Happy mom's day, yo!

Happy Mother's Day!

I know this video doesn't apply to any of us, but it sure is funny.  (Thanks, Miranda)

At least it's not Hannah Montana

Today I took the kids to exchange a few duplicate birthday gifts.  It was their first foray into a toy store.  Deprived, I know, but I try to keep episodes of sobbing materialism to a minimum.  

The agreement was that they could each pick out one replacement toy.  I was using my mind-meld techniques to steer them towards a new doll stroller (Maggie's broke) and a set of pots and pans for their new stove.   

Instead Oliver fell hard for the first thing his eyes landed on: a nifty Tinkerbell cylinder bag with a beaded handle.  He calls it "my purse" and saying he likes it is to do a grave injustice to the intensity of infatuation everywhere. He is sleeping with it at this very moment.

My only regret was my reaction.  Once I realized he meant business, I gently urged him to check out the trucks, which, duh, could never match the splendor of a lavender tin Tinkerbell purse.  I mean, in a million years. Please.

A thing I like

I just started The Slippery Year: A Meditation on Happily Ever After by Melanie Gideon, which, from what I can tell so far, is a memoir about my current stage of life—the what-next stage when you have the relationship and the house and the kids and maybe even the job and then, well, having it all can be a little static.  It turns out that life is like good fiction: the main character has to want something to make it compelling.  

Anyway, I liked this little passage here:

"There's this strange phenomenon. An hour after you've put your children to sleep, the ways in which you have wronged them sprawl out on your chest, all two hundred and fifty pounds of them, and suck the breath right out of you. It works the same way with gratitude. An hour after your family has left the house, you love them with a piercing intensity that was nowhere to be found when you were scraping egg yolk off their breakfast dishes. Your hope is to one day feel this way about them when they are in the room. This is a pretty lofty goal."

 

Chicks Gone Wild

The Mister thinks I'm such a tough farmer chick because I can pick up chickens and scoop up handfuls of bugs without flinching. Get me near a spider and it's a whole 'nother, much squealier picture.  But I must admit, I like this image of myself as no-nonsense and unfussy (it helps balance out the fugue state shopping trips to Nordstrom Rack and the way in which I am helplessly drawn to Us Weekly).  

Here I am, being totally hardcore with the circle of life.

Naked Gardening, James Beard, and How to Make A Baby

via The Washingtonian

First of all, a massive congratulations to my Sunset coworkers on their James Beard Award!  How cool is that?  They won in the food blogging category and if you haven't already been following the one-block diet blog, may I suggest that you do?  They may have single-handedly started the backyard chicken craze that's sweeping the West.  Plus, James Beard?  He was huge!  And so is the award named after him.

Also, I can't believe we didn't take advantage of this holiday at the twins three-year-old birthday party on Saturday.  It would have made what was a pretty hectic and disorganized gathering of preschoolers (my mural painting idea was ruined by the rain) a lot more interesting.   Oh well, next year.

A thing I like

This "How to Make a Baby" video, via Mighty Girl.  

It's in Spanish so if you need a translation, just ask.

A few parenting miscalculations

I settled any car seat rebellion by telling my kids that it's the police, and not me, who insist on all the strapping in. It worked, but I fear I may have instilled in them an overblown sense of the police department's sphere of influence.

 

ME: Oliver, don't climb the cupboards.

OLIVER (using the kitchen drawers as steps): Why?

ME: Because they are going to break.

OLIVER: And then the police will have to come and fix them?

ME: No, a carpenter will have to come and fix them.  And carpenters are expensive.

OLIVER (weighing the legality issues): And then the police will be mad?

ME: Yep.  Really mad.

Also, I may have miscalculated trying to sell flossing as "fun."  Passing off weeding and putting toys away as competitions, however, has totally paid off.

A thing I like

via What Would Jane Austen Do? via Decorno

Happy Birthday My Darlings

Dear Magnolia & Oliver,

Today you are three. No longer babies but real, honest-to-God kids. I remember so clearly gazing at your amazing faces when you were these tiny, larval newborns and saying "You're so wonderful.  You're so wonderful."  And you would look back at me and try to focus. And if your eyes managed to rest on mine, I would think you were geniuses. But, believe me, your baby selves can't hold a candle to what you have become.  

You are both so loving and funny and smart and affectionate and curious and brave.   You know the word "celebrating."  You can say "That's a huge spider" in Spanish. When I am having a hard time, you rub my back instinctively.  You dance on your tippy toes and like Motown and eat uncooked spaghetti. There is not a bug you are unwilling to pick up. 

I am just in awe. In my eyes, the air around you veritably sparkles. Happy birthday.  I love you so much. 

xoxox Mom

 

The best chicken names ever

Ginger Rogers would be so proud

And here they are, my little brood, who, incidentally, are going through an awkward adolescent phase.  Note the tiny beginnings of combs above their beaks and the little whisker-like tail feathers coming in.  It's like eighth grade all over again.  But like my mom always told me: it will all get better once high school starts. Or, her back-up: There's a lid for every pot.

Without further ado:

Tilly

Lucille

Coco Van (Coco for short)

Ginger

Thank you everyone for fantastic name ideas and especially to Susan for Coco Van and to my old high school classmate Megan, who was the first, but not the last, to send the name Ginger.  Well played, ladies.

A thing I like

Paper Heart, which looks so charming I sort of wish I could just nap until it comes out.  I heart Michael Cera. And I heart that he falls for this grumpy, glamour-less girl.  A girl who I also heart.  Ah, youth.