Gone to the Dogs

The flat nosed women at the castle threw a party today. They did not get permission, and like all wild parties it ended poorly.

The housekeeper opened the front door to get the mail. Two large and excited guests waiting on the front porch quite unexplainably pushed past her into the house. The guest with chocolate colored hair would not take no for an answer and determinedly explored the castle without an escort. The younger party comer with black hair got wild pretty quick. He raced around and around the main floor, knocking over plants and leaping off furniture. In his overdone party state, he relieved himself on the wood floor. Their two congested snorty hosts nearly passed out from the excitement. They fussed around not certain whether to run with the wild young man or make the aquaintance of the mature woman wandering the place.

The housekeeper and her small helper raced around after the disruptive guests and finally caught them in their own gluttony over the party food and turned them out of their ear. Two sad ladies stood staring out the window and complained as their new friends left to find another party to crash.

No more wild parties for Ginger and Meoke.

Different kinds of nests and nurturing

Each Sunday we walk different sections of the River. The barn swallows are nesting. They dip and swoop constantly feeding the small young that poke their tiny heads from the mud holes they call home. We stop under the overpass and watch mesmerized the continual dance of survival.

A bit further on, we found another nest, this much larger one made of mud, stones and sticks. Solid as a bunker, it sat ungracefully on a tree junction. The parents flew down to the ground and warned us not to come any nearer.


We compared these with a tiny nest smaller than my little one's palms left abandoned on a bush. "Which nest is better Mom?"

"Which do you think?"

"Well, I like the swallow's nest out of mud because it is cuter and looks warmer."

"I think the nest made out of stones and sticks is better because it will last longer."

"Hmmmm. Which nest do you think the babies like better? Do you think they are better taken care of in one nest or the other?" I had them stumped.

"They probably like their own. Their moms take good care of them."

"Yes sweeties. Think of how you show affection, Ladybug. You make people gifts and lots of nice notes. Little Mother, you are helpful and thoughtful. Sunshine, I love how you give me small back rubs. Your happy disposition when everyone else is grumpy really helps me feel loved. Which of these ways is the best way to show love?"

"I guess there are lots of good ways to nest."

"Yes, little one. There are."

Fun Tips

Usually I provide the fun. To stop the incessant "where are we now", and "when will we get there, I make a time line of various cities we hit before we reach our destination. When someone spies the sign, they take off the post it note and call for the next special activity or treat out of my magic carpet bag. This time we had Mrs. Piggle Wiggle (to be read by moi), granola bars, an old Disney movies we'd never seen, a puzzle, art supplies, and a stop for fresh cherries and rosemary cheese curd at The Red Barn.

This trip, I deviated a bit from my normal pattern and participated more than usual in the fun. I surprised my family with spray guns right to the tushies before handing them over. Instead of watching Briz play whale underwater, I joined the melee by floating peacefully on my inner tube. I flushed the roadrunners out on our hike for my little ones to see and sat by myself to enjoy the peace of morning dessert noises. At the playground, I spun, twisted, climbed and got a major burn down the slide.
"You're really having fun aren't you Mom." little ones said over and over. They noticed the difference! I noticed the difference in my attitude and theirs toward me as I joined in the fun instead of providing then watching. Hey! I wanna have fun too! I didn't realize it but they like me better when I am more than the encouraging observer!

Wasp Delight

Have you ever wondered about the various stages of wasp development? Have you ever wanted to savor the squishy feel of a wasp grub between your fingers? Have you ever decided to start a collection? Have you ever stuck your still wiggling specimens two inches from the face of anyone who crosses your path?

Me neither.

But Ladybug has. She has turned my battle against the wasps into personal gain. And man, is she pleased with the casualties.

Mint Ice Cream

I have a love affair with homemade ice cream. I sneak off at the most inopportune moments to buy cream (the only item I don't keep regularly in the house). After indulging, I suffer the pains of the lactose intolerant and swear I'll never do it again. But then . . . another flavor calls.

I love my Cuisinart Ice Cream Maker. I keep a bowl in the freezer at all times, so homemade ice cream is never more than 20 minutes away.


Today, the heat reached 90 degrees. I know. Not hot compared to some places, But I longed for some minty freshness as I walked by my neighbors mint patch. I felt like the father in Rapunzel as I cut some of their mint, although done with permission. Briz, not a mint fan, thought this was the best mint ice cream he had tried.

Mint Ice Cream
1 handful of fresh mint leaves (1/2-1 cup)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup condensed milk
1/2 cup whole milk
2 cups heavy or whipping cream

1. Place mint and sugar in a bowl. With the back of a spoon crush the leaves into the sugar, releasing the oils into the sugar.
2. Add milks and cream to mint mixture and let sit for 1 hour to overnight, depending on the amount of mintyness you like.
3. Strain mixture out into ice cream maker. Add chocolate chunks if desired. I usually leave them out.
4. Freeze according to directions.

Enjoy a bit of minty heaven this 4th of July! It makes me feel a patriotic just thinking about it!

What is inspiring me Today

Inspiration comes in many different forms, some peruse the Internet, others search books, and others find it in nature. I find it in all these places, but mostly, I am inspired by real flesh and blood breathing people.

Today the object of my admiration is R. My visits with her always leave me wanting to do better and be better. Why? Well mainly because she is her own person, unafraid to bloom her vivid hothouse personality in a Walmart garden center world. She offers no apologies for her differences and her greatness, she just is.

I read once that as long as you have access to a library, you can do anything you want. R. takes that a step further and acts on the fact that if she can imagine it, she can create it. "Do you realize how clever all this is?" I ask her as she explains the elegant curtained pavilion she is creating. "Well, I make some colossal mistakes as well as some great successes." I think . . . How wonderful to try. To be unafraid of failure, of power tools, or the unknown. Here are a few of the things that inspired me today.

• A lemon tree fragrant with the scent of lemon blossoms growing several tiny lemons. IN THIS CLIMATE!!!!

• An ingenious umbrella stand/ concrete filled flower pot that allows drainage and keeps the umbrellas from breaking or tipping in the terrible winds that fill our corridor
• 
• Masonry... brick walls, plaster, concrete works, and stone walls.
• A mother of elementary children who finds time to paint. No she's not an artist ( a trained one anyway). She is just creative and figures things out.
  
• 
• This same friend who is never proprietary with her information spent time giving me a lesson in canvas preparation in single color, different value background.
• Having the eye to see a treasure at Goodwill or the D.I. and transform it into an ottoman that is a work of art.
• A child gently taught the art of apple cutting.

To live life with no excuses. To find your passion and fill it while serving others. To create. To shine in greatness without fear of the grasp of the jealous. This is happiness.

A bucketful of snails.

I hate snails. They eat everything I work hard to plant and beautify.

I've been having a blue day... I came home from Church and flopped on my bed, refusing to move. Completely spent and completely discouraged. "My life's work is a mess. Why can't my children behave like so and so's. Why can't I reach them? I am a failure, a flop. Its even worse because I spend my entire life on something I am horrible at and failing miserable in."

Husband rubbed my back. I cried. So empty. So sad.

Came downstairs to make dinner. Some sweet thing spit at me. "I'm just teasing Mom." I grimaced and mumbled sarcastically, "I am such a lucky mom." The entirety of my failure rested in those words. At the top of the stairs, Sunshine heard me and with complete seriousness repeated my words. "You are such a lucky mom."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked "Why am I lucky?" I wondered what she knew that I didn't.

"You have kids." She replied with matter-of-factness. I realized that she was parroting back to me my own words I have told my little ones over and over. How odd that they would come back to me right now.

I remember the long years of childlessness, the fullness of joy as each child entered our family through adoption, completely and 100% wanted. I look in an old journal. Sure enough. I wrote, "Midodi, If you ever get the amazing opportunity to have children, and even better to stay home with them, if you ever get the opportunity to help God nurture and guide his children, if you are ever tempted to complain, read this and know that your entire life is a blessing."

My past and my future have agreed. My focus on the negative and lack of gratitude temporarily blinded me to the myriad of blessings little people bring to my life.

Once more, I remember that we are all on an assembly line, not finished products. If I expect the car to be finished, of course I would be upset at a door that doesn't lock or a window that doesn't roll. But my JOB is to find the door that doesn't lock or wheel in the wrong place and help the master craftsman fix it. It is not the end of the world at the beginning of an assembly line. And . . . it is nice to know that I am not responsible for the finished product. My employer is. And, he is expert at what he does. He will ensure that everything on his assembly line leaves in its own most perfect form. Sometimes I just don't realize that he put out parts for a VW bug. I am trying to make a Mini Van with the those same parts. I think I'll just keep showing up to work and put in a full day. I'll give my best to my employer and leave the finished product up to him.

I watch Little Mother play with her pet snails... Slimy and Bob, Tiny and Mary. To her view, they were the most amazing playfellows. She reveled in the slime they left on her nose, their funny way of riding on each others backs, their individuality. I on the other hand execute any snails I find for the crime of eating my garden.

Same snails, two different views. One sees their beauty, another their faults. Hmmm. Another lesson from my small teachers.

Hootin and Hollerin' with America

Around the forth of July in these parts, every city holds a rodeo. Our favorite is the Riverton Rodeo. Once a year, I shed my well heeled suburban snobbery for a cowboy hat, a pair of jeans, and a remembrance of my Western roots. I see a snapshot of America at its best. In this arena, hard work and patriotism is the religion. A hush even falls over the whistlin' stompin' hootin' and hollerin' crowd as the appears. Clean cut youth, families, and even the ancients fill the stands to honor skills that used to be a way of life for all of us here in the west. In lieu of dirty jokes, the announcer honors those in the crowd who have been married 25 years or more and it looked to be 1/3 of the crowd. How's that in America folks?

What bonds the kids to the rodeo is the calf chase. 3 poor calves covered with money face a terrifying mob of children all grasping for dollar bills.

We snuggle, we gasp in horror or amazement, we cheer bravery and heroism and we do it with good honest folks. God bless America.

So much more than yellow paint

When I am old and senile and wear diapers, someone will try to jog my memories. I may not remember names. I may forget where I am or where I'm going. But when I see rich yellow, the color of butter, I will remember.

I don't think I'll remember sore shoulders or a kinked neck. I won't remember scrubbing every yellow inch of me to scrape the skin as well as the paint off my body. I will not feel pain in my sinuses from the overwhelming fumes. And I doubt it will bring to mind cleaning out brushes silently late at night after everyone else has gone to bed.

When I see yellow, in my mind's eye I will see a young girl, so enamoured by the closeness felt after a three hour long discus ion with her mom, that she lingers and lingers over her pajamas asking for "just one more story about when you were little." I will see the full double rainbow we ran up and stared at in awe.

I will hear the soft sounds of a baby bird as it settles to sleep and startles when we laugh. I will hear the incessant questions and chatter of a Ladybug as her hands work and the key to her brain opens.

I will feel accomplishment, that of little ones learning a new skill, and creating their own environment to live in. Even better, I'll feel my own achievement of watching yellow drips down walls, on white carpet, and on an antique desk without balking. I will feel the peace that comes from knowing that we all must learn sometime, that we all make drips till we practice, and that some things matter so so much more than a paint job.

When I am old and sad, show me yellow.

Ouch... new animals in the castle

It is no secret that I love animals. All of them. I delight in their different intelligences and behaviors. I secretly believe that I have some sort of special relationship/ communication with them, that I can call whales, calm bulls, and bring wild life to me. Part of my adult self knows that sort of belief is ludicrous, but the rest of me continues to act on that belief, much to my husbands dismay.

It is no wonder then that we find our suburban home filled with life forms other than human. I get caught by my love for animals in situations that are most uncomfortable, and frankly disturbing.

We are now parents to a new frog who "hitchhiked" back from our latest camping adventure aided and abetted by one of the sweeties. I pulled back the shower curtains to clean the tub and found the little fellow zipping happily back and forth along the tub's length. "Ladybug!" I yelled. "There is a guest in the bathroom."
Today Ladybug came crying in once again. This time with a story about a magpie who dropped a baby bird in our yard while being chased by another bird. "I don't know what to do. Please help me save it Mom."

This puts me in a terrible spot. We couldn't find the nest anywhere. We hid, and waited for the mom to return. We returned from swimming and no mom. Ladybug was panic stricken. "Honey, we can't keep a baby bird alive. If we touch it the parents will have nothing to do with it. We can't feed it, can't keep it warm . . . we know nothing about raising baby robins. Besides, we have dogs and a wonderful cat. That baby is as good as dead."

"Mom, we can't just leave it here for the magpie! We have to at least try to save it." I am horrified. Once more, I am put in the position of trying to raise a wild animal that we have no business touching. But what to say to my daughter?

All right then. I am beaten. I produced a makeshift nest then moved him into it while wearing medical gloves, as though my smell would be worse than the latex. He nestles right in.
Ladybug set up a heat lamp in her room. We all gathered worms. The glutinous little tyke ate and ate and ate. No less than twenty worms have gone into that little one's gullet this afternoon and still he squawks. We are already smitten with his patchy bald head, alien body, and loud open mouth. I am a magnet for pain. I curse inwardly as I feel that I have erred, that our assistance is somehow a crime against these animals I love so much. Which death is worse? One that nature provides or one that humans unknowingly inflict?

My conflicted decision is that I can't teach my children compassion with my lips then expect them to watch suffering without doing all they can to alleviate it. Ouch. It hurts.

Growning Season

I love teaching my little ones about the harvest, the sacrifice of time, the patience, the care as we check for any bugs that have infested our crop. They balk at their daily weeding chore, but forget it all as they enjoy the rewards their two month sacrifice produces. Today, it is a perfect pea that has not been overindulged into obesity. Some will go into our Chicken Korma and the rest we will eat fresh on the table. Which will try harder not to smile? Which proud producer will try to take the credit for providing a treat for our family? I can't wait to watch and see.

Growing things is my business, my life's work. I don't expect to be the one who reaps the harvest however. Others will get to enjoy the fruit of my labors. I simply find joy in the growing process. I wonder if my head gardener smiles as he watches me take the credit for the growing crop . . . knowing he has put in most of the work.

I take comfort in the fact that it is my growing season as well. When I am infested with a particularly nasty bug, or shriveling from lack of water, I remember that its not time to pluck me off the vine yet. I have time to ripen and grow. So does Briz. So do my princesses.

styrofoam prints

The Chinese are known for their wood cut prints. After a stirring lesson (to me) on Chinese civilization, the great wall, and the legend of Mulan, we tried our hands at printing. We used Styrofoam to create our prints. Next time we'll add more colors.


In addition, we've been celebrating with dinner again! Check it out here!