kara

Two Too

Sophie’s birthday is Saturday. As such, conversations with the kids this week have largely centered around age. A couple days ago, in the car, Owen asked me how old he was. “You’re 2,” I said. Then, James asked me how old he was. “You’re 2, too,” I said.

Yesterday we were talking about ages (again). Owen said, “I’m 2!” And James said, “I’m 2 and 2!” And they agree on the matter. Owen will tell you James is “2 and 2” and he’s “2.”

Which is, I suppose, exactly what I said.

“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” —Satchel Paige

Solo Parenting

I took the kids to Skyline for dinner tonight. Randomly Owen and James started yelling out Reds baseball player names, including Jay Bruce and Johnny Cueto, with great gusto. For Christmas, my dad gave James framed pictures of baseball players to hang in his room. My dad often reminds Owen and James the names of the players. I’m sure this is where the spouting of names came from but I have no idea why it happened in the middle of dinner tonight. But with the snow still falling as we ate, and all of us in dire need of baseball weather, it was insanely cute. So I grabbed my phone and recorded it.

I have no idea why there’s (a) no sound and (b) why it’s posting as a picture and not a video.

If Andy were here, I’m sure he could fix it. Just like he could fix the toilet upstairs that is suddenly constantly running. For now I open the lid and jiggle a wire forcing the stopper to close every time someone flushes. I’m sure there is a better (and easier) way to handle this.

Andy’s been out of town since early Thursday afternoon. And he won’t be back until late Wednesday afternoon.

Seven days.

Six nights.

It’s gone better than I expected. But it’s a long time.

He’s been gone for good reason. He spent several days in Florida, visiting with extended family. And now he’s in Denver, for work.

In some ways, I feel more on top of things. Knowing I’m in charge of everything, and I don’t have anyone else to fall back on, I make sure things get done. I worry too much to let things slide.

Still, Owen’s wearing a pajama top covered in heart stickers in the video/picture. It was a battle I chose not to fight. Owen and James also are wearing their snow boots (because it’s snowing, of course) but sans socks. I’d like to say that was another battle I chose not to fight but in reality, it was a shortcut I insisted on.

I think about all the mamas and papas out there who do this on their own, without any support from the other biological parent, always. Or the ones whose spouse/partner travels for work, or is away for months at a time, with the military. I admire you. And I’m sorry. I imagine posts like these are hilarious or infuriating (or, perhaps, both). It’s a week. One small week.

Still. I look forward to not being the only one running up the stairs every five minutes at bedtime. Sometimes, for good reason: a dirty diaper. Chapped/bleeding lips. A dropped Piglet. But the other times: “It’s important, Mommy!” “What’s important?” “I don’t know. But don’t leave.” Or, “Which engine is this?” while pointing to an engine in a Thomas book. Or, “I forgot to make a mask for Emma today!”

The calories I burn, running up those stairs … it’s how I’m justifying the popcorn drizzled with truffle oil and covered in parmesan cheese, which I’m eating right now.

And in some ways, it’s nice. Andy hates the smell of truffle oil. And now I can eat it without complaint. I can not watch basketball (although I should point out “Peach Baskets”—my bracket—is currently ranked fourth out of 240 entries). And not once in the past five days have I encountered a bathroom sink full of little hairs, which is what I always encounter after Andy shaves.

But then, I like arguing about the merits of truffle oil. And it’s weird to not have basketball on in March. And washing those little hairs down the sink isn’t all that bad, really.

There’s a reason they say absence make the hearts grow fonder.

I miss him. I miss us. All of us, all the ways we work and don’t work together as a family of five.

Soon. (And for that, I know, I’m lucky.)

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” —Kahlil Gibran

San Francisco

In February I spent a long weekend visiting my brother, Kyle, in San Francisco.

He’s a transportation planner with the San Francisco County Transportation Authority. After I landed, I took public transit (of course) and met him at work. Above is the view from the floor he works on.

That night we went to Oakland for a Shabbat dinner (my first) at Steve and Sierra’s, longtime friends of Kyle. We sat at a long wooden table that Steve built by hand, under strings of white lights, eating Steve and Sierra’s most delicious food, drinking good wine with the most interesting people while Joni Mitchell played in the background. It was, basically, my ideal dinner party.

The view from Kyle’s deck the next morning.

It is so easy to visit a city Kyle lives in. He seemingly knows everything. Like where we should get pastries (Arizmendi Bakery).

And where we should get coffee (Philz Coffee).

He explores, constantly.

After breakfast, we hiked Bernal Hill. San Francisco is one of my favorite cities and I’ve been several times. It’s nice to visit a place and not feel obligated to do all things touristy and instead, spend a morning discovering a treat such as this.

Next up, a farmer’s market to nibble on samples of oranges and nuts.

beauty found while walking the streets

Kyle at one of his favorite burrito joints. (He was ignoring the fact that I was taking his picture. Again.)

826 Valencia, a nonprofit founded by author Dave Eggers, dedicated to supporting students with their writing skills—it’s right down the street from where Kyle lives, and I’ve long loved its mission. Oh to be able to take my kids to writing workshops at a place such as this! Bonus: the storefront is a pirate supply store. My kids made out well.

Kyle and I had separated at this point. He had gone back to work to get his bike. I, of course, got lost. But along the way I passed the gorgeous Women’s Building, which I wanted to see anyhow.

Finally, after several phone calls to Kyle, I found his place (he shares the third floor with two roommates).

Kyle bikes. A lot. When living in Brooklyn, he regularly biked to Manhattan for work. Biking with him is something I’ve always wanted to do. But I’ve also always been nervous. I haven’t biked in years (transporting three kids while on a bike isn’t easy). I’ve never biked in traffic. But he had a bike for me. And a helmet. And he promised to go slow and watch out for me (which he oh-so-patiently did). I was a bit of disaster at first, but only got laughed at by bystanders twice. And then, I loved it. We biked for miles through the city and all the way through Golden Gate Park, ending at Ocean Park.

A coffee break (I like a travel companion who likes coffee).

And then, a quick bike ride to Lands End for a glimpse of Golden Gate Bridge.

That night we had south Indian.

The next morning our aunt Janeil who lives in Sacramento picked us up and we drove to Half Moon Bay for whale watching with the Oceanic Society. It was so great to see her.

We boarded our boat, Salty Lady.

And Kyle and I got so, incredibly, seasick.

(Janeil fared much better.)

our captain

I managed to take a picture of some otters on a buoy while gripping a rail on the boat and singing “Alouette” softly to myself over and over in an attempt to not throw up (I don’t know why that song, in particular, helped, but it did).

blessed land

That night Kyle and I had dinner at Dante’s Weird Fish. The food was good. Really good. The conversation was good. Really good. It was a perfect endcap to a great trip.

The next morning I said goodbye to Kyle, as he had to go to work. He suggested I try Tartine Bakery. It resulted in, what I’m pretty sure was, my first use of “OMG” on Facebook. I now understand the line.

Then, I wandered.

I took transit back to the airport. While waiting for BART, I saw a bouquet of white roses lying on the tracks. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Who did they belong to? Why were they thrown? What love fell apart because of them? So I took a picture. Self-conscious, I looked around me. The guy standing next to me was taking a picture of the same bouquet with his cell phone, too.

I love this city.

And then, I flew home.

Thank you, Kyle, for a most lovely trip. And thank you, Andy and Mom, for help with the kids therefore allowing it to happen.

“San Francisco has only one drawback—’tis hard to leave.” —Rudyard Kipling

Lunch in a Fort

The kids colored a box that arrived on our doorstep and then begged to have lunch in it. So, I let them.

By the way, this is what our diapers and wipes are delivered in. I fully expect to be rich once everyone is potty trained.

“A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” —J.R.R. Tolkien

Links I Love

• The New York Times “The Stories That Bind Us” by Bruce Feiler—YES, YES, YES. I have always loved family stories. Several years ago my mom was sorting through family photos. To help with the labeling process, she dug up all her old wall calendars. I was enthralled with them. For the most part, they were filled with minutia—doctor’s appointments and T-ball games—but I loved reading what my parents did with my sister, brother and I on a Tuesday in March when we were all young and they were my age. I never grow tired of my grandparents’ stories and their parents’ stories. Stories about my dad’s mom at Miami University during a time when many women didn’t go to college. Stories about my mom’s mom roller skating and falling in love with my grandpa in Millersburg, Ohio. Stories about both my grandmothers making meals for lunches that I would consider elaborate Sunday dinners. Stories about my parents, and how they got engaged on the way to a Reds game and how they found out they were pregnant with me by calling the doctor from a pay phone outside a donut shop and how they traveled to Europe when I was in my mom’s belly. I love them. I love them all. And I wish I knew more of them.

• A Georgian diamond floral tiara. Just because.

• We had this for lunch today. It was good.

• A really cool make-your-own-from-your-kid’s-artwork duvet.

• A story about Gabriele Galimberti’s project “Toy Stories” here. My brother sent me the link. It reminded me of this article about James Mollison’s book, Where Children Sleep.

• DIY party blowers.

• Painted Bird Shoes. I’ve long loved them. My in-laws gave me my first pair this Christmas. I was so eager upon opening them that I was, yes, wearing crocheted shoes in snow.

• 2,000 Suspended Dandelions by Regine Ramseier.

• Check out this cute (and free!) Map of the Moon printable poster.

• Love this moment between Billy Joel and a fan.

“Most of the dandelions had changed from suns into moons.” —Vladimir Nabokov

An Extra 24 Hours, Please

I think I saw on Facebook or on a blog or in an article or something somewhere about someone lamenting that people don’t tell the truth online. That lives are depicted as rosy perfect when, in reality, things are often messy (sometimes a happy mess, yes, but messy nonetheless).

This is just one of the piles in my house. And note that this is the right side of the desk. The left side isn’t pictured. (Also, I think it’s funny that the blue pamphlet sticking out, the one about needing an oil change, says OVERDUE in bold.)

I have piles of folded clothes and unfolded clothes all over my bedroom.

I (finally!) found a corner TV stand on Craigslist. It’s in a pile of pieces, in the basement, waiting its next coat of paint. As such, our TV is on the floor in our living room and our window seat is covered in piles of DVDs, cords, players, speakers and whatnot. (Turns out I should have held onto our old TV stand a little longer before selling it.) Those who would like to have a tv in their bedroom may invest in tv beds from TV Beds Northwest.

There are piles of train tracks in the boys’ room.

There are piles of dolls in Sophie’s room.

The playroom is pretty much a big pile of stuff in and of itself.

I have piles of freelance work to do.

I have piles of picture book queries to send out (thanks to the piles of rejections I’ve received).

I have piles of e-mails to respond to.

I have 21 saved voicemails on my cell phone and I’m pretty sure I saved them all simply because they needed something more from me.

I’m drowning.

I know, I know, I know. Playing with my kids is more important than a clean home. But I’m not talking about dust-free baseboards here. I’m talking about being able to walk through my bedroom without tripping.

So there you have it. My Wednesday morning truth.

I hope, at the very least, to be treading water soon.

We’ll see.

Right now, someone stole a train from someone else and that someone else is screaming like a banshee, threatening with a plastic dinosaur.

Off I go.

“He was swimming in a sea of other people’s expectations. Men had drowned in seas like that.” —Robert Jordan

A Really Fun Bath

This past weekend I bought three large white-wood frames from Ikea. They’re for our upstairs bath—in them I want to put big, blown-up pictures of the kids in the bathtub. I love little-kid bathtub pictures.

I’ve had this idea for awhile. I have a great series of Sophie in the bath, which you can see here.

Although Owen has gone through periods of hating baths, for the most part, all our kids (thankfully) love taking baths. So much so that it’s difficult to get good pictures of James and Owen in the bath. They’re just too active. Plus, they hate bubble baths so you have to be cautious of what’s showing (at least for the pictures I plan to post online and print). But tonight, I vaguely remembered taking a series of shots, hoping to get two good ones. And then I remember Jill, my mother-in-law, saying how much she liked a series of shots I took of the boys in the bath (she has access to our Flickr account). After a good deal of searching, I found them. So many of them are blurry—and so many of them I can’t post. But looking back, I love how much fun they were having:

“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.” —Sylvia Plath

Links I Love

• I’m not original when it comes to perfume. My favorites starting in the early 1990s include Tribe, CK one (which I wrote about here), Ralph Lauren’s Romance and now, Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb. When I put it on, I can’t stop smelling my wrists (which is weird, I know). The problem? It’s so expensive—until I discovered the rollerball for $29 (still steep, but allows me to wear it for special occasions and, well, today, a Tuesday). Check it out. It’s hard not to love. (Still, I wish I had a scent that people would smell and say, “I love that! What is that?” vs. “Flowerbomb! I love that, too.”

• Check out this Twinkle Curtain. I think it’s so very sweet.

• I hope my obituary is someday written like this one.

• DIY Anthropologie hair bands.

• My longtime friend Cindy sells Ava Anderson Non-Toxic products. I’ve purchased the Ava Baby Wash/Shampoo/Bubble Bath (3 in 1) and I love how it works (and smells!). If you’re looking for a more natural approach to skincare, check out her site here.

• My favorite party supply store. (Stripey straws! Glass milk bottles! Cupcake flags!)

• I think this tissue box is so clever (and only $5!). Full disclosure: Andy thinks it’s difficult to pull the tissues out. I don’t care. I think the cuteness of it trumps that.

• My former colleague Don Schroder recently photographed the long-abandoned Lonaconing Silk Mill in the Cumberland Mountains of Maryland. His pictures are stunning. Check them out here.

• This website would have been dangerous had it been around when I was getting married.

• I would love to add this collection of childhood classics to my kids’ bookshelf.

• Here’s an interesting article about Facebook Likes. If I like a post, I hit “like.” I end up “liking” a lot.

“A woman’s perfume tells more about her than her handwriting.” —Christian Dior

Welcome, Isaac Lemond Doench + Anya Lemond Doench!

Aimee, Shruti and I oddly became close friends near the end of high school. Why not all through high school, I don’t know. We spent that summer between high school graduation and college (each in a different state) forging a friendship that still stands strong, even when we only see each other a couple times a year. The summer between our freshman and sophomore year of college, Shruti and Aimee “helped” Andy and I get together. I liked him. I had liked him for a long time. So Aimee called him and invited him to a drive-in movie, with the three of us. He, strangely, said yes. They made a point to sit in the back of my parents’ pick-up truck, leaving Andy and I to sit together near the front. He said he liked the perfume I was wearing (CK One). At my bachelorette party, Shruti and Aimee gave me a new bottle of said scent.

We spent many evenings outside in my parents’ backyard, on a blanket late at night, looking up at the stars. We have some hilarious camping stories (one involved sleeping on top of the tent after we failed to figure out how to pitch it—granted, it was a huge, complicated 10-person tent with many, many poles but still …). We were in each other other’s weddings.

The year we each turned 30, Aimee, Shruti and I traveled to Spain and Morocco (I wrote a lot about that trip—my first post can be found here). After walking around the Medina in Fes we sipped on mint tea on the rooftop of our riad. We had delicious sangria at the Hotel La Fuente de la Higuera in Spain, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stayed. We bought dresses in Grazalema, went horseback riding in Zahara and started planning our 40th birthday trip in Malaga. I think it’s rare to have three friends you can travel with for 10 days and not fight. We can go for weeks without talking to each other and then have a three-way call and it’s like nothing has changed.

So when Aimee found out she was pregnant, Shruti and I were eager to start planning her shower. Shruti flew in for a weekend in December and the two of us, along with Aimee’s good friend Adriana, celebrated Aimee and Jon’s babies-to-be.

Shruti spent much of the day with me. I told my kids that she’s a doctor so they insisted on checking her blood pressure and taking her temperature.

Adriana took care of all of the food.

It was delicious.

So many of Aimee’s good friends came, several from afar.

We had a draw-your-own onesie table. It’s such a fun idea if you’re looking for a non-game activity.

The beautiful parents-to-be.

friends

And then, they came! Anya was born first at 5.5 pounds and 18.1 inches, and Isaac followed at 7 pounds and 18.5 inches. You must watch their Beautiful Beginnings Birth Photography slideshow here.

Also, I have to share a few snapshots of their nursery. I love the bold, painted ceiling and white walls. And Aimee and Jon made the mobile (isn’t it so cute)?

Congratulations, dear friend. I couldn’t be happier for you.

“Every child begins the world again…” —Henry David Thoreau

Indoor Activities

Our friend Julie very generously gave us lots of Thomas the Train TrackMaster pieces. We could fill our whole house with tracks, I imagine (and which Andy and the boys tried to do the day after we got them). After tripping over tracks for a day, I fairly quickly determined having tracks running all over our living room and dining room wasn’t the best plan. So now, Andy sets up new configurations in the boys’ bedroom weekly (eventually they have to be picked up so I can vacuum). This has provided hours of indoor amusement. (Thank you, Julie.)

Sophie got roller skates for Christmas. She spends a lot of time roller skating the loop around our dining room table, switching from carpet (easy) to hardwood (hard).

Trains are a big thing these days. The boys set up the tracks they got from Grandma and Paw Paw for Christmas, and then Sophie builds elaborate tunnels around them.

Despite my complaining, it’s not all bad, being inside in the winter. And, I suppose, a lot of it’s attitude. Several weeks ago I was lamenting how small the playroom was. “It’s big enough, Mommy,” Owen said. “It’s big enough.”

I love when children are unknowingly wise.

“There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you. … In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.” —Ruth Stout