The Past, The Present, The Pierogi

On Christmas Eve morning, flour will be mixed with egg yolks & salt into a sticky mix. Then it will be rolled out, cut into circles, and stuffed with an assortment of fillings: traditional potato mixed with cheddar cheese, Lekvar (a prune paste), finely chopped mushrooms, or sauerkraut & kielbasa. Then they will be laid out on heavily floured tea towels to prevent sticking & covered until they’re all stuffed & ready to boil. Then the real job begins. The dumplings are scooped out of boiling water once they float & topped with burnt butter, the nutty smell of which settles into the walls for days. It takes concentration to keep eyes on pierogi in the undulating water & also not let the butter boil over. Depending on how many pierogi you make, the cooking portion can take longer than the stuffing.

Why do it? It takes so much time. My back aches at the end of the night. I always misestimate the amount of flour I’ll need. Every year I worry that I’ll be late for dinner because I didn’t start boiling early enough. At what point is the effort expended not worth continuing the practice?

I may only be half Polish, but this is the tradition that stuck. My great great grandparents made their way into this country through Ellis Island. They survived the Depression by owning & maintaining a butcher shop in New Jersey. Their families would gather around tables together to roll the dough, to stuff with delectable fillings, to seal with sticky fingers.

Today, mandating alliances in order to preserve a cultural identity is an antiquated practice, but the unsavory truth is that these traditions are always just one generation away from dying. Our bloodlines are melting together & clouding over, like the water after hours of boiling floured pierogi. There is a lot of good to be had in that cloudiness, identity forged by something other than history or geography. But the cost of melting together is that we forfeit a sense connection to the past.

My past is floured with memories of my mom in the kitchen over butcher block counter dressed in Christmas Moose overalls, reading off the recipe in my great grandmother’s handwriting. It’s scenes of my type-A sister micromanaging our pierogi, offering helpful & often unwanted tips. It’s flour on every surface, caked under finger nails, brushed like paint across damp foreheads. It’s laughter as a less type-A sister makes a pierogi so hideous looking, we wonder how Polish she actually is.

And now, I get to share this tradition with the family I married into. The scene has shifted to my husband’s cousins & siblings armed with aprons & Dutch Bros to fuel our endeavors. It’s my mother-in-law manning the mixer to keep up with the stuffing. It’s showing my own daughters how to pinch the dough between their tiny fingers so it seals.

I worry that we may lose the patience for such painstaking practices. Pierogi making is an all day endeavor. We roll dough until our arms ache & roll our necks as they stiffen from leaning over the boiling pot. And if we’re honest, sometimes we roll our eyes at those who share the load. But as long as I have space on my counter, it will be worth it to gather & labor over pierogi. It draws us together in a shared experience that is meaningful & rewarding. It echoes the generations before us who gathered over flour & filling. And as we savor the end result & clog our arteries in the process, we hope the tradition will continue on long after we’re gone.

Thoughts on Pet Ownership or the Lack Thereof

We are not getting a dog.

Or so my husband has told me. My allergies & I are on board for now. But I have a feeling that there are two little girls who may have a chance of wearing him down in the future. Their big brown eyes and toothy grins have a way of obliterating the strongest of wills.

But until they are old enough to persuasively plead for a puppy of their own, we get our dog fix from other sources. We visit my neighbor down the road who has two dogs. And then of course, there’s Brie.

Brie is my brother-in-law’s dog. She is one of the most beautiful Golden Retrievers I’ve ever seen. Last summer, JJ flew up with us to Alaska to purchase Brie from my parents who breed Goldens up there. Ever since then, we’ve had weekly access to pure-bred puppy goodness.

On Saturday nights, Brie even accompanies our local siblings (JJ, Kylee & Esther) over to our house for dinner and to watch Riverdale. We just love having everyone over for good food and overly angsty teen dramas. Brie hasn’t yet expressed strong opinions about Riverdale, but she does love cleaning up after dinner, playing hard with the kids, and then sprawling on the cold tile for a nap once they’re asleep.

Last weekend, Brie entered the house particularly ready to play, and the Lord knows that we have plenty of stuff for her to play with. She found Peter’s Paw Patrol collection first, which was very conveniently spread liberally across the kitchen floor. It may seem barbaric to go after one of her own kind, but Brie does not discriminate. Fortunately, we rescued the pup from her jowls, and she moved on without a fight.

When we headed out back to enjoy the cooler evening weather, Brie began rummaging through the gravel. She’d select a rock at random and carry it around in her mouth for awhile before dropping it again. She just wanted a little taste.

My sister-in-law, Kylee, caught her doing this and hollered across the lawn for her to drop the rock. She plopped on the grass next to Josie and dropped her latest find. It was covered in dog saliva; but even from a distance, it didn’t look like the other rocks in our yard. We were distracted by the kids, so we didn’t throw the rock back off the grass right away. My sister, Esther, was the one who saw it first.

“Guys, I think this is a rat head.”

Chaos ensued. I started screaming. The kids scattered as if the lawn was on fire.

Brie just smiled like all Golden Retrievers do, completely unphased.

I wish I had her composure. I’m pretty sure I scared my kids.

Kylee was brave enough to get close for a good look. Sure enough, this rock had a long nose and two yellow teeth. Before we could cast lots to see who would move the decapitated remains off the grass, Brie went ahead and did it for us. Man’s best friend, confirmed, and we thank her for her service.

In case you were wondering, we did do a sweep of our yard looking for the body. We still haven’t found it, and I’ve decided that we have to move. Immediately.

I knew this story had staying power in our family when I heard Leanor singing her heart out in the bathroom the next afternoon. She was crooning the line from one of our favorite animal picture books “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?” But she made some minor edits to match her own personal experience. Can I just tell you that there is nothing more terrifying than hearing “Rat head, rat head, what do you see?” reverberating off the bathroom walls in a sweet sing-song-y voice.

It’s the stuff of nightmares, folks.

I tell Jame all the time that he shouldn’t say that we are never getting a dog. God has a way of giving us what we are so emphatically against. I think He has a sense of humor. I also think He is a loving God, which is why I’m going to risk providential intervention and say this:

We are NEVER EVER getting a rat.

More on the Book Club

I know you all have been so concerned about the status of our book club, Books & Beans. So I thought I’d update you, so your anxiety would be alleviated. I can just hear the collective sighs of relief. 😂

On Reaching 50

We will read our 50th book together in October. I use the word “together” loosely, because members have come and gone. And if we are really truly honest, not everyone has read all the books. There have been a few that we’ve wanted to light on fire (I’m looking at you “Elegance of a Hedgehog”), but there have also been some that we’ve deeply enjoyed. Pretty much all of us have a fascination with the macabre, which has drastically helped with book selection. There’s a lot of true crime and psychological thrillers on our list. The only downside is having to drag our sleep deprived bodies out of bed in the morning, after staying up all night to finish it and then being too scared to fall asleep. At least we get to complain about it together.

We still read one book a month (or two months if it’s longer or we are all crazy busy). We rotate who picks each month, and on every third month, we attempt to meet. Our next meeting is in October, and I’m trying to decide how to celebrate our 50th book: a smorgasbord of baked goods or all of us dressing up like our favorite literary characters. Probably both.

Our Token Male

After a year or so of meeting with just girls, we realized that Books & Beans was getting a reputation. We were like the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” and the “Finer Things Club” all rolled up into one resplendent crew. At the time, it was just me, Emily, Alex, & Jocelyn…reading books & being exclusive. This elitist mindset infuriated Cameron, Alex’s husband. He even threatened to start a rival club called “Nick & Nuggets” (where the members watch Nicholas Cage movies & consume chicken nuggets. Terrifying). The odds were finally tipped in his favor when we mentioned “Pride and Prejudice” in passing, and he had no idea what we were talking about. There is automatic admittance to any poor soul who has no idea who Jane Austen is.

His first pick was a self published fantasy novel to the page count of almost 400. We considered kicking him out after that misstep, but he’s made himself invaluable to us with his clever use of gifs in the group text. He also set up a shared note on our phones that has our upcoming books highlighted in different fonts. There is something about an organized chart that wins its way into all the nerd girls’ hearts.

There is apparently a sequel to the “fantasy novel which will not be named“, but we are all praying that our visceral reaction to the first one will be enough to keep him from choosing it like he’s threatened. Vindictive, that one is. Just kidding, Cameron, just. kidding. 😊

Reading On

Even before Cameron joined, the group has always been pretty fluid. We said goodbye to Brittany when she moved away a year and a half ago. We also welcomed Paige to stand in solidarity with our other nursing student member, Alex. Jocelyn moved away last year but has continued to join us remotely…and even more remotely in a month, when she gets married & moves to Canada. And Emily & I remain Old Faithful Founding Members.

Books & Beans is still my favorite check mark on my ever expanding Bucket List. It’s been a fun way to connect with people as we live our separate lives. It’s pushed me to read things I never would have picked to read. It’s also helped me think deeper about what I’m consuming as a reader “just for fun.” That’s what a community does, even one as small and silly as Book & Beans. It promotes connection and growth in an increasingly disconnected and disinterested world.

So cheers to us, Beanies. Let’s read a few more together.

That Time I Ruined My Husband’s Birthday

Honestly, I was just going to buy him grill gloves. I’m a romantic, clearly. 😂 There was a teeny tiny ulterior motive to that choice. Grill gloves would allow him to use something other than my oven mitts to get juicy pieces of meat off of the Traeger. Grill gloves were the gift that gives back to us all.

But utilitarian gifts rarely are the way to go with my guy. Actually, any kind of gift that he does not pre-approve is not the way to go. He’s never rude about it, but I’ve learned that it’s better just to ask him what he wants. The dusty Soda Stream in the pantry that I got him a couple years ago can attest to this. And if you do suddenly feel the urge to fly by the seat of your pants, always fly towards an Amazon or Best Buy gift card. Or cash. There’s nothing more utilitarian than cash.

This time, however, it turned out that he had something in mind the whole time: tickets to Opening Day of the 2018 baseball season.

It just so happened that this year’s inaugural day of Diamondbacks baseball was also the 20th anniversary of the team. And it was also the 30th anniversary of his birth. He was so hopeful. The grill gloves were never going to elicit that kind of emotion.

We played with the budget and with a few clicks of a mouse, we had nose bleed seats to day 1 at Chase Field. We were both so excited. He had dreams of good food & a win. My heart was set on ice cream in the 6th or 7th. Plus, it was just a chance to be together at a fun event. We marked our calendars and lined up a sitter.

Opening Day arrived, a toasty spring day for an open roof game. We dropped the older two kids off with my sister-in-law and drove down to the field with my mother & father-in-law who also had tickets. My stomach was rumbling; I hadn’t eaten my normal afternoon snack.

But after walking from the car to the stadium with Josie strapped to my chest, I started to realize that this might not be hunger pangs. My skin was clammy, and my mouth was suddenly cotton dry…rarely a good combination. Jame had me go take it easy in the stands while he grabbed us dinner. My mother-in-law took Josie to her seat one section over from us.

The rest of the night is a little fuzzy. I remember making it up to row 28 in the 3rd level. I remember the National Anthem & the first pitch before we got the text that Josie was hungry. I made it down the stairs, but I didn’t make it much farther.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I puked that much. I expected to feel better afterwards, but I didn’t. We spent the next few innings sitting at a picnic table outside the bathroom, watching the game on screens the size of our TV at home while the game went on behind us. Well, Jame watched. I mostly pressed my face against the metal table and moaned.

We left shortly after that. And my husband spent the rest of the night of his 30th birthday carrying me from the bathroom back to bed, running to the store for Sprite & crackers, bringing the baby to me to nurse in the middle of the night. He took care of everything for the next 4 days.

On top of all of that, I decided to be generous with my gift & gave it to my sister, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, two best friends & Jame too eventually. I’m pretty sure he would’ve preferred the grill gloves.

What struck me the most about the whole evening and following days is that he never once complained that we had to leave Opening Day on his birthday. He just quietly served me and took care of everything. That’s just the kind of man he is: a really good one. I take for granted that he’s mine. I guess sometimes I just need a good stomach bug to remind me to be thankful for God’s good gifts.

So, Happy 30th Birthday, Jame! You are everything I prayed for as a girl and so much more. I love you deeply and I can’t wait to make more memories together…hopefully next time with less puke. ❤️

I DIY-ed & Didn’t Die

I’m not a very handy person. Normally when something breaks in my house, I ask myself if the item in question is a necessity, and if it’s not imperative to my survival I just wait for my dad to come down from Alaska to rescue me.

Every once and a while though, I get brave and decide to tackle a project that is way beyond my skill set and experience. Such is the case with the rocking chair.

I actually got the chair for free. My neighborhood has a mini OfferUp/Craigslist page on Facebook, and one lady was desperate to dump her patio furniture. So with the help of a faithful friend (who also helped me move 2 summers ago…major brownie points, Sarah), we moved an entire patio set into my backyard…in August.

It sat there for months, desperate for a makeover, but I was held back by the blazing AZ sun (and crippling fear). I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to complete the project. In part, I was right. After consulting a few expert DIY-ers & seamstresses, I realized that the love seat & full sofa was going to end up being more cost prohibitive than I wanted it to be. Fortunately, I was able to unload it on OfferUp in 2 days (praise the Lord…so sorry, Sarah), which left me with the rocking chair. I could TOTALLY handle a single piece, right?

Before

Let me start off by saying, the chair itself was in decent condition. It needed cleaning, and I wasn’t a huge fan of the color. A quick re-paint would do the trick. The cushion, however, was a different story. Originally a green and white checker pattern, it was stretched out, torn, and beyond faded. It’s hard to tell from the picture, but it was pretty gross and definitely needed to be recovered.

*Note to Reader* I don’t know how to sew.

My DIY Diva. Just kidding. She played in the grass the whole time.

The first step was repainting. I’ve done one other spray painting project in my life. My mother-in-law assisted me, and let’s face it, did most of the work. She’s a regular DIY genius. I was determined to channel my inner mother-in-law (that came out weird, but you know what I mean) and give new life to this old rocker.

I did some internet research before buying anything. I didn’t want to spend without knowing if it was actually going to work for me. Once I had done my due diligence, I loaded both kids into the car and headed for the hardware store. A nice gentleman in an orange apron talked me through my purchases. I loaded my cart and headed for checkout, where I scanned every single item. It was around this time that I realized that I left my wallet at home.

So I reloaded the kids back into the car, drove all the way home, grabbed my wallet, and raced back, hoping to be back home again in time for naps *insert the maniacal laugh of my children*.

When I finally arrived home, I wanted to start immediately. My heart was racing with adrenaline after making so many grown up purchases from such a grown up establishment, that is, The Home Depot. But as things tend to go with little children, they have these pesky things called schedules, that if you don’t keep to meticulously they will make you wish you were dead later. All that to say, fast forward a full 24 hours, and I was finally taping my drop cloth to the patio, shaking the crap out of my spray paint cans, and preparing myself mentally for what I was about to do.

A few things were immediately clear. First, buying sand paper was stupid. There was nothing to sand; there was no paint on the chair. I don’t know why I was so certain that I needed it. Second, two cans of spray paint was not going to be enough. Maybe I wasn’t spraying it right. Maybe I didn’t read the directions on the back of the can carefully enough. All I know is that the man in the orange apron assured me that two cans would be sufficient to coat the entire chair twice. I think we both overestimated my ability to make paint cover things efficiently. That meant another care reload with the kiddos and back to the store for another can.

Another mistake I made was spray painting barefoot.

*Note to Reader & Future Self: Spray Paint is sticky when it is not fully dried. You WILL stick to every surface you step on for the next hour. And you WILL ruin your socks when you put them back on to avoid sticking. Also, you will NOT be able to keep your two year old from following you across the sticky tarp. You WILL also ruin his socks.*

Full disclosure, it took 2 showers and scraping several layers of skin off the bottom of my feet with a pumice stone to get all the paint off.

I made up for all of my spray painting errors with a few lucky breaks when it came time to cover the cushion. First, I went on the Joann’s website, and they were having an online sale on their outdoor fabric. Instead of paying $21.99 for a yard of fabric, I paid $8.80. What a steal! Second, I enlisted my friend, Michelle, who is a sewing/repainting/DIY master to help me sew the cushion. She literally knows how to do everything, and she’s an excellent teacher. In one morning, she was able to tell me that the thread I had bought wouldn’t work (another stupid purchase), teach me the basics of working a sewing machine with the right thread, and help me sew the entire cushion cover. It fit perfectly.

After

All done. And I’m pretty happy with the end result. The best part is that it didn’t cost me hundreds of dollars. Here’s the break down of what I spent:

• Chair: FREE
• Spray Paint: $11.28
• Drop Cloth: $1.98
• Sand Paper: $3.97
• Outdoor Fabric: $8.80
• Zipper: $2.99
• String: $3.49
• Accent Pillowcase: $11.99
• Pillow: $7
  • TOTAL SPENT: $51.50
  • – USER STUPIDITY:  $7.46 🙂
  • TOTAL IT SHOULD’VE BEEN: $44.04

I completed my first DIY project, semi-solo. I’m happy to report that my kids are still alive, just tired from many many trips to Home Depot without naps. The skin on the bottom of my feet is finally back to normal. I do have a couple more gray hairs, but thanks to good friends like Sarah & Michelle, who care enough about the state of my roots to help me deadlift furniture & learn to sew, the damage was minimal. In the end, I also have a very nice rocking chair in my back yard. Success.

12 Days of Alaska

Japan stole my husband for 2 weeks, so instead of staying home and moping, my parents suggested I head north…way North. So at the end of July, me, P & L got on a plane and flew to Alaska to enjoy family and cooler weather. That in and of itself was an adventure.

I really do think the adrenaline of flying over 6 hours with little ones triggered a latent adventure reflex buried deep within me. I told my mom when I arrived that I wanted to do at least one thing each day in Alaska that I couldn’t do in Phoenix, like an Alaska Bucket List of sorts. And, man, did she deliver! Here’s our 12 Days of Alaska:

Day #1: Berry Picking. After a full day of travel with 2 kids, a relaxing day is a must. But we still made it down the hill (in their back yard….what???) to pick some wild raspberries. Mom later baked the raspberries we found into a delicious raspberry cream cheese coffee cake. When it came to the berry picking, P was mostly uninterested, but he did carry the bucket for awhile…and my parent’s adorable puppy, Jesse, only got a raspberry treat about 3-4 times because of it. In other news, did you know that there are yellow raspberries? I didn’t.

Day #2: JBER Military Air Show. It rotates between Anchorage & Fairbanks every year, but it’s free admission. So basically everyone in Alaska goes. It took us an hour to get parked; we sat in about 3 miles of traffic. We started to wonder if it would be worth it. It TOTALLY was. We saw F22’s and the Blue Angels fly. It was loud for the kiddos & we didn’t bring earplugs, but they still handled it quite well. And it was exhilarating; I described it to J that it’s like the feeling you get at a concert when the band plays your favorite song. You jump up and down and scream all the words. Except this made you want to jump up and down and scream “AMERICA!” Those Blue Angels fly with about 18 inches between each plane. Amazing! And I haven’t even mentioned the food: funnel cake, soft pretzels, reindeer sausage…Did I mention funnel cake??

Day #3: Rock Skipping in a Creek. We got to have a picnic at a local park with my parents’ church after services. The park was right next to a little creek. There was a sign that said that salmon spawn there. We didn’t see any salmon swimming up stream, but P threw rocks for about 30 minutes before taking a plunge himself (not exactly ideal salmon spawning conditions, I’m sure).

Day #4: Independence Gold Mine at Hatcher’s Pass. Originally our plan was to head up the pass for some blueberry picking, but we couldn’t find any once we got up there. We heard later that the patches were pretty sparse this year. Plus, it was raining, so instead we walked through the Independence Gold Mine. It was opened in the late 30’s & ran 24/7 with only July 4th & Christmas Day off, but now it’s a pile of old wood and machinery, reminiscent of an eery ghost town. There’s a little water fall that runs adjacent to the scaffolding of the mine, and the fog & rain gave the whole place a haunted vibe. We didn’t stay long, but it was interesting to think that even 70 years ago, people lived and worked there.

Day #5: Pet a Reindeer. We headed over to Willow in search of a reindeer farm that Mom had seen a sign for awhile back. And we certainly found it. We pulled up, and I wasn’t sure we should get out of the car. It was absolutely ghetto. But Mom talked me out of the passenger seat, and I’m so glad she did. The owner of the reindeer (that he named Rowdy & Betty) clearly loved them and treated them like beloved pets. Not only did we get to pet them (and their surprisingly furry antlers), but we also got to feed them. Stripped of the frills of a commercialized petting zoo, we did all this for the low low price of free. P had the time of his life!

Day #6: Picnic at Beluga Point. The beach in Alaska looks very different than beaches in Southern California. Instead of sand, there’s rock. Instead of rolling hills, the water is surrounded by mountains, some thick with snow and glaciers. It’s breath taking. We went to the Wildlife Conservatory on day 6 too (and saw moose, bison & bears…oh my?..to name a few), but on the way we stopped at Beluga Point to have a picnic lunch. The weather was perfect & the view was idyllic. The only thing that disturbed the stillness was P pitching rocks off the cliffs.

Day #7: Try a Local Coffee Shop. With winters as cold as they are, it’s important to have quality warm beverages. Alaskans take this seriously, and there are little coffee kiosks on almost every corner. I tried “Perk Up” with my mom and sisters. If you find one, try the Wedding Cake Latte or the Vanilla Chai. But don’t forget to check the special too. The day we went, there was a special for a Red Velvet Cupcake Latte. Yum! Even P tied a sip…and spilled creamy red liquid all down the front of him.

Day #8: Explore Palmer. You know those towns that have an adorable downtown area with gorgeous flowers, cute shops, plenty of space for a farmers market? That’s Palmer. My dad is the President of Alaska Bible College and wanted us to pick him up before we went shopping in Anchorage (no sales tax…what???). Before we picked him up, we walked through the local shops & hit their farmers market, Friday Fling. Favorites: Nonessentials Store (loose leaf tea by the wall full, trinkets everywhere, Amish popcorn? Yep! They had everything you know you don’t need but want anyways. And at least they’re honest in their naming of the establishment) & Fireside Books (I LOVE local bookstores & this one clearly put on a ton of cool events).

Day #9: See a Waterfall. Summers in Alaska alternate between days with absolutely perfect temperatures and days with rain & much cooler temperatures. Either way it’s cooler than Phoenix, which is a nice change for us. The only downside was that the rain really hindered us from doing a lot hiking. We did get a hike in at Thunderbird Falls. The dirt path was pretty muddy, but it led to a gorgeous hilltop view of the falls. Dad talked us into heading down to the creek to see the falls from below. We slipped our way down that muddy trail, but it was totally worth it. The creek view is extraordinary, but also reminds you just how powerful & chilling a waterfall can be.

Day #10: Olympics. I definitely could’ve watched the same Olympic games in Phoenix, but I definitely couldn’t have done it dressed cozy in sweatshirt and sweat pants (at least not without sweating buckets). We had so many Alaskan adventures that we needed a full day of rest to marvel at the athletic prowess of others while eating ALOT of Moose Tracks Ice Cream.

Day #11: Fish Wheel at Glennallen & Matanuska Glasier. To make up for a full day of laziness, we filled this day extra full. There’s a special list of people that get to use a fish wheel in Alaska, and somehow my parents got their names on it. For 2 days, whatever fish the wheel collects in that wooden box next to it gets to come home in coolers to be consumed by the family. There were 10 fish there already when we arrived. That’s all we got on day 1 of fish wheeling, but the man who led us to the wheel and showed us how it worked said that the day before they got 90. On day 2, we added 34 more! Not a bad haul!

On the way back from Glennallen, we pulled off at a lookout of the Matanuska Glacier. The glacier feeds a river that runs down the valley. It was a quick stop, but you definitely don’t see any glaciers anywhere in Arizona.

Day #12: Hiking Bodenburg Butte. We enjoyed rainy weather for most of our stay in Alaska, but on our final day, Mother Nature was especially kind with the very best kind of cool, cloudy and rainless day. As a result, the path was fairly dry that led up to a 500 step climb straight up the side of a mountain. It’s actually called a butte, but when you have a 15 pound baby strapped to your chest any incline at all feels like a mountain. The climb was worth it though for the perfect crisp air at the top and the stunning views. The picture below is just halfway up (pre-stairs), but when we finally made it to the very top, we could clearly could see the glacier, the inlet, a ton of snow capped mountain ranges, and oh so much green. It was the perfect end to a fabulous trip.

The three of us made it home exhausted but safe. And I’ve also come home feeling a little inspired. Alaska is an incredible state, and I only had 12 full days to have adventures there. I’m in Phoenix for pretty much all of the 353 days left in the year, and I’ve realized that there are a million little adventures to be had on my own home turf. I need to be better about exploring and getting to know the place where I do life.

So here’s to going outside more! Here’s to being up for anything anywhere I go! Here’s to challenging myself! Here’s to discovering what makes home unique! Here’s to more adventures!

What adventures have you had recently?

And Then There Was A Book Club

Once upon a time…

I got the fever in college. I had this class called Advanced Composition, but really it was like a book club with grades (sort of). We read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in that class. And everyone loved it. All the English majors talked over my head about existential thought and catharsis and pneumonosynthesisplasion (ok, ya, that’s not real). But I came away from that class with the bug. What if I could have friends, pick books, and then…drum roll…read them together? (What a novel idea!!…see what I did there?)

Then I graduated. And got a job. Suddenly I wasn’t the student anymore; I was actually the one up there teaching. I had 3 different English preps, plus an Art class (that I was dismally under-qualified for), and 3 Honors English classes. It was a small private school, so I decided that I’d set my Honors classes up like book clubs. They picked the books, I broke them into sections, and we would meet once a week to talk about what we had read. We even read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in the senior class. And they hated it. I realized that although a mandatory book club was a gratifying proposition for me, it may have been its own form of cerebral torture for my indentured participants. I still hadn’t quite found the cure for my sickness.

Then I moved. And suddenly I was alone in my reading. I had a handful of reading friends, but we all seemed to read in our separate but parallel worlds. Years passed, and my reading loneliness continued.

Yes. I made bookmarks with our names on them.

CS Lewis once wrote: Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .” And that is what happened when Emily moved to town. We met up for coffee to get to know one another, and I realized instantly that our commonalities massively overshadowed our differences. We both craft like grandmas, taught high school ragamuffins, shared a passionate love for the Philadelphia Eagles and shoes, AND…you guessed it…are avid readers. I told her about the books I loved. She shared with me her favorites. In passing, I mentioned how I’d always wanted to be a part of a book club. And she said, “Um. How many members does it take to make a book club? Just two right?” She’s a brilliant starfish, that one.

And just like that, Books & Beans was formed, a book club dedicated to reading books and drinking coffee/tea…and friendship. We have NEVER read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. And it’s beautiful. It’s everything I’d hoped it would be and more. We’ve been joined by other members to read our single book a month, and when we meet up to discuss at the end of each 4 week cycle, I just couldn’t be happier. My dreams are fulfilled. My fever is satiated.

…And they lived happily ever after. The End.

 

I Wish That I Could Be Like the Cool Kids

Now that Echosmith has effectively jammed its melody into your head for the rest of the day, I want to reiterate: Sometimes I really DO wish that I could be like the cool kids. And if you are honest, you probably secretly wish you were like the cool kids too. They are the kind of people whose presence has that unexplainable power to make you think: “Gosh, if I was just like that, I would be so much cooler.”

Before I jump into my list, I think it’s important to clarify a few things. There are a couple of characteristics of cool kiddedness that we need to understand. First, we have to agree to the “otherness” of cool kids. If you think you are a cool kid, you are automatically not. It is extremely lame if you think you are cool. Cool kids just are. It’s annoying, but so suave.

We also have to realize the “subjectivity” of the label. Everyone knows a cool kid. But cool kids are diverse. They are interested in very different hobbies and have unique skills. It just depends on who you ask. Everyone will have a different list of what qualifies as cool to them.

I also want to preface my following list with this: I’m not being sarcastic about this. I legitimately think that if someone has mastered these things, you have attained a level of coolness that I will never reach. I respect you. For reals.

So here we go:

1) Eat Sushi. Cool kids eat sushi. And like it. This is the first reason why I can’t be cool. I want so badly to like sushi, but it’s rubbery and gross. And edamame really is probably the coolest word to say. When it leaves your lips it makes you sound so urban. But it just looks like peas to me…and I hate peas.

I want to give photo credit for all the following pictures. Also I want to confess: I’m an Insta-stalker. Not only does this lady dress amazing, but she’s always snapping really cool pictures of the food she eats. Check her out at http://www.wendyslookbook.com or follow “wendyslookbook” on Instagram.

2) Wear Tulle Skirts. There are some women who just pull this look off. They normally pair it with a cute three quarter sleeve sweater, 3 pounds of pearls, and the cutest pair of killer shoes (perfectly lethal from it’s 6 inch heel to it’s razor sharp toe). I totally wish that I had both the boldness to wear such an outfit and also an occasion for which it would be appropriate to wear it. But most mornings I’m in jeans and a T-Shirt. No heels or pearls…or tulle. My fashion heart wants what my pasta sauced 9 month old won’t allow.

I mean. Stop. Here’s another person worth checking out/insta-stalking: http://www.stylishpetite.com or “stylishpetite” on Instagram.

3) Camp & Hike. Cool kids know how to handle themselves in the great out of doors. This one I can blame on my lineage. We are just horrible campers. And we tried. We really really tried. But terrible awful things happened to us when we went camping. Like mudslides through tents. And completely deflated air mattresses at 1AM in the morning. And run-ins with bears, deer and skunks. Or the dog vomiting all over Mom’s pillow all night. If my history hasn’t ruined camping for life, my lack of endurance finishes it off. I think I could be totally into it if there was a way I could be completely warm and clean the whole time. But you have to be ok with being cold sometimes and you have to be ok with dirt. And for some reason, I just can’t get behind that.

This also applies to hiking. Unfortunately, hiking IS NOT walking through the forest or up the mountain. There is this unspoken rule among hikers that you have to get to wherever it is you are going quickly. I just don’t understand the rush. I just can’t get to the top of Camelback Mountain in 15 minutes. I get lightheaded and woozy and feel an uncontrollable desire to sit. I need breaks. Long breaks. I’m more of a stroller. And if calling yourself a stroller isn’t just the lamest un-cool thing you ever heard, I don’t know what is.

And finally. This person I actually know. So it’s less creepy? Maybe? Anyways, she’s a rock star. Check her out on http://awanderingmoss.wordpress.com and “mrsmossyme” on Instagram.

This is my very short but growing list. Maybe someday, I will wake up and suddenly love the taste of slime/raw fish sliding down my throat. There may come a time when I wear a tulle skirt, and it won’t look like I’m trying so hard. Until that day comes, I’ll have to be content to admire you hikers and campers from a distance (and I’ll probably follow you on Instagram).

Don’t be creeped out if I stare. I just really think you’re cool.

Letter from the HOA

Dear Marley Park Residents,

We have the great honor of announcing a new temporary accommodation now open and available to all Marley Park Home Owners. The Marley Park Lake will be open from Monday to Friday from sunrise to sunset while the rainy season lasts. Marley Park will not be held responsible for any items such as life preservers, goggles, and/or any swim toys that are lost while the lake is open. Also, we do not accept responsibility for any injuries caused by trying to body surf across the surface. No lifeguard will be on duty, so swim at your own risk. We advise you also not to drink the water. As always, we appreciate your patronage at all of the Marley Park facilities and hope to re-open this one again in another 100 years.

Sincerely,

Your Friendly Neighborhood HOA

Marley Park Lake. That’s what the locals call it.

 

My Morning

My eyes fly open. Where am I? I glance around before rolling over onto my stomach. Oh yeah, I remember this place. The walls look the same. Off white. Photos of familiar faces hanging there. I’m home. That makes me feel pretty good. I’d feel better if I was eating though.

A man with dark brown hair and a smile full of white teeth appears and offers me a drink. I remember him. He’s pretty cool. I wish my teeth looked like that. He doesn’t say much, but when he does it’s usually funny, and it makes me smile. I gulp down the drink, choking from time to time. I’m not even sure it tastes that good, but I drink it anyway. Familiarity has made me content.

I look up again. I’m alone. I really hate being alone. I’m a people person, actually. Or at least I think I am; time will tell. I call out, and the man appears again. Thank God! He’s still there.

And then I’m not there. I’m in another room. This room has carpet. It’s tan. I prefer bright colors, but I’m not complaining. New spaces are interesting. Everything is so big, and I feel so small in comparison. I try to explain to the man my thoughts, but he just smiles. I’m glad he’s listening, but it’d be nice if he’d say something back. Not that I’m complaining. Like I said before, I like his teeth.

I feel the soft fibers of the carpet against my skin. As I move, they feel alternately soft and rough against me. I see a bright colored something ahead of me. It looks rather tasty, so I try it out. Eh, not that good, but it makes a lot of noise when I shake it. Maybe if I try it for longer it’ll soften up. That reminds me, I’m hungry again.

There’s a lady there. She offers me this orange stuff on a spoon which she seems to think I will like. I could take it or leave it honestly, but the flavor isn’t bad. It’s just that chunky texture that sometimes I have a hard time getting down. I gag a little. She laughs. I don’t know why she’s laughing, but I laugh too. I recognize her face and her voice especially. I’ve been listening to her voice for over a year now I think.  Although for a while it was kind of distant and fuzzy sounding…as though I was underwater, hearing her talk. She’s one of my favorites. That’s why I laugh at her. She thinks I’m funny.

She wrinkles her nose, and I’m not sure why. Oh! Now I know. Somethings stinks…bad. I won’t tell you all of what happens next, but it’s terrible. I try to get away from her, but she seems insistent that I stay still. I HATE being still. I’m a born mover. But after a minute or so of struggle, she lets me go. Everything smells great again, so I guess that’s probably a good thing.

It’s been such a long morning, and even though I haven’t done much, I’m emotionally drained. It makes me sad how much I can’t do. I wish I could do it all, but sometimes you have to recognize your limitations. That doesn’t take the sadness away though. Fortunately, that lady and the man with nice teeth are there for me. They really are nice. They like to give me hugs and kisses, and I feel safe when I’m close to them.

And just like that, I’m back where I started. I see the off white walls and the pictures with the familiar faces. And I see the lady and the man standing over me, smiling. I smile back, as I rub my eyes. I’m glad they are around. They don’t always get me, but they sure do try. I guess I’ll keep them. It’s been a really great morning, but I think I’ll close my eyes for second. It’s really exhausting being a baby.

Baby P * 6 Months