Buying Mom

When I was little my dad gave me a job working at his health food store. I think I was 11 when I started working. Basically, my job was to weigh and bag bulk dry goods, things like apricots, almonds and sunflower seeds. It was tedious, boring work but I was 11. Nobody gave a shit that I was bored except for me. All the boredom came to a halt on payday, though, when I was handed a check which was then cashed, immediately, from the till.

BACK STORY:

I was a child of divorce. I do not remember caring, particularly, that my parents were divorced but I remember wondering just where in the hell my mother had gone and why. She disappeared and then I started getting letters from her about her new job in Richmond working for a doctor, blah, blah, blah. No goodbye? No visits? I was, to say the least, a little bit confused. (I now know she was committed to a mental institution.)

After a while she reappeared, living with my father's cousin a few blocks away and almost, literally, in my Grandfather's back yard. She called one day and told me that she had bought me a kite but had crashed it into a tree. She told me that I could go and look at the kite if I stood in my Grandfather's back yard. I did go and stand there and I remember looking, across a small tidal marsh, into the yard of the house where my mother was living with my father's cousin and thinking: She lives there? Right there? Why doesn't she ever come to see me?

By the time I was 11 and working at the health food store weighing dried goods and daydreaming my skinny ass off, Mom was back in town and working at the Navy yard by day, cocktail waitressing by night and seeing me again. I spent, I think, Wednesdays and Saturdays with her. I still didn't know which end was up, though, and so every payday I would take my cash earnings and go to another store in the mall where the health food store was and spend all of my money buying gifts for my mother.

Mostly I bought her gift boxes with cream and soap and scent and one, very large bottle of Strawberry Lotion. She loved the lotion but I'm not sure she could possibly have ever used all of it. There must have been gallons of the stuff stashed throughout her apartment. I thought that I could show her my faith, my fealty and my love by purchasing this stuff for her. It was the one time in my life I ever tried to buy someone's love and I failed miserably. Love cannot be bought. I think I knew that, even then, as a young and confused child but I still held out hope that my mother would eventually realize that I was important. I hoped that somehow these gifts of lotion would make her look at me, see me as special. Maybe even consider me more important than the next guy. But she didn't. I was always less-than in her eyes, though somehow I came out intact anyway.

It's funny how people react so differently to circumstances. Some kids would have been utterly ruined by being marginalized by their mothers, and I did stay fucked up for several years but eventually I got cocky. I may not look like Sophia Loren (mom does) but I'm not exactly butt ugly either. I'm smart and competent and ... shock of all shocks ... fairly happy with my life. Content. Now.

There probably should be some major message here, in the close of this post but I'm not sure there is one unless it's that I don't often think about my mother. I rarely feel the need to call or visit with her. I also don't feel any animosity toward her. It's just a lack of feeling altogether that defines our relations. So I learned from her. I learned that you can't buy love; pretty is as pretty does; to treat my own children like the very important, beautiful, smart people they are and to let them know that they are loved; that I have to let go of hurt or drown in it, kind of like that ocean of Strawberry lotion I bought for my mom.

Lunch: dried cherry and stilton salad

I don't know what to call salads. Should I name it Smoove Talker Salad? That might be a better name. Okay, I'm going to do it! Aside from that, this was delicious and that's the most important part. It's what we had for lunch today along with a cup of pinto beans. Perfection.

Smoove Talker Salad

1 small head romaine lettuce, sliced thinly

1/2 small red onion, finely diced

1 tomato, finely diced

1/2 c dried cherries

1/4 c stilton cheese with apricots (or another cheese if you can't find this)

3/4 c frozen corn, fried in a small amount of evoo until lightly browned

a shake or two (or three) red pepper flakes

salt

pepper

balsamic vinegar

Put lettuce into bowl and top with tomato, onion,

corn,

cherries and pepper flakes. Crumble cheese on top then drizzle about 1 Tbsp evoo over it, season with salt and pepper and add just a tad of balsamic. Enjoy!

Lunch: tuna stir fry over pasta

This is what we had for lunch today. It was delicious. I used a bit of tuna tataki left over from last night's supper but use what you have: chicken; tofu; walnuts; beef; lunch meat; whatever for protein.

Ingredients (flexible):

1 bell pepper, seeded & thinly sliced

1 wax pepper, seeded & thinly sliced

1/2 yellow onion, peeled & thinly sliced

1 clove garlic, finely diced

1/2 c fresh or frozen green beans

2 Tbsp evoo

salt

pepper

sugar

liquid aminos or soy sauce

chili flakes

1 c uncooked rotini (or other) pasta

Put your pasta water on to boil and add a pinch of salt. While you're waiting for the boil you can pour evoo into a skillet over high heat and let it get hot. Add onions and saute til soft, add garlic, saute for a minute or so then add the rest of the veggies.

By now the water should be boiling. Add the pasta and stir, cook according to package directions.

If your protein needs to cook for a while, add it now, if you just need to heat it through wait. Saute until veggies begin to soften but are still a nice, bright green. Season with salt, pepper, a few chili flakes and a pinch of sugar. Add enough soy or liquid aminos to make a little bit of sauce. Turn the heat off.

Drain pasta and put it in a plate or in the bottom of a bowl and top with stir fry. Enjoy!

The ingredient list is very flexible. Try adding ginger, green onions, peeled edamame, julienned carrots... the list is endless. It's a quick, delicious lunch or a light supper.

Secret Girlfriends

Mrs. G asked and I'm going to tell ... my secret girlfriends are:

Diane Lane

Sophie Marceau

Angelica Huston

Louise Erdrich

Possibly there are many more but these fabulous ladies are at the apex of my list of Secret Girlfriends.

Lunch, picky eaters and corn-vs-potatoes

This is what I made for lunch. This is a typical lunch for our family. Normally our lunch service is around noon and I serve three people: Travis/17, Martina/7 and myself/get a life. We all eat the same thing. Together. So pardon me for not having much sympathy for people who can't figure out what to feed their picky kids. They created their own monsters. Read on:

Today I watched a television show called The View. They featured a segment called, "Picky Eaters," in which they discussed ways to disguise healthy food in order to get children who are picky eaters to eat it.

Now, call me crazy but it seems to me, has been my experience, that most kids eat fruit. Apples, bananas, oranges, cherries, strawberries, mangoes, etc. and they are quite willing to do without added sugar, cream or other flavor enhancers. Healthy, packed with nutrients, convenient packaging (read: comes in a skin.) This was not mentioned. What I heard (and I didn't listen to the whole segment because it began with such a stupid proposition) was that kids won't eat fish. Huh? What kids won't eat fish? Who cooked the fish and ruined it? Kids do eat fish. I have rarely seen one refuse tuna and I mean plain old canned tuna. Last time I checked, canned tuna was fish. What about flounder or other white, mild fish? Almost any kid will eat that broiled with a little seasoning and served with a side of rice and a vegetable. Of course, they were discussing those kids who were fed Lunchables, Spaghetti-O's and other processed crap and thus have some expectation that all food taste like salty fat. I suggest that parents start out feeding their children nutritious whole foods and never experience wondering how to disguise a piece of cod within a fish-cake, even an organic one ... Unless, of course, you want to make fish cakes because you love them, which is a whole other ... um ... kettle of fish.

There was also a suggestion put forth that parents make 'polenta fries' instead of french fries. Now pardon me for asking, yet again, but WTF? Boiled corn meal is in not superior to potatoes and with so many people finding out they have grain allergies, it could be far worse. If you're going to stuff your kid with carbs in the form of fried potatoes why quibble? Give the kid a good, old-fashioned french fry. Eating a little junk food is okay. It's eating a LOT of junk food that causes problems and seriously? Offering a kid polenta sticks isn't exactly going to boost their phytonutrient levels.

Obviously, our lifestyle is not mainstream but I am still often shocked at how little people understand about what they are putting into their bodies. I see the yank-and-slappers at the grocery store loading up the carts with soda and cookies and Cap'n Crunch, telling the kids to shut up and behave and popping the little tykes on the butt and I wonder why it doesn't seem to occur to those adult that maybe those kids are just suffering from malnutrition or oversugarization. I mean, dude. But what can I say? What can you say? Would they listen?

Cherry Chocolate Cheesecake Ice Cream

Sounds good, eh? The recipe comes from The Smitten Kitchen's Buttermilk Ice Cream recipe which I linked to in an earlier post, so the link above goes to her home page. I hope it's okay to share her recipe here, again, because it is purely hers and I have not altered it except to add a few things which will be noted below

Buttermilk Ice Cream
2 cups heavy cream
1 1/4 cup sugar
12 large egg yolks*
2 cup buttermilk
2 teaspoon vanilla or half a vanilla bean, scraped and simmered with the cream
Pinch of salt
In a large, heavy saucepan, combine the heavy cream and one cup of sugar and bring to a simmer over medium heat. In a large bowl, whisk egg yolks and remaining 1/4 cup of sugar. Remove the cream mixture from the heat and drizzle a small amount into the yolks, slowly, and whisking constantly to keep the eggs from curdling. Do this a few more times to warm up the yolks before pouring the yolk mixture back into the cream, whisking constantly. Cook over low heat until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Strain the mixture and whisk in the buttermilk, vanilla, and salt. Cool completely and freeze according manufacturer’s directions.

To this recipe I added (and almost overflowed my ice cream mixer bowl) 1 cup 60% cacao chocolate chips and 2 c organic, pitted, black cherries, chopped. You add the chocolate chips during the last phase of cooking the cream and egg yolks so that the chips melt nicely into the base. You could save a few, say 1/4 cup, chop them and add them later if you want chocolate chunks in your ice cream. The cherries go in just before you cool the mixture.

Send In The Clowns

I'm not sure this picture does us credit. It's too small and you can't properly see how absolutely stupid we all look. Eli with her orange hair, me with that shirt and bright red (thin) lips, Mom...well look at her expression! and Martina wondering WTF? The garden looked really good at least.

When my daughter, Eli, was ~14 she lost her mind. I mean it. She went shit-house-rat crazy. It was not all her fault, or at all her fault, really. I mean, I was living hard and way too quick to introduce my latest boy toy to my kids over the 10 years I was a single mom. Her dad had almost died. He had also been to prison. Twice. So, *really*, it wasn't her fault but she really was crazy.

Let me add that in addition to our previous stellar parenting both my ex-husband and I got married within a few months of each other and a year later? I brought forth another daughter. Joyous occasions all around but not ones made to settle the mind of a hormonal, stressed out, angst-ridden, teenaged girl. Eli was in the delivery room with me when Martina was born and that was good...well, except for the crazy, pushy pediatric nurse who forced my 12 yo daughter to stand at the foot of the bed so she'd have a really good view of the proceedings despite the fact that we had discussed all of this in-depth and Eli knew that she should be by my shoulder where she could see what was happening without seeing the inside of my uterus. Other than that may that obnoxious nurse rot in hell it was all wonderful during the birth of little sister. I could not be expected to defend my poor tween since I was in the midst of pushing out an eight and a half pound human at that particular moment in time. I'm sure Eli has forgiven that one lapse of parental protectiveness.

So fast forward to the following year when Eli was 13 and climbing out her window at all hours of the night to walk the streets of suburbia with her skanky boyfriend, her cousin and myriad other charming young ladies. They thought: They were cool; They knew it all; They were unbreakable. Only, they were wrong. And then? Eli died her hair. Blaze orange. Enter one of my most fabulous parenting moments ever... the kid made every effort to sneak past with a hoodie on but I caught her and then I had the good grace to say, "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?" Yes. Well.

It was obvious what had happened to her hair and to this day I'm not positive it was an accident. Billinda? Are you listening? Heh.

On the day the photo above was taken the rest of us were sure that Eli was the only one who looked ridiculous. In retrospect? We all did. Send in the clowns.

*Apologies for the disjointed nature of this post. I started it a long time ago and while I'm anxious to share the picture, I don't have the energy for editing the text just now.

Beauty in Everyday Life

My life is beautiful. I know. The sky

hangs up there, the color of borax and

the sun is an aluminum pie plate so shiny

it hurts my eyes. The puppy, Thunder,

who almost died a month ago is glossy black,

bouncy, shedding in hunks and globs

and Bear, the big black dog has matts

so tight I can't saw through them with

the clippers--not the old ones retired

from my husband's use or the sharper ones

made for the horse. There are eight kittens.

Fat sand spurs made of fur and claws

crapping all over the porch. What are these things

if they are not beauty?

My life is beautiful. If I look beyond

the white board, the string hanging from

the blind, the smudged glass and the window screen

I can see it in the swirling sugar water, just there,

bright as the hummingbird's soft throat.

Old MacDonald

When Martina was about 3 she had some funny rituals which all centered around her ... ah ... bathroom activities. Going potty was obviously a pleasant activity for her, one during which her typical verbalizations included things like, "Mommy? I love you. I love you so, so, so, so much." The word 'much' sounded more like, 'muksh.' Still does. Still precious.

She also sang songs. Over the years until now, when she finally closes the bathroom door when she's on the toilet, she has run through quite a repertoire of crap-taking songs but here is our family's favorite story about Martina and her 'muksh' loved poopoo choruses.

Old MacDonald

We, all 7 of us, were camping in the Smokies in July. Somehow we had managed to choose a week during which 2, count 'em 2, tropical storms passed through the Great Smokies. Lucky us. The brand new tent we had purchased for the kids, which had rooms in it, had collapsed during the first storm leaving the pop up camper packed with breath, feet and farts. We slept, packed in asshole to elbow that whole week and escaped each day for some great excursion.

One day we rode the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad from Bryson City to Nantahala Gorge. Another we almost killed ourselves tubing in the flood swollen Ocanaluftee River. But on the day in question we went for a drive to visit Fontana Lake.

We were all in our bathing suits, a cooler full of cold beer and soda pop and lunch was at hand and we were headed for the water. We finally found a place to park with a swimming spot nearby and we all walked right out into the water, wee Martina included. Just one catch, as I carried her in she informed me that she needed to, ah, relieve her bowels. Being the wonderful and loving spouse I am, I called Mark, "Mark! Mark! Martina needs to sing Old MacDonald!" He patiently, lovingly and obediently swam back from wherever he was headed (the other side of the lake hell bent for leather) and swooped up Little Miss Chubster and paddled off with lifejacket clad body in front of him.

Randall and I hid beside the van and laughed ourselves into tears. The other kids stood watching, horrified, lest anyone else should notice what was happening. Mark treaded water way out there somewhere with his youngest child in hand. Martina sang, "Old MacDonald had a fawm, eieioh..." and somewhere in there a few floaters popped up in the vicinity of my youngest kid and my old man.

God love them. I sat on a bucket, wiped away the tears and popped open a cold Newcastle. I'm the Mama but there are a few things I'm just not equipped to handle. Old MacDonald in the midst of a mountain lake being one of them.

Migrim

I got a migraine today. Had one last Wednesday, too. Is it Wednesdays? What's changed? I work on Wednesdays, maybe that's it. Is it stress? Seeing Elizabeth/Dad/Mark/Randall/Dad/Aunt Lucy/Billinda/Charles/Heath/Karen? (all relatives who work, as I do, in our family business). Have I developed a new food allergy?

Or...

Have I reached some hormonal threshold that has my estrogen failing and my progesterone diving? Could it be ... menopause?

Black Bean Chili

My niece has recently discovered that she has some severe food allergies. Eli, who we suspect may have some similar issues though previous testing (not very reliable) has shown none. The two girls have made a pact and are both cutting dairy, eggs and wheat (and other grains) from their diets.
This morning, Eli called and asked me to bring lunch to work. My mind spazzed out but then I did this:

Black Bean Chili
#1 hamburger (grass fed, local)

1 can organic black beans, drained and rinsed

6oz organic tomato paste

1 c organic crushed tomatoes

1 onion, diced

2 large cloves garlic, diced

2 carrots, diced

water, as needed

salt

pepper

1 Tbsp turkish cumin

cayenne pepper

red pepper flakes

fresh cilantro, chopped

Saute the burger until browning but with some pink left. Add onions and saute for a couple of minutes then toss in the garlic, carrot and cumin. Cook until onion is translucent. Add the tomato products, black beans and spices to taste. Simmer for 20-30 minutes so flavors blend. Serve with steamed rice and top with chopped cilantro.

Sorry, no photos, I'll add some next time. Just wanted to post this in case Billinda or Eli wants to use the recipe.

Where's the Beef?

Do you remember that old commercial? Who was it for, Wendy's? Two old women checking out a young male hottie and asking, 'Where's the beef." They wanted a hamburger... Anyway, we picked up our half of a locally grown, grass fed, grain supplemented steer last night. The hanging weight was #419 and we paid $2.50 per pound of that. Of course, the weight was greatly reduced in the butchering process but we are, nevertheless, quite satisfied with our cache of beef. We have been depriving ourselves of beef ever since Porterhouse made his last meal, quite a long time ago.

It is shocking to me that this wonderful farm family who raises these fat, happy cattle on large pastures full of green, waving grass, has a difficult time finding buyers for their cattle. Maybe it's freezer space or maybe it's the outlay of so much cash all at once but a sweeter deal on local, ethical, delicious meat just can't be found.

I understand that a lot of people don't eat meat. If you are one of them, then this, obviously, is not for you. But it is for us, for my family. It's our thing. It's also true that grass fed beef is better for us that commercially raised (feed lotted) beef. "Meat from grass-fed animals has two to four times more omega-3 fatty acids than meat from grain- fed animals." (From eatwild.com) It really does kind of make me crazy that our government has made it so difficult for me to buy the food I want from my neighbors. I mean, one swerve over this line or that and we are criminals. Just because we think about what we eat and have made the conscious (conscientious) decision to look at our food as something more than the easiest way to fill the void. I would be absolutely willing to let the government off the hook and take every inch of credit for my own food safety responsibilities if that would make it easier for me to find raw milk or help others gain access to this good beef.

Ah. Frustrations aside, it is so settling to me to be able to open that freezer and see that it is full. This makes me feel safe and happy and thankful.

Hoho! I found it. No hawt young man but those fabulous old ladies are there =)

Bear, looking for new digs

Last year we were offered Bear, a puppy with a heart condition. He was sure to would heal someone’s broken heart and my daughter, Elizabeth, had just come home after her first BIG breakup. Bear did his job well. He went to work with her every day and absorbed lots of loving attention. Then she was accepted at the university she wanted to attend and left home in January. Without Bear. Of course, we kept him because we're suckers and in spite of our concerns that we wouldn't be able to take the best care of him.

We have tried, hard, but just do not have the love that he needs and she can’t take him to school with her.

He is huge, black, beautiful and very sweet. He is great with other dogs and okay with cats but he is not so great with ducks. Martina, my 7 year old, occasionally ‘rides’ him.

Bear’s life expectancy is shorter than normal due to sub-aeortic stenosis and also because of his condition is not a very energetic doggie. If you need someone to jog with, he’s probably not your guy but if you’re looking for a foot warmer or something to lay in the crack under your door to keep the drafts out, he may be just perfect.
I don’t want to forget the healing heart part, either. He came to do a job and he is good at it. I’ve spoken with him and he’s calling for his new home where he can share his gift. Let me know if you hear him.

A Peek Behind the Curtain

What do you do in a typical day? Is an oft-asked question among homeschooling mothers. It is within my circle of friends anyway. In an effort to answer that question I'm going to lift the curtain on two days. One a very good, very productive day at the end of which I feel satisfied and a little cocky with my product. The other day will be what I think of an an off-day, a semi-failure to thrive day, a day at the end of which I feel like I should have done more but will still have whatever book I'm reading held near the end of my nose.

Good or Bad first? Hmmm.... I've always preferred to save the best for last so here we go, a bad day:

I wake up around 8:00 am and think: Shit! It's late! and then I clamber out of bed and make coffee, read my book, emails, blog posts and etc for an hour or two. Then I read some more. Around 11:00 I'll grab the kids and go outside to feed or I'll just send them to do it while I take a shower and start a load of laundry (which will sit in the machine until it sours because this is a low energy day). We have lunch. Leftovers probably. Then I read and play on the computer while the kids play video games or online. Sometimes Martina will come in and flop down in front of me and I fix her with a fragment of my scattered attention and tell her to play with her dog. Eventually supper time struggles along and I heat up some leftover soup, butter some rolls and tell everyone to come and eat. Mark came home at some point and I kissed him hello without looking up from my book. Maybe I've gotten Martina to come sit and read with me. Travis has been scarce all day because he knows he can fly under the radar and play X-box all day if he at least does his history school work.

Things are a bit... boring and mind numbing behind the curtain on these days.

On a good day I'll get up just after 7:00 am, make coffee, read my book and emails and blogs but then? I MOVE ON. I feed the animals, with the kid's help, and then we will garden for an hour or so before we come inside to play a game or read aloud. I make lunch and do the actual chopping and cooking for something delicious and lunch-like. After lunch we'll read and blog and check emails again and then I will have the children focus on school work. We always seem to find this easier to do in early afternoon than in the morning. For whatever reason I have to get the chores out of the way first. While the kids are occupied with work I will do housework and prep supper and these things all flow together beautifully: me chopping vegetables; Martina working on her math or handwriting; Travis doing school work on the computer; Jasmine on her back in the corner, making weird noises.

Once these things are all wrapped up and all of our chores are finished we'll maybe play a game or chat for a while. Then Mark comes home and we eat supper, Travis cleans up and we just chill for the rest of the evening.

Our days are not all like this. I work two days per week, so those days follow a different pattern but when we're at home, this is the basic outline. It's funny how much better I feel when I've had a productive day. I'd better get moving!

What We're Reading This Week

I'm reading The Fiery Cross by Diana Gabaldon. This series, the Outlander series, are the perfect summer reads. They are historically sound enough that I'm not constantly saying, "Now that ain't right!" They are interesting for those of us who want something light, yet thick, something with enough tension to hold us but not so much tension that we can't put it down and go to sleep at night. I think I will be sad when I'm finished with all of them...then again, maybe I'll just start over.
Martina and I are reading this Laura Ingalls Wilder classic. We have enjoyed all of her books except Farmer Boy. I liked that one, Martina...not so much.

On the Banks of Plum Creek is, like all of the Little House series, sweet, innocent and exciting. There is adventure and mystery all hung on the framework of a safe family life. Perfect for my 7 yo daughter.

We Drink Out of Jars

Yes, I mean that. I do not buy glasses for the consumption of liquids, I simply save jars and use those. They are glass, thick and hard to break. I don't feel bad when one gets chipped or broken. They are free *and* we are keeping something out of the landfill. What's not to love? Well...to be honest, we've had a few guests who have turned up their noses at first and that is a little bit embarrassing. Eventually though, they get thirsty and get over it.

What kind of jars do we save? We have our favorites, absolutely. Bon Maman jelly jars are number one on our list. They are actually attractive. Then there are the Green Mountain Gringo jars, large enough for a goodly amount of cold water on a hot day. Then there are the big jars, salsa and honey jars, which are used for outside activities like mowing grass or working on the lawn mower. We also have a few tiny jelly jars which (it suddenly occurs to me) would make excellent shot glasses.

Someday maybe I'll buy new, thin, glassware for drinking out of but for now I am happy with the way things are and those guests whose noses sought thinner air over our jars? I don't invite them back.

Why Is Everyone Afraid of the Police?

It has finally come clear to me. Police only interact with people in negative ways. Police are there to enforce the law and I understand and appreciate what they do in that respect...but do they have to be nasty when there's no criminal available? Could an officer maybe smile at a kid? Not in my experience.

Example: I'm taking the kids to the Virginia International Tatoo in Norfolk. We park and walk a few blocks, passing by about 8 police officers on the way. I smile and say, "Hi," to each of them. Most just ignore me, the one who makes eye contact just frowns and looks threatening.

My 7 year old daughter is terrified of police officers. I have tried telling her that they are the good guys. The police are here to help us when we need help. The police are here to enforce the laws. I tell her: You know our friends X and Y? They are both police officers. This does not help at all. X is great and funny, Y is grumpy and fractious. They cancel each other out.

Example: When I was 7 months pregnant I called the police to help because 2 Rottweilers were attacking and apparently killing my goat and my pony. After waiting for the police to show and suspecting they wouldn't (not a rarity as they often did not respond to calls such as this) my husband grabbed his pistol and headed for the barn. The police showed up, disarmed my husband and held us while they 'rescued' the dogs who continued to attack my livestock for the duration. After about 20 minutes I said I'm going to get my cell phone and call the vet. I started for the truck where my cell phone was. The police officer pulled his gun and held me at gunpoint until the other officer caught the dogs and Animal Control arrived to put them into a truck. I was not allowed to check my animals nor was I allowed to call the vet. Absolutely no consideration was given by those officers for my livestock, for my (very pregnant) self, or my husband. We were treated like criminals, despite having called to ask for their assistance. Eventually their Sgt. appeared, saw that we were being held at gunpoint and apologized profusely for the lack of professional behavior and ran the two officers off our property.

This was terrifying to me. I was PREGNANT and held at gunpoint for the crime of hoping to save the life of my goat.

I think that police officers need to do a bit of PR work. Okay, a LOT of PR work in order that normal people, people who do not commit crimes beyond speeding a little or drinking beer on the front porch, might actually trust them a little. It's not by chance that so many of us feel as though the officers we admire from afar are really freaking scary when we have to interact with them in person. Even if it's only to say, "Hi."

The Best Birthday Ever

Yesterday was my 45th birthday. Honestly I almost forgot about it and had planned to meet my friend, T, for sushi until Mark informed me that my family required my presence on that particular evening. I rescheduled the sushi date and tried hard not to listen to the flurry of planning that was happening in whispers in various locations throughout my home and workplace. All very sweet and flattering.

The day began with a leisurely morning and a precious, handwritten card from Martina. Late morning had Travis, Martina and I driving to the shipyard for a little while and then lunching with Mark and the other kids...and my father, sister, cousin and step-mom at Frankie's Place. We were sitting at 3 different booths but that didn't matter. It was great seeing everyone. BUT just after ordering my vision began closing in and I had to stumble outside and lean against the wall and breathe some fresh air. My vision got to where it was about like looking through an oil funnel when Mark came out and fetched me some Excedrin Migraine. Maybe it helped. I haven't had a migraine in a while and usually I brew up a pot of lemon balm tea and lay down. Didn't have that option this time. The headaches are generally due to stress, hormones or dehydration and to be honest, all three were in play yesterday. Which sucked. But I put my head on Mark's shoulder until our food came, then I ate lunch and went to Randall's house and put my feet up on his remarkably soft couch until I could see properly.

All this time Martina, love bunny extraordinaire was bouncing around trying her best to make it a perfect and lovely birthday. How could it not be with all the attention? So we went to the pool and I watched her swim with her cousin R, for about an hour. At the pool I had a nice visit with R's dad, Jeff who loaded an unfinished corn hole set into the back of my van! AWESOME. He didn't know it was my birthday, I think he actually made them for Mark which was sweet. I'm excited to finish them and play.

Mark came home with a bag of blue crabs, took them out back and 'popped the tops'. My brother and sister-in-law called. Travis got the pot set up for steaming the crabs. Around 6 p.m. Aleia came in the back door. She took the night off work to come hang out. She brought charcoal, a card and roses. A short time later Randall, Elizabeth and Missy came in another door bearing steaks, rosemary-garlic roasted potatoes and peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream. And birthday cards. Travis had already made salad and some salsa-cheese dip. Mark and the kids cooked, we all hung out and chatted. The younger kids played Rock Band, like always, one of the sounds of happiness in my life.

L-R: Mark, Missy, Randall, Travis, Aleia, Martina, Elizabeth

By 9 p.m. the kids had all gone back to their respective homes and I was tucking Martina in to the first chapter of On the Banks of Plum Creek.

It was about as perfect a day as happens in this life. Oh! My step-mom sent a gift and a card with Elizabeth. For me, though, the best gift of all is having my whole family together for a while. My cup runneth over.

More Cats than Cash

This is what happens when...

you have 2 female cats, no money and PETA won't return your calls...

Gizmo, mama of all blacks and the short haired gray.

PJ, mama of the fluffy ones and the lovely tabby.

The two mamas are litter mates and while Giz had her babies on our back porch, PJ chose to deliver under our neighbor's shed. Her kittens were destined to be feral and we had to wait for them to become mobile before we could get our paws (heh) on them. They are being handled as often as possible and are still young enough that it will have an effect.

We now have 8 cats that we want and 8 kittens who are in need of homes. They are very lovely. There is one little black one with white eye brows! He looks kind of like an owl. There are calicos and steel grays, a tabby and several blacks. All looking for a place to be loved.

Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook. What's the point?

This morning I went online and deleted my Twitter and Tumblr accounts. After giving both the good old college try, I have to admit that I do not see the point of either. Maybe I just lack the drive to click and click and click. Perhaps it's my age (45 tomorrow!). I suppose that it could be my seemingly slow brain waves that find no pleasure in massive information reception, those small and irrelevant sips that don't quench my thirst or even aggravate one. Give me a nice thick book for information. Besides, I just feel like pecking out my every thought and recording it on the internet is a little bit weird. I don't much care for reading other people's either.

No, I won't miss Twitter and I certainly won't miss Tumblr. I haven't deleted that damned Facebook account though. In a world where most of my time is spent catering to the needs and demands of others, Facebook is all about me and I kind of like that. Each quiz that tells me what imaginary creature I am or who I was in a former life is an unabashed, harmless me-fest. Of course they're all bullshit and it doesn't matter at all. What matters is my happiness at the chance to be utterly self-absorbed for just a few minutes each day.

However, there may come a day when I delete the Facebook acccount, too. Social networking? That's something you do at parties, after work happy hours and The Town Pointe Club, not while you're wearing underpants and swilling Scotch at 2am in your living room. I like real, breathing people, warm bodies, and the ability to touch and gesture when we interact which leads to admitting that I often dislike the cold impersonality of plain text and the inability of said text to convey any real emotion as well as a person-to-person interaction. There are times when this emotional distance is a saving grace but in my mediocre, daily interactions I find a conversation with a friend I can make eye-contact with...un-Facebookable.

Sibling Worship

Martina, 7, is so lucky, so blessed, to have 4 older siblings to learn from, to pester, to worship. Each of her older sibs brings something fantastic and unique to the life-experience mix for their youngest sister.

Travis, 17, is here. He is here, in her life every day. He reads Greek myths, helps her scrub the dirty water buckets for the chickens, takes her for walks, and set off fire crackers for her viewing pleasure. He is the one she kisses goodnight, every night. Travis cooks her breakfast. Even at 7 she seems to realize that he is one who shows up...and he is. He babysits her when I work. He loves her in the gentle, even-tempered, horribly important way that every little girl needs and which effects her every relationship with men. Forever.

(I promise to take some photos of these two together this weekend and post them ASAP!)

Aleia, 18, is the littlest big sister. She's little in almost every way. Aleia is a tiny little gal who is also quiet of voice, quiet of action and quiet of spirit. She is the girl who sits in the floor and plays dollhouse endlessly with her little sister. She, somehow, has the endurance to take orders and roll play and participate in long hours of imaginary play with Martina without breaking. Not being one of those who can do that, I tell you that I am immensely happy that my youngest child has someone who can. (This is why there are no pictures. I'm so relieved to be relieved of my duties that I go hide when Aleia is with Martina.)

Eli, 20, the biggest big sister...not that she's big. Compared to Aleia she is, but compared to a normal human she's just about perfect. She was in the room when Martina was born.

Eli is the Pied Piper of Children. Wherever she goes, if there are small children, they circle around and bounce and sing and participate in her zany games. She is loud. She is rowdy. She is babysitter who wears your children out so that they sleep through your hangover the next day. For her little sis, she is the girl who plays crazy, who calls and takes her on dates on the day-of movie premieres. Elizabeth is the one who remembers birthdays and birthday wishes, who covers her big, big heart with her big, big mouth. But we know her game and we love her for it.

Randall, 22, biggest big brother. He is the one I refer to as Martina's companion bookend because they are the two on the ends, propping everyone else up in the middle. Randall is the only one of the kids who does not put up with his little sister's mess. If she licks his face, he licks her face right back. If she is in the mood to kick shins, so is he. Randall is also the hero who Martina knows she can call out for if she's in trouble, like Miss Polly calls Underdog. He will save her. He is big and strong and almighty. Randall carries her up mountains and poses her like a statue on ancient monuments and holds her hand to keep her safe.

I know one lucky little girl who has four older siblings. Her name is Martina.

What My Children and I are Reading, Weekly Meme

The Well Read Child Blog is doing this as a weekly meme and it seems like a fun idea. I love seeing what everyone else is reading.
This week our read aloud is Misty of Chincoteague. We are on the last bit and will start something else tomorrow. Reading this book fits in well with our Pony Camp. We will probably move on to another Marguerite Henry book when Misty is finished. Maybe Sea Star.

Misty of Chincoteague is the story of Paul and Maureen Beebe, two children who live with their grandparents on Chincoteague. The book tells of their love affair with the Phantom, a wild mare who comes to the Pony Penning with a new born foal. It's sweet, old fashioned and innocent. I love those qualities in this world full and angst and sarcasm. It's also a pretty good read-aloud, something I struggle to find.

Martina is reading The Bobbsey Twins on a Houseboat. I have no idea what this book is about and feel no compulsion to preread Bobbsey Twins books. I know they are innocent and safe for a 7 year old to read. I'm sure there is some 1950's style sexism and I don't mind it at all. There are no cuss words and the kids have manners. Important stuff.

Travis is reading The Timaios by Plato. I cannot find an image of this tome online but it's not too exciting to look at. It's probably not too exciting to read either but it *is* dense, difficult and fascinating. Honestly, he is spending more time playing X-box than reading but he does read a bit every day and I am impressed enough by the subject matter to leave it go for now. It is July 4th weekend, after all.