fill sand box
     show Hannah how to play with play dough
     finger painting?

I need a break. That sounds funny to me, because staying at Mom and Dad's has felt like a vacation. I don't mean I need more leisure time. I'm up to my eyeballs in leisure time. I just need a break from . . . this. The schedule. I need to get out of my own head for a while. Community service. More piano students. Something big to work for. A camping trip to get the hell away from the computer. Live music. A road trip to see my brother in Texas. I need air, dirt and sunshine - the perfect sleeping potion.

Any ideas?

Get a mop, I've melted and I can't get up

2010-05-12T15:05:00.000-05:00

Lucky her cousin is a train junky and owns everything Thomas and Polar Express from here to Timbuktu, or I would have maxed out my credit card on train sets by now. Cuteness like this cannot be handled.

French Impressionism soothes my soul

2010-05-11T11:11:00.000-05:00

So instead of editing the 15+ blogs I have in mind for the coming weeks, I'll spend my day in Water Lily ponds while Claire de Lune augments my heart to let some happiness in. If you've caught the pun in my sentence, you're nerdier and more lovely than I had ever hoped.

Ta.

Good Monday to you

2010-05-10T10:00:00.004-05:00

I have no dreams for your today. Only a few thoughts and updates.

1. You know when someone says something really snide to you in chat or on facebook, and follows it up with a smiley? Here are some fictional mixed with non-fictional examples:

     "I consider your opinion to be a self righteous pet-peeve. No offense. :)"

     "Aw, are you having a bad day? Don't worry, it could be so much worse! :)"

     "People who can't afford health care are just too lazy to work, IMO. :)"

Ok, I really thought I'd have more examples than that. A simple smiley can make a comment just a little saltier. A little more evil. :) Emoticons let a person get away with saying anything they want, including nothing at all. Sometimes I just want to pick up that little smiley and take him between my fingers and pop him like a grape. Seriously. And I KNOW I'm guilty of doing it too. That's why I'm stopping. To.day. If you catch me "emoting" in a hurtful way, please call me out.

2. So I quit "365 Photos," like I knew I probably would. Sorry, Tenessa. :( (<-----Is that one ok?) I find myself taking MORE boring pictures than usual, because I'm desperate for something to post. That, and only a few people are checking it (yes, I can see you!). Maybe when I figure out how to put "new photo" notifications on my home page I'll pick it up again.

3. Speaking of which, I really need to learn html. there's just no way around it! Grrrrr.....

4. I've just been in a nasty little "blah" mood lately, and I can't seem to shake it. My muse eludes me, my words taste like a dry piece of toast, and I keep telling myself "if I could JUST have some time to myself, I'd get over this. I'd read, I'd write, I'd sleep . . . and I'd feel better." I know that isn't true, though. I don't know what I need. And that's the most frustrating thing of all.

5. Mother's Day is beginning to feel like another birthday. And I don't mean in the gift giving, cake making, balloon tossing and candle counting way. I mean in a "this day will be better than all other days" kind of way. A "you can't be mean to me because it's MY day! MINE!" sort of way. A full-day spa, lounging with cucumbers on my eyes while men in loin cloths bring me cocktails with little umbrellas, sleep in a bed of silken rose petals with no disturbances day. And I kind of hate that. Because it never is. It's just another day like any other. Your kids still fight, cry, and poop their pants. Your face breaks out from too much stress and chocolate. You start your period. The food is cold at the Mother's Day lunch buffet. It rains. And all the while you're thinking "this is NOT how it's supposed to be! This day was meant to be perfect! I'm a mother now! I get this day to celebrate ME! ME! ME!" . . . and if that's how M-day is going to feel (admittedly due to my own selfishness), then who needs it? Maybe if I'd focused a little more on my own mom I wouldn't have felt that way. But there you go. Imperfect me.

The greatest, most terrifying 1:25 minutes of my day

2010-05-07T08:00:00.001-05:00

My dear little Poopy Pants,

Peanut Butter,

Hannah Banana,

Stink Butt,

Uber Goober,

I love you.

All of you.

Your choo choos and bock bocks

Bed head and yogurt-crusted brow

Love songs and lullabies

Shrieks and giggles

The way you twirl you hair when you drink milk

Smile when you're in trouble

Run away when I say "come here."

Hug my face and say "awww"

Kiss everyone in the room good night

Even the people you don't know

I'm going to miss when you stop dragging your dollies by the arm

Their plastic heads black from the pavement

Stop calling the cat "titty"

Bananas "nana"

Oranges "ornch"
The way your diaper crinkles when you run

When your ability to jump with both feet in the air

No longer thrills the way it did

When all of your toes

Still fit in my mouth.

Love,
Mama

Veggie Kabobs

2010-05-06T10:01:00.002-05:00

This recipe is mostly by-guess-and-by-golly, but these sure were tasty!

Vegetables we used this time:

Small yellow potatoes (washed and boiled for 15 minutes)

Onions

Mushrooms

Cherry tomatoes

Bell Peppers

I've also tried:

Yellow squash

Zucchini

Whole garlic cloves (yum!)

Fennel

Parsnips

Pineapple

Mix and let sit for 10 minutes:

1/3 cup olive oil

3-5 garlic cloves, minced

1 1/2 tablespoons dried thyme

1 1/2 tablespoons dried oregano

1 tablespoon ground rock salt

1/2 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper

Toss vegetables in herb mixture until evenly coated. Arrange on skewers and grill for 10-15 minutes. So easy!

Cat Sketch Fevah!

2010-05-04T08:00:00.000-05:00

Best. Title. Ever. (It's so not.)

Ok, the challenge I gave myself this week was to use my mad circle-drawing skills to draw two animals that are at least semi circley. PAhahahahahaha! Oh dear . . . here are the results:

Not only is the lawn covered in chattery squirrels right now (so you'll probably be seeing more of these), but I watched Eddie Izzard for the first time the other night. This picture is dedicated to him. :) It was a super quick draw, and a much needed confidence booster when I later tried to tackle this cat:

*Picturing myself actually tackling a cat . . .* A little off, isn't he? I think it's the eyes . . . or the ears . . . or the tilt of the head. SOMETHING isn't right. Clearly my cat needs work, though I will say this is still a vast improvement from milk bottle kitty . . .

. . . whose poor little paws don't even touch the ground. Le sigh-meow.

I thought you were a life-sized paper doll

2010-05-03T09:00:00.005-05:00

5/1/10
Hans and Mom meet Andrew Bird somewhere - maybe a mall - and bring him home for me to meet. They suggested we take a walk in the woods together to "get to know each other." He's on a tight schedule - probably has to leave for tour or something. We go walking in my parents' wooded back yard. He's nice. Sensitive. A good listener. We see an old wooden inn that looks like it's from the days of King Arthur. There's a festival going on inside and we decide to check it out.

While he's finding a place for us to sit, there's a showing of the guard. A hundred midgets come marching in. No. Not marching. They're all riding pigs. Pigs with saddles, bridles and everything. They line up before - is it the king? - and perform a dance. Then a hundred giants stomp in and perform an Irish step dance, making the pigs and midgets bounce everywhere.

Andrew comes back and says he forgot that he needs to go hunting. He leaves me with money for food and walks back into the forest. I continue to watch the festivities. The giants, midgets and pigs are singing drinking songs now, smelling strongly of beer and roast pork. When Andrew comes back he's carrying a stuffed rabbit that is obviously fake. He holds the rabbit to his chest. It's not his catch, it's his wubby.

We find a spot on the side of the building and lay out a blanket for a picnic. He's watching every move I make - the way I sip my drink, tuck my hair behind my ear. He seems amused, and asks me hundreds of questions. I'm in love with his shyness and introspective nature. I ask him to sing for me. After some talking, he clears his throat and becomes rather serious.

"I . . . I um . . . I'm going to school in Nebraska in the fall. Taking some writing classes to help with my lyrics. I don't know what your plans are for school, but I'd like it very much if you attended with me." Because that's how Andrew Bird talks. I was waiting from him to tip his hat and say, "If it . . . if it wouldn't be too much trouble, ma'am."

This song was playing throughout my dream:

MX Missiles
And now as I would judge and say you're aloof
but you know the truth is a seed
you know what you need is a conflagration
cause when I see the blood
and the bits of your broken tooth
it gives me the proof that I need
it's the proof that you bleed
it's a revelation
yeah it's a revelation, it's a revelation

I thought you were a life-sized paper doll
propped up in the hardware store
propped up on the front lawn watching the parade
of those legionnaires with two-by-four's
as they're marching off to war
yeah they're marching off to war

I didn't know what you were made of
the color of your blood, what you're afraid of
are you made of calcium or are you carbon-based
and if you're made of calcium I'll have to take a taste
cause, listen, calcium is deadly tender to the tooth
and it's one sure-fire way to know if you're
MX-missile-proof, oh no, or if you're just aloof

You were in the ground in late November
when the leaves in earth are down
did you, did you think they would remember
how you almost made stage-out
cause when you're running for the game against Alfonso
and you fell upon the ground and chipped a tooth
oh no, listen, I really have surprised her
to learn that you are really MX-missile-proof

Oh, I thought you were a life-sized paper doll
and you're propped up in the hardware store
you were propped up on the front lawn watching the parade
of those legionnaires with two-by-four's
as they're marching off to war
yeah they're marching off to war
oh they're marching

5/2/10
I dreamed that I died. Someone stabbed me with a colored pencil, and now I'm lying on my mother's living room couch while various people inspect my body and try to figure out what happened. I want to jump up and tell them "well you see, someone stabbed me with a pencil, and the wound became infected, and I died. You should probably quit asking 'how' and start asking 'who.'" But I can't, because I'm dead. Mourners come to pay their respects. I don't know why I'm not lying in a coffin by now. Maybe the police still have evidence to collect, though a wake is a funny time to do so. Or maybe it's sentimental. Mom didn't want me laid out in a stiff (sorry) wooden coffin for my wake. She wanted me to be comfortable, which, even though I'm dead, I appreciate. As the different visitors come and go, they each have a different way of paying their respects. Some hold my hand and tell me the things they wish they'd told me - how they were mean out of jealousy, how they loved me more than they ever had the courage to say, how they wish I'd done the things in life that made me happy, instead of listening to their practical and heartbreaking advice. Some of them kiss my forehead. Some smell my hair. Some lie down with my body for one last "Suzie snuggle." And some punched me in the stomach for never returning those DVDs before I died. "Now we'll never find them," they say, making the sign of the cross as they look down at my blue lips and translucent eyelids. When the wake is over they still don't put me in a coffin. The living room couch has a hide-a-bed, and they just neatly fold me back into it. I'm thinking, are they just going to leave me here? It's kind of dark and dusty. I don't know how I'm thinking these things, since I'm dead. I'm liable to start stinking after a few days. Maybe they'll move me then. Or maybe this IS my coffin, and they just plan on burying the whole couch.

In the middle of the night I decide to come back to life and see what's going on in the rest of the house. See if there are any clues for my funeral plans. I think everyone's asleep, so I quietly climb out of the couch. Just then Amy comes home. She's in her pajamas, but she's been shopping. I hide behind the couch so I don't startle her (dead sisters coming back to life have a tendency to do that). She comes in the living room, sees me crouched behind the sofa, and says "wanna see what I got?" I stand up, brush myself off (there were a lot of crumbs in the hide-a-bed), and say "sure." We sit on my coffin and she shows me all the cute outfits she found for Hannah . She bought 4 different kinds of tutus, saying they would make good models for our next generation of toddler tutus. As she's showing me her shopping wares I'm thinking how very nice this is, spending time with my sister, and how I wished I could have spent more time with her before I died and came back to life.
. . .
There is a secret antique cabinet hidden in the wall of a house. I am a man who loves this house and all of its old secrets, and I've taken extra special care to make sure this cabinet remains hidden in the wall. I give it a new coat of paint every year. Then, some jerk decides he needs to access the cabinet and whatever is stored inside, so he rips apart my precious layers of paint, picks the lock on the wall, and ends up breaking the hinges on the door. Inside the wall it's dusty and unfinished. I'm a little embarrassed to see the raw materials my beautiful ancient house was made of. It took some of the magic away, and I was furious with this man for accessing the secret cabinet, which turns out to be a junk cabinet full of paper clips, batteries, and dried up ball-point pens. He just needed some AA's for his remote control car. Why didn't he go to Walmart?
. . .
Riding bikes up a hill with two other guys. I'm the fastest, but they are close behind. One has a fancy kind of bike that allows him to lay flat on his belly and pedal with his hands. He's about to pass me, and it just feels wrong to let him. We're riding through a Tuscan vineyard. When the two other guys pass me, they leave me behind and I wonder why it is I keep pedaling.

A taste of someone else

2010-04-30T10:00:00.013-05:00

Varenna
by Linda Gregerson

Smothered up in gauze, the sky's
            been healing for a week or

two, conserving its basin of gruel.
            The shops have closed

in sympathy. The ferry's ministrations
            barely mark the hour. And just

when we'd convinced ourselves that
            beauty unsubdued betrays

a coarsened mind, the fabric starts
            to loosen, lift, and daylight,

all unblighted, takes a gaudy good-
            night bow. What sodden

indistinction just an hour ago had all
            but persuaded us not to

regret resumes its first divisions;
            slate from cinder, ash

from smoke, warm dapple-gray from
            moleskin, dove- from

Quaker-gray from taupe, until
            the blackwater satins unroll their

gorgeous lengths above a sharpening
            partition of lake-and-loam.

Give up yet? says the cirro-strato-sable
            brush. Then watch

what I can do with orange. And,
            floodlit, ink-besotted, so

assails the upper atmosphere that
            all our better judgment

fails. The Alps? They've seen it all
            before. They've flattened

into waiting mode. The people?
            Flat bedazzled. But,

in fairness, had a shorter way to fall.

Vomiblog

2010-04-29T08:00:00.005-05:00

sometimes i just need to vomit on the page, you know? no editing. No Cleverness. Just pure "brain dump," as a friend calls it. I felt so creatively constipated with this blog that I decided to to try for quantity rather than quality. I'm not saying everything i've written in the last two weeks has been utter crap, but I feel like my writing has helmet hair now. Every little post scheduled in a particular place. Very organized and timely - like too-perfect hair with too much hair spray.
Sometimes you just gotta muss up the hair a little. Walk out the door with bedhead and said "Yeah, I'm an imperfect bbithch, so? Speak with confidence and spinach in my teeth. Sometimes I just want to rip my heart from my chest and lay it on the table, severed aorta, pulsing ventricles oozing shiny blues and reds . . . and just say "see? there are some good things in here! Yeah, there are a few inexplicable black spots, but for the most part it's good!"

I don't know if I come across this way but my blog fee ls like this. li ke entire ch unks are missing from my story.

And so they are. I can't possibly write about those chunks without alienating the people I love, and besides I'm not really interested in hanging my entire load of dirty laundry for everyone to see. maybe a sock or two . . . but why write a blog that only promises to expose and embarrass, but fails to provide the catharsis I thought it might? The only release I can hope for will come from confronting the very issues in my life that I'd be writing about. This blog is my side project. Life is where the stories happen.

I read an essay by Richard Bausch called "How to Write in 700 Easy Lessons." He talks about how writing manuals aren't all they're cracked up to be, and can actually hinder your writing if you haven't read enough literature from which to draw language, context, rules and voice. Made me want to go pick up Moby Dick and Les Miserable and get to work. I'll add it to Storm of Swords, How to Potty Train Your Child in One Day (a masterfully deceptive title), and Now Write!: Nonfiction, all of which I'm currently reading. Yes, Now Write! is a writer's manual, and yes I'm aware of the irony. I've never bought a "writing book" for anything other than school. this one had lots of fun prompts I thought I would try for some inspiration. Little did I know how very raw and personal those essays would turn out to be, and I'm nervous to share them in a public forum, with people I know. MAN I need a nom de plume. Still, they're good exercise, and in the meantime I'll read Wuthering Heights, Crime and Punishment and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in between sessions of sketching circles, photographing potato chips and morningly recording my dreams as quickly as I can before my bladder bursts.

huh?

Why do I feel the need to do all of this? Put myself through this 'self-taught college' to keep my brain working? Why the frantic scramble to become a better writer, better reader, better artist? What am I compensating for? And what kind of mother am I being while I'm so caught up in my brainiac pursuits? One who always has a book in her hand or a computer in her lap. One whose daughter has to scream and physically grab my face to get me to make eye contact with her and see that she's been sitting in a poopy diaper for the last 15 minutes. One who can't "just" be a mom. I can't "just" take her on a walk and pick dandelions on the side of the road and sing "Mr. Sun" on repeat. Have to listen to new music on the iPod so I'm cultured and caught up in the music world. Can't "just" pull out the kiddy pool and stick my feet in, she my little blue-lipped water lover with my undivided attention. Have to be reading. Can't "just" turn on the Wee Sing and Raffi and dance with her. Have to check email while she giggles and spins. Can't "just" take a nap with her so I'm rested enough to face an afternoon in the sunshine. Have to write write write, and drink as much coffee as it takes so I'm exhausted by the time she wakes up.

I feel like I'm not cut out for the life I'm seeking. Why can't I just put down the pen and live? When did I become such a self-proclaimed scholar and multi-tasker? When did motherhood take the back step in my life? When did I become so horribly self-centered?

Don't answer that.

balance. it's all about the balance, isn't it? aaaaaalways comes back to moderation and temperance. perseverance and patience. you'll get your time, Suzie. don't cut into Hannah's out of fear that you won't. her time is now. yours is when the sun goes down, and she is far off in dreamland with the choo choos and the bock bocks and the cows and the pigs... that's when you're allowed to feel as distracted and distant as your mind needs to be in order to heal. withdraw and lick your wounds when she's asleep. escape to your worlds in the dark of the night, and leave the sunshine for her. balance. because I'm not going to give up on this blog. I'm not going to give up writing. I like it too much, and my world needs more things that I like. don't listen to the people who tell you it's a waste of time. Don't listen to the people who say you're self-indulgent, over-dramatic, immature, entitled. . . or do, but don't let their narrowly constructed opinions stop you in your tracks. they don't have to read your writing. they don't have to try to understand you if they don't want to. and if they do, they'll see that you bleed. they'll see that your heart beats, and forgive the black spots. They'll feel you breathe and know that whatever else you may be - obnoxious, bratty, spoiled, pretentious . . . that you are real, and that you aren't necessarily trying to make your mark on the world, but to allow the world to make its mark on you. And if they can't see that, screw them.

This makes me unbelievably happy

2010-04-28T14:58:00.001-05:00

CAPYBARA sings to a capybara. from mark harrison on Vimeo.

Lentil and Rice Pilaf with Toasted Cumin Seeds

2010-04-28T10:01:00.001-05:00

Lentil and Rice Pilaf with Toasted Cumin Seeds
4 to 6 servings

1/2 cup lentils, picked over and rinsed
2 tablespoons vegetable or olive oil
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 cup uncooked white basmati rice
2 cups vegetable stock
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup chopped walnuts

Stir lentils into a medium saucepan of boiling water. Boil, uncovered, for 10 minutes; drain.

Heat oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet over low heat. Add garlic and cumin seeds and cook just until sizzling. Add lentils along with rice, vegetable stock and salt.* Bring to a boil, stir once, cover and cook over medium-low heat until the stock is absorbed and the rice and lentils are tender, about 15 minutes. Uncover and let stand for 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, toast chopped walnuts in a small skillet over medium heat. Sprinkle over the pilaf and serve.

*This is what is written in "The Joy of Cooking: All About Vegetarian Cooking," but my experience with lentils is that they don't cook or soften as nicely when you add salt to the water. I suggest leaving the salt out until the rice and lentils are fully cooked.

Sketches: Shaping up

2010-04-27T10:01:00.146-05:00

This week my sketches came from "Drawing and Painting Animals" by Bill Tilton. I still plan on doodling with "Draw 50 Animals," but Tilton includes more instructions for beginners, and I wanted to learn those basics from him before attempting any more cows.

The book starts with a simple copying exercise. You're supposed to draw this rabbit:

. . . and then set it aside for later use. I'm assuming he wants me to come back to my rabbit later and say "man, I didn't know anything back then. What a sorry excuse for a rabbit! I'm soooooo much better now." But for now, I think my bunny is pretty sweet. So take that, future badass-drawer Suzie.

I've heard it said that, during his "interview" for the Sistine Chapel commission, Michelangelo simply painted a perfect circle and the Pope hired him immediately. Tilton also emphasizes the importance of practicing the foundational shapes of drawing - circles, squares, rectangles, triangles, and "peanuts." So I spent the week drawing circles. I can't tell you how exciting this was.

"When you're drawing a ball or sphere, even though you're drawing on flat paper, imagine your lines going behind and around the form. You should get the feeling the line is lighter as it goes away from you, lighter on the top or area in the light, and heaviest on the bottom. Keep at it. Before long you will know when it 'feels right.'" That's straight from the book. Not only did the page above take me a couple HOURS to sketch, but I wasn't able to imagine my "lines going behind and around the form." What does that mean?? And it still doesn't "feel right." If it really is a matter of practice, I'll get it. Maybe not Michelangelo-get-it, but definitely non-wonky-animal-head get it.

As I drew myself a little 4-quadrant cheat-graph to begin this sphere I thought, "why not just trace a paper cup?" I didn't, of course, but seriously, what's the point of a freehand circle, besides to show off? Drawing the circle itself was the hardest part. The shading was too much fun, creating chaotic darkness around my imperfect light. If I were to change anything I'd probably make the light a little rounder. I guess I got lazy. And tired of circles. Sheesh.

Wow, this felt like a book report. Sorry for the boring post . . .

More gifts from the Sandman

2010-04-26T10:01:00.136-05:00

4/21/10
Setting: St. Louis, Missouri, early 19th century. The Daylight Pharmacy and Clinic is run by a man who doesn't believe in using lanterns or candles to light his clinic. He says they're unhealthy for the patients, and uses only natural light. Consequently the whole place is dark and dank, and no one wants to go there. But St. Louis is the last stop with a clinic on the road to California.

I visit this clinic. I'm young (20?) and engaged to a rich merchant. When I walk in there are two men, and it doesn't look like a clinic at all, but more like a gun emporium or pawn shop. One man is tall and dark, calls himself Curly. The other is bald and mouse-like, missing all of his teeth but the top and bottom two. He doesn't speak. Maybe he's missing a tongue, too. I don't know his name. Curly grabs me in a huge bear hug and says "Hey Darlin' I was wonderin' when you'd stop by!" Mouse guy just grins. It's all very confusing to my fiance, who apparently has come with me. He doesn't like the look of mouse man and says we should leave, but I've come for medicine for our trip west, and I ask Curly if we might pick that up. He blushes and confesses he isn't a doctor but would be happy to give me a "check up." Fiance gets angry and pulls a gun on Curly and asks him what's going on. Curly holds hands up and says "now don't get all worked up, I was only joking! Besides, wouldn't want to upset the pretty lady." Meanwhile Mouse has managed to sneak behind fiance, and now holds a knife to his throat. Fiance bashes Mouse's nose with the back of his head. This is followed by a cat and mouse chase around the entire building - glass shattering, furniture splintering . . . Curly and Mouse seem not to care at all for their establishment. This is the most excitement they've had all week. The three men run in circles, and every time Curly runs by me he winks and grins devilishly. "This ain't no clinic, sweetheart," he yells. "It's a god damned circus! Yoooohoooo!"

While the three men wreak havoc on the clinic, I decide to look in the unoccupied rooms. Some look like normal hospital rooms, just old and musty. Some are completely packed wall to wall with guns. Some are full of used syringes. There's one room at the end of the hall whose door is slightly ajar. There's a strange light coming from the crack in the door jam. I walk toward this door, wondering what that light might be. When I open it a gust of hot, dusty wind hits my face, and I'm staring at what looks like a doorway to some other world. I understand now why the owner made the clinic so dark and unappealing - so people would be discouraged from using it, and so those who knew what it really was could have some privacy when traveling to this world - Ancient Egypt. That's right. Daylight Clinic is a Stargate. Awesome.

4/22/10
In a lonely mansion with a little girl who is friends with Hannah. She's part of a royal family and her room is decked in frilly pink canopies, life-size rocking horses and hundreds and hundreds of colorful dresses. She wears one of these dresses with a pair of chiffon and lace socks we gave her as a birthday gift. We're helping her get ready for a day in town, and she takes off the socks and puts her shoes back on, saying it's not appropriate for royalty to wear socks in public.
. . .
I'm at a beach with a friend. We go to the shower room to change into our bathing suits. The shower stalls each have a cute set-up with tables, chairs and umbrellas. There's an array of colorful products on each table, and I decide to take advantage of the free stuff, choosing a particularly sweet smelling shampoo and applying it liberally to my hair. It's sticky and difficult the rinse out. Worse, I think my hair turns out dirtier than before. I ask my friend if hers is doing the same thing, and picking up the bottle she says, "I think you just put jelly in your hair." Confused, I ask her how she knows, and she says "because there's a box of crackers right next to it."
. . .
I'm driving with my mom through a landscape of rocky cliffs, waterfalls, and deep green grasslands. It's a rural area where houses are spread apart by miles and miles, and I wonder how people survive so isolated from society and each other. Mom and I are looking for a particular peak to climb - one that boasts a beautiful Buddhist temple on its summit. We can't seem to find it, though we do find one breathtaking mountain that is made entirely of waterfalls.
. . .
I'm in New York City in the 1920's. I only have a day to experience all the sights, which is a challenge given I have to push Hannah in her stroller everywhere. Mom suggests we try Zonkos candy shop, so we do. There's a little train that chugs around the room, delivering homemade hot chocolate to all the browsing customers. We go to the counter to order our hot chocolate, and there are 10 different flavors. Marshmallow and chocolate, caramel and chocolate, cinnamon and chocolate . . . I can't decide what I want. Mom has already tried half of them, and tells me which ones are tasty and which aren't. I go for the cinnamon.

I leave the candy store and realize it's turned cold outside, so I pull out Hannah's coat and put it on her, then put mine on as well. When I button up the coat it feels extremely tight, and makes me look busty and sultry. I'm worried about walking the streets of New York looking like this, but it's so cold I don't dare not wear it. I'm waiting in line to get on the subway, and a lady next to me eyes me up and down and asks for a sip of water from my Nalgene bottle. I'm afraid she's going to mug me, but all she wants is water. Just a drink.

4/26/10
In a Catholic Easter mass. Altar servers are serving everyone coffee during communion so we can stay awake for the remainder of the service. A woman next to me who looks like Charlize Theron says she would like a saucer with her cup. The altar servers are annoyed and offended that she would ask such a thing. She just blinks, prettily, and says "chop chop!"

After mass we discuss how long the service was. A nun overhears our conversation and says this was a short Easter mass - when she was a little girl it would last all day and all night. I try to add my two cents to the conversation and say that the Litany of the Saints alone can take 2 hours. She looks at me like I'm an idiot.
. . .
I'm climbing a mountain that's been so commercialized with cement trails and obnoxious gift shops that you can climb the entire mountain indoors and forget you're even on a mountain. The insides of the buildings are cement and cold. There's a skate park in one of them, and as I'm hiking I'm afraid of having my fingers run over by some careless skateboarder. When I leave the last building and finally get to see the mountain before the summit, there's a track team just finishing a race. A group of girls are crossing the finish line in a dead sprint, hardly looking winded. They've just run up the entire trail (apparently there's another, prettier, outdoor trail I wasn't aware of) - a distance more than a marathon. One girl says to her coach that she finished in 240 minutes, and he says that's a new record. I look at these athletes and consider how tired I am just from hiking - indoors, no less - and I decide I don't deserve to summit today after all. Resigned, I turn around and return to the cement building.
. . .
It's my 9th birthday. Instead of going through the hassle of buying everyone party favors, my mom takes us to a fancy chocolate shop (what's with all the chocolate dreams??) and says we can pick out a couple things for ourselves. There are dozens of booths and counters with different delicacies - chocolate covered fruits and nuts, chocolate covered popcorn, chocolate covered chili peppers, chocolate covered pretzels - not the little ones but the the big soft kind . . . It seems like a pricey place, and being the thoughtful 9-year-old that I am, I ask my mom how much she spent for this little outing, and she tells me, "Oh, about $250." I do some rough calculating and decide this doesn't sound like such a hefty price, until she adds "per booth."

Just a Reminder . . .

2010-04-24T17:43:00.002-05:00

To check out 365 Photos daily!

Lessons in Girlhood

2010-04-23T09:40:00.001-05:00

Growing and helping other things grow is dizzying work. When the world is spinning and you don't know which way is up, don't be afraid ask for help.

. . . and don't stop trying to get it right.

Greek Spinach and Cheese Pie (Spanakopita)

2010-04-22T10:01:00.008-05:00

In light of that last post I figured a little recipe-sharing was in order. :) I made this for my family the other night with pilaf and veggie kabobs, which I'll also post recipes for. Mom found a vegetarian "Joy of Cooking" cookbook at a used book store, and I've been drooling over this recipe ever since. I LOVE Greek food with all of its spinach, feta and kalamata olives. Not a lot of Greek cooking is vegetarian though ("He don't eat no MEAT?!?! Ok, I cook lamb!"), so finding recipes can be tricky!

Keep in mind that "vegetarian" does not always mean "low fat," and even though you might want to stuff your face with this entire spinach pie, it does include an entire stick of butter, so tread lightly. :)

Greek Spinach and Cheese Pie (Spanakopita)

Makes about thirty 2-inch squares or diamonds. Ahem, or sixteen 3-inch ones. :)

2 pounds (or three 10-ounce bags) fresh spinach, washed, stemmed, and coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, finely chopped

4 scallions, finely chopped

1/4 cup snipped fresh dill or chopped fresh parsley

4 large eggs

8 ounces feta cheese, crumbled

2 tablespoons grated kefalotiri Greek cheese or Parmesan cheese

1/2 teaspoon salt

several grinds of black pepper

Pinch of freshly grated or ground nutmeg

8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter, melted

1 pound phyllo dough*, thawed if frozen

*I bought a 1-lb box of phyllo, and only ended up using half of it, so maybe this should call for 1/2 a pound, and the other half can be for baklava!

Working with Phyllo: "Phyllo, literally meaning leaf in Greek, is available frozen in most grocery stores or fresh from Greek and Middle Eastern bakeries. It is essential to keep the thin sheets from drying out. If using frozen phyllo, thaw it slowly, without unwrapping, in the refrigerator for several hours or overnight. Once it is thawed, unwrap the phyllo and remove only the number of sheets required for the recipe; re-wrap the remaining sheets in plastic wrap and return to the refrigerator or freezer." - Joy of Cooking: All About Vegetarian Cooking

Directions:

Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and scallions and cook until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the chopped spinach a handful at a time. Cook until the spinach is wilted and the liquid is released, 5 minutes. Increase the heat to high and cook, stirring often, until the liquid is evaporated and the spinach is dry, 7 to 10 minutes. Stir in the dill or chopped parsley. Let stand until cool enough to handle, then squeeze to remove the excess liquid.

In a medium bowl, lightly beat 4 large eggs. Add the cooked spinach mixture with feta cheese, grated Greek or Parmesan cheese, salt, black pepper and nutmeg. Mix gently.

Lightly oil a 13x9-inch baking pan. Melt butter. Unroll phyllo dough on a dry work surface (be very careful, it's sooooo easy to tear!). Lay 1 sheet of phyllo in and up the sides of the prepared pan and brush lightly with melted butter. Top with 7 more phyllo sheets, brushing each one lightly with butter. Spread the spinach mixture over the layered phyllo. Top with 8 more sheets, brushing each one with butter, including the top sheet. Roll the overhanging phyllo from the sides to form a border all the way around. With a thin, sharp knife, cut the pie into squares or diamonds, but do not cut through the bottom or the filling will leak onto the pan. Refrigerated for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Bake the spinach pie until crisp and golden, about 45 minutes (check after 30 minutes - if the edges are getting too brown you can cover them with foil). Remove from the oven and let stand for a few minutes. Cut the squares or diamonds right through to the bottom and serve.

. . . and serve, and serve and serve . . .

The questions worth asking

2010-04-21T10:01:00.018-05:00

I've said several times that I feel like I'm on the "brink" of something - like I'm at some crossroads where I have to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life, and I've felt stuck in this place for . . . I don't know, ever. I don't know how I got here, or if it's even a real place to begin with. Maybe this brink is just a big waiting room we have to learn to get out of - a place of apathy and denial where the next step seems impossible and "life" has yet to begin. But it has begun. This is it. This is life, the clock is ticking, and the magazine rack in the waiting room can only keep you happy and distracted for so long.

How very adept I've become at stomping on my dreams before they've taken shape. Whenever I imagine life as professional musician, owning my own music school, becoming a world class chef, or writing a book, insecurity and doubt choke my creativity, and my pie in the sky is shoved aside for what I believe to be "reality." Lack of money. Lack of education. Lack of talent. Lack of childcare. Lack of drive. That same insecurity saps my energy and ambition, leaving me feeling old, alone and washed up. Pathetic. How did I become so jaded at the tender age of 26? I should be flexing my romantic muscles more than ever and giving my heart some room to breathe without reigning it in with shouts of "get real!" and "in your dreams!" and "I can't do that!" What might I accomplish if I chose, instead, to ask these questions:

What if?

Why not?

After reading my blog for a while, my brother said to me "you know what? Screw getting another music degree. Why not become a chef? It's obviously something you enjoy." He said he knew someone-who-knew-someone involved in casting a show for amateur cooks, and that he could hook me up with his contact information if I was interested. A couple weeks later he tagged me in a photo. It was the casting call for Gordon Ramsey's show "Masterchef." Cue little horned doubtful voice:

Get real. Do you even know how to cook? I mean REALLY cook? You like new recipes, but are you really creative enough to improvise or compete? And who's going to watch Hannah?

I kind of joked with Mark, saying something dumb like "Haha, no way. I don't have the balls for this."

But . . . what if I did?

What if I contacted the producer and told him about myself? I'd say I'm just starting out, but that I really love vegetarian cooking, and I would ask if he needed someone like me on one of his shows. What if he said yes? What if he gave me a phone number for the casting director, who then told me to come prepared to make five dishes for my "audition?" I would do it. I wouldn't know what to make - black bean burgers, potatoes with curry and mustard seeds, vegetarian lasagna, spinach pie, lentil curry, Persian Basmati pilaf, vegetarian chili? I'd dig out my best recipes and practice them for as many people as possible, asking them to taste and critique my cooking while I feverishly took notes for next time. I'd cook every day, learn new recipes, acquire new techniques, all while feeding the hungry!

If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk . . . After cooking so much, I'll notice how dull my knives are, and I'll go out and buy new knives, and maybe a fancy garlic press or lemon juicer. A food processor, too. Pots and pans that cook things the way they're meant to be cooked - no teflon that flakes, saps flavor and turns out steamed rather than pan-seared vegetables. I'd experiment with every whole food I can find - get to know the character and taste of each one. Make my own sprouts from mung beans, broccoli seeds and wheat berries. Practice cooking with fine wines. Try every dry bean and lentil . . . exotic grains like quinoa and amaranth . . . tomatillos, every kind of pepper, tropical fruit, dried fruits . . . and spices. I would go to The Spice House and spend a small fortune on whole, organic spices from India, and a mortar and pestle to grind them. Cumin seeds. turmeric root. Whole nutmeg, chai, cloves, multicolored peppercorns, vanilla beans . . . I'd learn how to make my own chili powder from fresh chilis. Grow fresh dill, basil, oregano, rosemary, and thyme, and dry them when their abundance is too great for use.

After practicing my recipes, and probably finding a few hundred new ones along the way, I would go to my audition. I'd walk into the kitchen with confidence and cook for these directors, tell them my food story. I'd expound my views on whole foods and vegetarian cooking, how I think it's a lifestyle change that could reverse the path of destruction American food culture has left our youngest generations to face . . .

And what if they liked what they heard and tasted, and asked me to be on the show? What if they said filming would only take a few hours a day, and that they would provide on-set childcare for Hannah? Not only that, but what if they provided Hannah with a fun, stimulating and educational experience that I might not have been able to give her myself, all while I'm cooking my butt off for Gordon Ramsay? What if I won the competition? Got my own cooking show? Even if I lost, what if I opened a restaurant and the publicity from the show brought people from all over the the area?

I'm not saying I want to go out and become a chef, all I'm saying is: what if?

And why not?

Getting Sketchy

2010-04-20T10:01:00.012-05:00

I've always envied artists who carry sketch pads and charcoal with them wherever they go. Their world is completely foreign to me. In my mind they are the silent observers of life, peering through tortoise shell rimmed glasses in smokey coffee shop corners, watching . . . capturing. They buy unlined journals because their minds are not linear. They sketch multilayered stories of their communion with the world, and we the audience can only guess their meaning, so mystically personal is the world they see.

I often wish others could just see a child, a bird, a dusty old book, a worn out pair of shoes, a gesture . . . the way I see them. But I'm afraid that while my hands are comfortable on a piano keyboard, they are awkward adolescents with a pencil. Not only do they not know what motions to make, but I can't "see" the animal I'm trying to sketch before pencil touches paper. My most telling experience was in Japan, playing Pictionary with some students. I was drawing a cat, and in that moment forgot what a cat even looked like. My kids were puzzled.

"Eh? Nani? Rabbito deska?"

I've never had a knack for the visual arts. Music and words have usually served my expressive purposes. But I've always wanted to learn how to draw.

So that's what I'm doing.

I'd like to learn how to paint some day, too, and walk around town in my paint-drizzled bandanna and overalls smelling of lacquer and saw dust . . . but first things first. Learn how to draw, Suz. Hannah's learning animal names right now, so I thought animals would be a good place to start. Plus I want to improve my Pictionary game. I mean, this is where I'm starting:

Like how I labeled them, so you'd know what they were? No, these drawings are not from grade school. I'm ashamed to say I drew these animals three weeks ago. Yeah. It's that bad. Definitely not something that comes naturally to me. At. All.

So, after Hannah's story time at the library one Tuesday I decided to browse the art section to see if there was anything to help me get started. I was extremely self conscious, and more than once found myself looking around to make sure no one knew what I was up to. I got even MORE paranoid when my search led me to the children section of the library, where there was a whole series of "Draw 50 _____" books by Lee J. Ames. Cars, dinosaurs, people, flowers, foods, trees, dragons . . . I could learn to draw 50 anything! Crouched behind the bookshelf I thumbed through these little treasures with their torn pages and broken bindings. A lot of the pictures were traced over with crayon and colored pencil. I imagined some 7 year old kid turning each page, thinking, like I was, how great it would be to learn to draw all 50, and practicing every day until he returned the book to the library, a little more love written in its pages than before. I said a prayer for that little boy as I walked away with "Draw 50 animals" tucked under my arm. Maybe he was in college now, drawing comic strips for the university paper, or designing an urban layout for the future of this small town. I wondered if, for him, this book was the beginning of a beautiful relationship with art, and hoped that it might be for me, too. Still nervous, I checked over my shoulder at the check-out desk. I felt like I was buying a pregnancy test, afraid that anyone I might know might look at my wares and say "my my, what do we have here?" Nothing. Just a test. Just trying it out.

"Ok, this will be due on April 13th!"

Two weeks. That was how much time I'd give myself to learn how to draw not 50 but ONE recognizable animal. It was a test. Just a test.

I bought myself a sketch pad and a set of graphite pencils, took the bag home with my library books, and in my nervous excitement stuffed them in a corner of the living room where no one would see them. When I had a quiet moment to myself that didn't entail reading, writing or passing out from the exhausting work that is keeping a 2-year-old alive, I sat in that corner, admiring the textured drawing paper in my sketch pad, sharpening my new pencils while inhaling their woody scent, and pouring over "Draw 50 Animals" with all kinds of lofty ideas in my head. What if I learn how to draw the animals that live in my back yard . . . all those deer, squirrels and cardinals whose simple beauty take my breath away? What if I could finally capture my rolling Kansas hills, my delicate red buds, my dusty wooden barns, using nothing but these pencils? What if I could draw a portrait of my perfect daughter?

The book wasn't in any particular order - no beginning, intermediate or advanced drawings. So I chose a cow. I knew it was something Hannah would like (and I'm always looking for her praise - the extra encouragement is a real boost), and my cow was probably my worst drawing, looking like a mix between a capybara and a throw pillow. Now, I'm aware that my cat also looks like a bowling pin, my dog like a transvestite centaur and my bird like a flying peanut, but I also really liked the drawing in the book - the lines of this particular cow caught my eye and made me think, "Wow. This really is a beautiful creature." So here is my first attempt at a non-throw-pillow-looking cow:

Unless you know more about cows than I (and you most likely do), you might be thinking "wait, female cows can't have horns!" Yes they most certainly can. And do. So there.

Here's what I learned:
1. To avoid making nasty grooves in the paper and using up an entire eraser on one drawing, use a lighter touch with the pencil, especially in the first few strokes of your drawing.

2. That everything you draw, no matter how complex, can be broken into very simple shapes, and that it's good to figure out what shapes your subject contains before beginning your sketch. This cow started as a rectangle and a sort of cone - something I can wrap my art-handicapped mind around.
3. That hooves are unbelievably difficult to draw, especially when there are four of them that must look like they are all from the same animal. I still haven't figured them out, as you can probably see. What a beautiful complexity is the cow hoof! Needless to say, I did NOT choose a hoofed animal as my second subject.
4. That female cows can have horns.

I knew the ultimate test would be whether or not Hannah recognized my drawing. Children are wildly astute when it comes to facial recognition! In fact, that's how they are able tell animals apart - cows from horses and capybaras, cats from dogs and bowling pins . . . it's also how they make connections between cartoons and coloring pages and real, live animals. A few times Hannah has mixed up cows and horses in her coloring books, and I didn't really blame her because the drawings weren't very good. But she knows when a cow is clearly a cow, so I was actually a little nervous when I showed her my sketch. I held my breath while opening my sketch book to the cow . . .

"Cow! Moo!"

Success!

. . . and then I drew a snail, because hello? How cool are snails? Sketching this snail was surprisingly soothing - not at all the stress of hoof-drawing. Something about the pattern of lines and shading on the shell calmed my nerves that night. I was a little sad to say goodbye to this little guy when I finished him. He definitely won't be my last snail.

Stay tuned for more sketches. I'm going to try to post some every Tuesday. Oh, and I like comments. Just in case anyone was wondering . . . :D

Mr. Sandman

2010-04-19T10:01:00.005-05:00

First, I want to bring your ^ attention to that little Easter egg up there. The one that says "365 Photos." See it? That's all I'm going to say. :)

And now, more from the sandman . . .

4/13/2010
I live in a Walmart with my family and several other people I haven't seen in years - theater acquaintances, mostly. Mom and I stay up late watching a movie that turns out to be too loud, and it wakes everyone in the toy section - my family in particular. We all get up and eat a meal in the middle of the night.

I'm getting ready for some event and can't find the right thing to wear. I choose a T-shirt and jeans, so it isn't a formal event. A school bus is our transportation. I leave Hannah with a woman named Tina, who I knew 13 years ago in the show "Jesus Christ Superstar." She's bathing Hannah in the Walmart bathroom when I leave, commenting on the nice lavender towels we picked out for her.

There are creatures outside that we do not speak of, but they are the reason we stay in at night. They lurk around the house (my parents' house?), waiting to kill whoever should wander too far from home. Wolves or bears, but smart ones that talk. It seems they are misunderstood - to them their purpose is pure. They are protecting us from something even worse - ourselves.

4/14/10
I wake up from a deep sleep and crawl to the computer. I can't open my eyes and I can't tell if I'm awake or asleep, but I feel so heavy, like a weight is pulling me to the ground, like gravity is stronger for a day. I have the urge to take a million microscopic plugs and close off my pores, so afraid am I that my soul will melt and seep out of my body from the heavy pull of gravity. The plugs are multicolored, so when I'm done plugging my pores I look like a Light Bright. Someone comments that clogging my pores is bad for me. I tell them they're wrong, to just look at the healthy glow of my skin. I do all of this kneeling in front of the computer, wondering what to write next.

4/19/10
I'm making plans with a girlfriend to travel to a nearby island for a girls' day out. We don't have a car to get to the ferry port, so I suggest we ride our bikes. She gives me a long speech about how she is against bikes. Something she says irks me so much that we part ways. She walks home, and I ride my bike to the ferry port, where I meet up with three other girls who are going to the island. They say they're going there for drugs and "to achieve an altered state of consciousness." Not what I really had in mind, but I go along with them.

We take the ferry across. The island is sandy with an ancient feeling - like India. We shop around the market place for a while before going to this "hippy convention." Before entering the small stadium we have to take off our shoes and are given pipes of some unknown substance to smoke. I sit down and find Hans sitting next to me. He's already high. The service begins with a monk giving a benediction or opening prayer. It's in a language I don't recognize. Then the monk begins his sermon. In the middle of it Hans raises his hands and asks if he might share something he learned with everyone. The monk looks a little taken aback at his effrontery, but nods his head. I duck low in my seat to hide my embarrassment as Hans begins to sing a kind of Buddhist chant that is supposed to praise god and bring enlightenment. The monk looks impressed, and begins to sing along. So does everyone in the stadium. It's a song everyone knows but me, and they sing louder and louder. Strange exotic instruments join the singing, and the music is chaotic but prayerful. I look over to my left and there's a glass recording studio, inside of which is a band performing this same chant, but a hipper, rocked-out version of it. Everyone is happy and high, and seems to understand the meaning of the song. I just feel lost.

Sisters

2010-04-16T10:01:00.007-05:00

Well, my sister is moving. She's spent every day this week at the new house, sanding, priming, painting, directing traffic for new windows and hardwood floors. It's fun seeing Amy in her element again - interior decorating and ruling her own roost. I haven't seen her this happy since I've been here. The stress of house hunting is a roller coaster I've not ridden, but I can feel she's finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I can see it too, glowing on her smiling face. It's a beautiful thing to behold.

Living in a house with this many people has its challenges. Heads butt, tempers flare, TV remotes get lost, internet slows, and nerves frazzle. There are a lot of big personalities in my family. I don't mean mean big as in flashy, flamboyant, or even wanting attention (with the exception of me, of course). I mean commanding, leading personalities. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians. I don't know how we came to be this family of introverts (with the exception of me, of course), who, when they do decide to speak do so with a voice of authority that resents being questioned. Maybe it's the military's influence. We're all experts in something, be it grammar, music, law or childcare. And woe unto the person who disagrees!

My sister and I are no different. I can't say I'm not a little jealous of her recent good fortune, and she'd probably say she's a little jealous of aspects of my life. Jealousy is a funny little thing. Contrary to what we might think, it is never one-sided. Opportunity, exceptionalism, and greener grasses have come between us more than once in our adulthood. So have differing opinions and an inability to courteously disagree. In the end we're sisters, and we love each other, but dammit if we don't want to just . . . grrrr sometimes, you know? :)

She is the conservative but bold, independent and headstrong first child who took control of her life at 18, and hasn't relinquished that control since. Botanist. Airborne Army officer. Mother of two healthy, rambunctious boys. She moved to the East coast and for 20 years never looked back. 12 years after Amy there was me - the "eccentric" baby sister. Awkward late bloomer, loud-mouthed, also headstrong, attention grabbing dramatic performer who spent a majority of her childhood with no other children in the house. I was six years old when Amy left home. For the most part our relationship has been long distance, and I see now why that might have been a blessing in disguise. Our lives have been so different, you'd swear we were born to different parents. Their life and philosophy were bound to change in the 12 years' difference between us. I might not recognize the people they were when Amy was born, and when she heard through phone calls and emails of the way I was being raised, she didn't recognize them either. In her exasperation she even told my mom that they got it right with her, it was me they were screwing up!

But I digress. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood," and we each took a different path, admiring the other from afar. And what should happen now but the merging of those two roads . . . and here we are, dividing chores, raising our children in the same house, cooking meals together, laughing, bickering, trying not to to step on each others' toes when we're both so used to having our own space . . . I have to believe this experience is cultivating something good and important in us that might have laid dormant without the other sister . . . she the oldest learning how to let go of some control and responsibility, and me the youngest learning how to take some. Now that she's moving, it seems as though our roads have just crisscrossed for a time, giving us the rare opportunity to see each other close up and appreciate the day-to-day beauty and frustrations we don't usually witness, so accustomed are we to snap shots and status updates. Maybe our paths are destined to do this for the rest of our lives, meandering beside each other, to and fro, reconnecting and breaking apart. She might grow roots in Kansas now, but my own meandering has just begun. Whatever our destiny, whatever our paths, my life will always be richer for those crossings, that small but magnificent touch of sisterhood that distance and time cannot sever.

Love you, Sis.

I Will Follow You

2010-04-15T09:00:00.004-05:00

I've been blogging for two years now, seeing my my life as a series of "bloggable" and "not bloggable" events and trying my best to write well, write honestly, and write fast. My reasons for blogging have been part social, part chronicle, and part therapeutic. Sometimes this is the only adult communication I have in a given day. With 9 people living in this house those days are few and far between now, but they do still happen. 2 years of doing this, and it wasn't until recently that I really started looking around at other bloggers except for a few close friends. I do this a lot in life. I join groups and get so absorbed in the part I must play in them that I forget to look around - really look at people's faces - and see the humanity that surrounds me. I do this in theater, music, school, work, and even living in a house full of family I haven't lived with in 6 years or more. I don't know if I'm really self-absorbed, have a one-track mind, or if I'm just worried that I won't do a perfect bang-up job of whatever it is I'm doing. I just lose sight sometimes. My peripheral vision blacks out, and I forget that I am surrounded by other beating hearts. It's so refreshing and such a relief to finally look around and see others struggling, celebrating and cataloging this crazy life we lead. I'd like to shout out to all of you fellow bloggers - both the ones who know me and the ones who don't, but whose blogs nonetheless add savor to my morning cup of coffee. You inspire me to keep writing, though I know I'm not great at it. I know I don't comment half as often as I should or would like, but I hear you. All of you. And I really appreciate the time you spend communicating with the world. I'm trying harder to see you, to cheer you on, laugh with you, cry with you, love and hate the things you say . . . I'll follow you to through all the dark and light places you lead me, and I hope you'll do the same. After all, that's what we're here for, right?

Heh heh, hee hee, hoooowoops!

2010-04-14T09:50:00.003-05:00

I totally do this.
And I'll probably never stop.

You know you want some.

Happy 200th, blog.

2010-04-13T09:00:00.002-05:00

I don't know whether to celebrate or slap my forehead at how much time I've put into this little thing. If I were to create a scrapbook of tender (and not so tender) memories, it would include:

Whining about the cold in Japan

The beginning of a beautiful relationship with food

Caring for a sick baby

Going to a co-ed public bath

Hannah turns one

Hannah inspires this

A punny ode to chocolate

Hannah also inspires this

Hannah turns one and a half

A little honest babble

The Binky Battle

Boggarts and Fallow Land

Leavenworth in February

Hannah turns two

Thanks for joining me on this ride. Here's to 200 more!

-Suzie

By Popular Demand (seriously?)

2010-04-12T12:30:00.002-05:00

Keep in mind these are always written when I'm half asleep. :)

Dream:

I'm a part of some reality show - one where eliminations are made based on personality, lack of preparedness, and other factors that no one really understands. There is a black man who is usually the best swimmer of all of us. He has suddenly lost the ability to hold his breath underwater. A blonde woman is coaching him - trying to diagnose the problem. She is one of the people to beat - always thinking ahead to the next challenge, finding a way to make her case look good. She hides frozen pizzas in the freezer, along with most of her belongings. That's how she's able to travel so light, I think. In reality she is a shopoholic - which, if the judges found out, would get her booted off the show. But they won't find out. She's just that good at the game. She figures out what the black man's problem is. He's gay, and he's so in love with her he can hardly breathe. After this revelation, we expect this man will be eliminated soon.

I'm in a gift shop in a small Bavarian town. I only have 20 dollars to survive on, but that doesn't stop me from picking up a few sweets, intending to give them to a friend as a gift. A rich Asian girl walks into the shop and buys everything I was about to buy, plus a beautiful (expensive) bag to put them in. She has everything gift wrapped, then gives the gift to the person I had intended them for - a girl who I was fast becoming friends with. It was a huge blow to my confidence, and an obvious slap in the face. I didn't stand a chance against this girl.

Yum.

2010-04-11T19:57:00.001-05:00

I want to eat this three times a day.

Kids

2010-04-10T22:14:00.010-05:00

Two

2010-04-07T14:21:00.006-05:00

The video's a bit long, but I figure 10 minutes is no time at all to anyone who wanted to watch it in the first place. Also, I'm forgoing the accompanying sappy love blog, because who needs words when you have a thousand pictures!

Happy belated birthday, little girl.

Love,

Mama

music credits:
The Temper Trap - "Sweet Disposition"
Animal Collective - "My Girls"

A Bolder Bang

2010-04-06T12:57:00.003-05:00

At least bold for me. A little shorter. Chunkier. A little less "he he . . . bangs?" and a little more " Ha Ha! Yeah baby! BANGS!" But in the end, under these bangs is still one giant nerd.

. . . who should never be left alone with a camera.

A Day at the Farm with Dada

2010-04-06T08:30:00.005-05:00

*Sniff Sniff." Our little boy is growing up!

. . . and I think he needs new overalls.

Learning to spit

2010-04-02T11:18:00.003-05:00

It's not a skill I thought I'd have to teach her. I thought it came naturally to little mischief-makers. Perhaps she's just too polite for her own good.

When your kid turns two, you're supposed to switch her toothpaste to the fluoridated kind, which also means she shouldn't be swallowing her toothpaste any more. We practiced spitting in the shower, gaping our spitters under the shower head until sufficiently filled, then seeing how far we could spray mouthfuls of tepid water across the shower. 10 points for hitting the door (the shower's only 3x3 feet to begin with - baby steps, right?)

She got pretty good and after shower, in my over-confidence, I slathered that flouridated Disney princess toothpaste onto her Hello Kitty toothbrush, knowing that after her 50-point score in the shower my wee genius would catch on. She stood on her stool by the sink and allowed me to brush her teeth, humming all the while. Then we leaned over the sink to spit. "Ready? Peh!" I said, trying to find the right sound to demonstrate what I wanted her to do.

"Peh!" she yells, thinking this is a fun little game. Nothing comes out. Apparently Disney princess toothpaste became her favorite food overnight. We go back and forth this way for 5 minutes.

"Pah!"

"Ptoo!"

"Ptooey!"

"Bleh!"

"Pfffffftoopt!"

A foamy loogey drips down her chin. Success! I clapped and shouted "yaaaaay! You did it!" as she grinned at me like a rabid gremlin. It's important to celebrate new victories with a toddler, however small those might be. Hannah, always watching and waiting for approval and praise, clapped with me triumphantly. As the excitement ebbed, her face changed to a twinkly look of concentration. A little tongue pokes out, feels around, tastes the foam, aaaaand . . .

Sluuuuuurp!

"Ahhhh! Oishii!"

I half expected her to kiss her fingertips and yell "Magnifique! Deliciuex! Encore!" Maybe we'll try brushing our teeth in the shower next time. That or buy some nastier toothpaste.

What moms do

2010-04-01T00:53:00.002-05:00

Our neighbors have three large dogs, one of which behaves as though he likes to eat small children for breakfast. Bear Bear is his name. Coincidentally, we have three small children living under one roof, across the street from these dogs. A few weeks ago my nephews were playing outside in the driveway, and Bear Bear, unleashed and unattended, came over and growled with teeth bared and hackles raised at my nephew Ethan. Luckily Ethan was armed with a mighty fine stick, and was smart enough to be firm with Bear Bear and yell at him to "get back." This not being our first incident with Bear Bear coming into the yard unleashed, and having warned our neighbors several times that they need to keep him on a leash, we called the cops, and Bear Bear was taken away by the pound until our neighbor agreed to build a proper pen in which to keep their Kujo-lookalike dog. After building a pen and placing NO TRESPASSING and BEWARE OF DOG signs on every square foot of land they had, Bear Bear the dog returned to the neighborhood, and the only thing now separating his teeth from the small, tasty hands and faces of the neighborhood children is a chain-linked fence and a few warning signs the children can't read.

I had spent a lot of today in the sun (woo hoo! sun!), and consequently had a massive headache from dehydration. Before dinner we had an hour+ long seder ceremony for Passover (thanks, Mom. I know you put a lot of work into that) that didn't bode well for my throbbing head. Not only are you supposed to drink 4 glasses (in my case, sips) of wine during a seder meal, you also dip almost everything you eat in salt water. The kids had a hard time sitting still for all the Old Testament readings and eating of bitter herbs. Our Passover grew more and more chaotic as the kids lost patience and began to wander in and out of the room, hungry (bitter herbs can only fill you up so much), restless and wanting to play in the last few minutes of sunlight this beautiful day had to offer.

So after a long, LONG meal of horse~~shit~~radish and charosett, it's FINALLY quiet and I'm laying on the couch, and wait . . it's finally quiet? WTF? Who am I kidding? Where are the kids? Where's Hannah?

Truth be told, Hannah had recently discovered the invigorating feeling of opening the front door and walking out whenever she feels like it, and unbeknownst to any of the adults inside or the children outside, she felt like it. My little banana walked, barefoot and unnoticed, ACROSS the street to our neighbor's house. It took a couple minutes for me to even consider that she might be outside, because hello! She's just a baby! There's no way she'd go out there by herself. It's too scary, isn't it? . . . . ISN'T IT?!

My stomach lurched. I got up and opened the front door. "Han-nah!" I shouted. Her favorite word in the whole, wide world. The only word that could possibly bring her back to me. Silence. Then, a faint echo - much, much too far away for comfort.

"Han-nah!"

In two seconds I was across the street. Bare feet. Headache gone. Scared radish-less. And there she was, dancing on her toes between NO TRESPASSING and BEWARE OF DOG. Between parked cars and Bear Bear's pen. Between Alive and Eaten.

"Doog! Wan Wan!" she said, pointing and stomping with glee.

I had no words. Nothing I could say to impress upon her how very dangerous that "doog" was, or how she was never, ever to do that again. My tongue was suddenly too big for my mouth, and the only sound I could make was this awkward mix of a choke and a laugh. I imagine it sounded something like "Heehykugarp!" I snatched her into my arms and ran across the street, pressing her sweaty little head into my chest, trying to push her back inside my body where at least she'd be safe - no Bear Bears or open doors to tempt her to destruction.

When we reached the front door of my parents' house, I finally pulled away to look at her. She was still smiling. Still gleeful. Still innocent and unaware.

"Hannah, No, No NO."

Her smile froze. She stared at my face, her eyes shiny golden-brown nuts of question and confusion.

"No, No, NO. You can't go over there. That dog is mean. It can bite you. That's ouchy. No, Hannah."

Her face crumbled with betrayal and despair, golden nutty eyes floating in pools of tears. I wanted to hold her. To cry with her and tell her it was ok, it really wasn't that big of a deal. But that's not what a good mom does, and if ever there were a time to be a good mom, this was it.

"You're going to sit in time out now. Think about it for a little while. You need to tell Mama when you want to go outside, ok? No going to see the dogs, ok?"

I sat my sad little girl down on a stool in the living room, and as I did she held her arms out to me in supplication, earnest eyes asking, begging. I turned slowly and walked out of the room, and just outside the doorway I began to cry. It was one of those mouth-gaping, chest heaving, silent cries - the kind you hope no one ever has to witness. That moment of "why?" and "how could I let this happen?" and "what if . . . " is, I think, the most earthshaking feeling a mother can have. In that moment, the need to keep yourself together, to be strong for your child, has an intimate but fierce battle with alternating terror and relief that can't help but express itself in a human who has pushed another little human into existence.

"Hannah?"
"Hannah?"
"I love you. Come here."

2 minutes of grief - with a 2-year-old that's all you get before it's time to go back in the room and repair what might have been bruised along the way. Because that's what moms do. They try their best to protect their little ones, and when they fail they work through the grief, patching up the broken pieces as they do. In the end they hope they've handled the situation wisely, with a small measure of patience and grace. In the end they hope they've found balance between innocence-preservation and self-preservation. In the end they hope they've done more good than harm. It's a fine line, but in the end, I think we do.

I have an idea . . .

2010-03-28T22:51:00.000-05:00

For every REAL blog I write, I'll also write two or three "promise blogs" to keep everyone hanging. That way I'm only really doing a third of the work! Yes! I love doing third-assed jobs!

No, seriously. Hannah's birthday party was so . . . pink. I really don't have a better word to describe it. Wall to wall, bubbly, girly, pepto bismol pink. She loved every minute of it. Tea and biscotti, costume parade, dance party, painting tea cups, Totoro cake . . . I mean, what's not to love about any of that? I woke up the next morning with a frosting hangover, and when I went upstairs to the living room to inventory the damage, I thought to myself wow, now that's a lot of plastic toys she totally didn't need. Except the potty. She really needed the pink plastic potty. And the Lego wagon. What little girl doesn't need a pink plastic Lego wagon? And how did she ever get around before without her pink plastic tricycle? Helloooooo pink plastic baby doll stroller! No, she doesn't need any of those things. But life sure is ~~easier~~ ~~funner~~ pinker now that she does.

SO . . . I have lots of pictures. And videos. And ideas for her 2-year-old video montage and sappy love blog. Yes. I. do.

In other news, she sat on her potty before our shower this morning. There she was, proud, animated, buck naked little Hannah, sitting on a potty, not peeing but making the sound "pssssssssss" like she really was, the little turkey. She's also learning some amazingly profound new songs, including but not limited to: "Tinkle Tinkle Little Tot," "The Tushy Pushy" and "Itsy Bitsy Poo Poo." Video coming soon. Just kidding.

Ninjas!

2010-03-26T20:10:00.004-05:00

Hiya!

Waaaaaaaaah!

Hooah!

Hai!

Wassaaaaaaap!

Hmph.

2010-03-25T18:22:00.004-05:00

I've spent the last 2.5 hours . . .

not enjoying the beautiful sunny weather

not taking my daughter to swim "lessons"

not reading my depressing-but-intriguing book

not making progress on pretty much anything

not much caring that "taking a break" has lasted so long.

So there.

Happy birthday to my 2-year old!

2010-03-24T08:54:00.000-05:00

Even though she's been two (to me) for the past 6 months or so.

I'm working on the birthday video. It'll probably be late. Still haven't found just the right song (it's harder than you'd think). Until then, I'll be celebrating by going out with my sister to finally celebrate HER birthday (which was about 2 weeks ago), while Hannah spends the next week opening presents.

When Hannah Plays: A Royal Subject's Log

2010-03-23T13:30:00.008-05:00

7:34AM A soft, sweet voice, hoarse from deep sleep, begins to sing. Nothing in particular at first - just moos, baas and la la las. The tiny vocal chords stretch and sigh, testing the room's acoustical integrity in their warm up. Slowly, like a heron unfurling its wings, her song takes shape. Takes flight. It crescendos to a steady hum as she chooses her song of the day. Sometimes it is twinkling stars and wondrous light. Sometimes it is pooh bears and piglets. Sometimes it is her favorite forest troll who enjoys "genki" walks through the forest. A farm of singing animals. A very determined spider. An exceptionally large drum. Sometimes it is something I've never heard before - a song of the heart whose meaning and tune she alone knows. In the wee hours of the morning, our windowless room dark as the blackest night, she shares her song with whoever will listen. And if no one listens, she sings louder.

8:00AM Her song complete (for now), she stands in her bed and reaches for the light between us, diaper crinkling, fingers fumbling. *click* A glowing face appears across the nightstand, smiling in a brilliant nebula of nut brown hair.

"Hi!" she sings.
"Hi baby. How are you?"
"Cooool."
"Good! Did you have nice sleeps?"
"Yep."
"Good. Are you hungry?"
"Loooooonch?"

8:10AM Eating with her majesty is like eating with a smallish vaccuum. I honestly don't know where she puts it all. I can serve her an adult-sized bowl of oatmeal, bananas and honey, and she is finished before I can sit down to my own humble breakfast of coffee and toast. She needs but look at a person in her calm matter-of-fact way for them to offer all they have on their plate, just to keep her satisfied. A connoisseur of fine dining, she helps herself to my toast, graciously leaving me the soggy bits with dregs of oatmeal and bananas. She says, with that gleam in her eye, that she is saving me from myself.

9:00AM Her whims and wishes rule our lives with spunky tenacity. It matters not what she asks for - a book on the highest shelf, a bite of her uncle's cereal, a chance to strum a guitar with wreckless abandon or gracefully walk her fingers down the piano's keyboard, to wear every beaded necklace in the costume chest (the jingles and rattles echoing throughout her kingdom), an entire apple to herself, to be ceremoniously cloaked in every blanket she owns, to be carried up the stairs (though her legs work just fine, I assure you), or to sleep with every doll and stuffed animal in the toy box . . . we listen, and obey . . . because we only desire what she desires. At least this is what we tell her.

10:00AM Because of her young age, our queen is a little less than popular with the other, more seasoned queens of the land. At Toddler (Tea) Time she ignores their upturned noses and petty snatching of balls and tricycles, preferring a peaceful play time where all can be safe under her watch. She then craftily builds her own fortress of tunnels and parachutes and collects every ball on the court in her domicile to prove that, however small, she is still the most powerful queen in the land.

12:00PM After a hearty lunch, the queen sleeps, and so must I.

3:30PM I am taken aback at her mastery of the dual-weapon wield. With a wooden sword in one hand and a jedi light saber in the other, evil ghosts, monsters, and bothersome cousins don't stand a chance against her prowess on the battlefield. She is quite decorated with wounds from previous battles. Fierce and brave, she tumbled from the highest peak of mount Unmade Bed down to the darkest depths of the Lego Abyss, her chin and a wooden dresser the only things to stop her. She is a merciful queen, applauding loyalty and bravery where it is due, but she rules her subjects with an iron fist. "ZACH!!!" she bellows with fervor and power when her beloved 8-year-old cousin strays too far from her side. He dashes back, breathlessly genuflecting before her,

"Yes, my queen?"

Nothing, just a drill, she says. Don't worry, you've passed. As you were.

4:00PM Having no children of her own, our queen holds a special place in her heart for those plastic people tender in age. At any given time during the day she is faithfully caring for not one, not two, not three, but 5 baby dolls who demand her love. "Awwwwww. Bee-beeeee" she says, squeezing its head has hard as she can (for head-squeezing is of utmost importance in childcare; just ask her). She wraps blankets around their faces (protection from the harsh winter cold) and carries them on her small, cocked-out hip, bouncing them and stopping every few steps to readjust and move her little one to the other hip. I can't imagine the toll this must take on her majesty. Night and day they cry for her, demanding to be fed plastic bottles, have their heads squeezed and faces wrapped in blankets. I don't know how she does it and manages her kingdom all at once.

5:00PM The queen has begun riding lessons, at $1.00 each. At this rate she will soon compete (and win, of course) in the events of equestrian, horse racing, jousting, and of course, not losing her cookies under the influence of centrifugal force. Wishing not to reveal her secret weapon in these events, her only comment to the presses, thus far, has been "Weeeeeeeee!"

6:00PM Preferring a late afternoon snack to an ordinary sit-down supper, her majesty has taken to climbing between dining room chairs and screaming like a banshee until our barbaric custom is finished.

7:00PM Her majesty's most shining hour. Between renditions of the game "Marco, Polo" (usually "Dada, Hannah" or "Mama, Hannah" or "Hannah, Hannah") and running around the house with her shirt held over her head (should anyone want to partake of a sticky-but-satisfying belly), the queen can be found climbing the highest, most technically challenging peaks of the kingdom. The Couch. The Table. The Toilet. The Computer Desk. The Computer. The Rocking Chair. The Book Shelf. It is usually on The Book Shelf where she chooses this night's bedtime stories. After 30 minutes of milk, stories, aerobics, and brushing of teeth, we say adieu and good night to our fair little queen, until morning when her nightengale song wakes us again.

8:00PM The kingdom is silent. It sighs, stretches, and cracks its vertebrae back into place. We all know our place, and it's a perfect place to be.


Leonard the Lion