Haircuts Happen

I usually take on the haircuts in our household.  I am attached to the idea for numerous reasons:  It saves gillions of trips to the haircut place.  It saves money.  And it can be a sweet ritual at home.  

But recently, the haircut did not go so well.  I saw that it was not working, but did not immediately react...  I was sure I could just hold the trimmer differently, or hold his hair differently and make it right.  It took me a while to realize I'd forgotten to attach an essential part, without which the result is skinhead.  Sweet John sat there so innocently, looking out the window.  Clueless.  

I imagine two opposing motherly states of mind.  One is hyper-aware, alert to everything.  Sometimes painfully aware.  Reacting in a split second.  The other is a blindly persistent view, determined to forge forward, even through a sea of obstacles.  Next time, I'll be sure I'm in that first state before I pick up the trimmer.  We did get to enjoy some nice "Flock of Seagull" video comparisons out of the deal.

Ritual: Valentine Dates

We have a family Valentine ritual.  The girls go to dinner and a dance with their Dad.  I take the boys to dinner.  The dance reviews were good this year.  (In years past, it tended to overwhelm.)  And the boy dinner did not disappoint.  Honestly, the dreaminess of the night was almost formulaic:

1.   Throw quasi-fancy clothes on everyone.  Maybe even a clip tie on a toddler.

2.   Go to dinner so early that you are the only ones there.

3.   Go somewhere that has (paper) white table cloths.
4.   Add crayons for color.

5.   Sit by a window that features the cold, busy city lights outside.
6.   Drink a glass of wine.

7.   Stare into rows of shimmering water glasses.

8.   Eat delicious crepes with lots of gruyere cheese.

9.   Share a first sip of coffee with the 10-year-old.
10. Eat more crepes, this time with chocolate.

Granted, this formula is often mired in whining or tantrums or clothes discomfort or some sort of desperation, so sometimes that shining water glass is just off the radar screen.  But, on this night, I got lucky with my charming Valentines.

This is a napkin heart.

Valentines

This year, Valentines Day brought the usual welcome splash of color.  The holiday's pinks and reds always land so fittingly on the winter scene.  

We made various momentos in our household - bookmarks for friends, hearts for teachers, cards for grandparents, and a banner with alternating hearts and "I love" messages.  

The "I love" messages were written with sincerity.  "I love pi."  "I love puppies."  "I love dad."  Then pop culture entered in, thanks to the latest "The Diary of a Wimpy Kid" movie.  In one scene, a family plus a friend sit around a circle table and play "I love you because."  It sounds quite sweet, though it is really an avenue for comedy.  Examples from the movie included: "I love you because... you keep my body clean" or "I love you because..." (silence, look up searchingly).  So, our family took to this routine quickly.

All this, and we haven't even hit the teenage years.  But, I do still love Valentines Day.  In whatever form, love is in the air.

Favorites: Bat Toy

Sometimes the "it" toy baffles me.  Lately, John is particularly taken by black felt cut-outs that we call bats.  He has been playing with them since Halloween.  I don't draw conclusions about intelligence when contemplating toy preferences.  I actually enjoy flapping the wings around myself and playing mama bat.  It certainly captures an era.

This is How We Cook

I have a friend who recently made some amazing sweet potato crepes.  It rivaled my first taste of a chocolate crepe on the streets of Paris years ago, when I proceeded to stuff jars of Nutella into my suitcase home, only to find it stacked on the shelves at Safeway.

This time around, I thought I'd attempt to share such goodness with my family.  So, the procession began:

• On Thursday night, I gathered obscure groceries, like Farmer's Cheese.
• On Sunday, I went back to the store to get whole milk.
• On Wednesday, I baked four potatoes.
• On Thursday, I blended up crepe mix.
• On Friday, Jeff brought more home eggs.  I lacked one.  (I accidentally composted my last yolk instead of the whites as called for in the recipe.  I was double-tasking, cooking and talking to my sister on the phone.)
• On Saturday, I made crepes.

When I woke, the sun was shining so beautifully onto my cutting board, it cried out for some creation.  Similarly, John was crying out for food.  I figured I'd be fast.  After all, those cooked potatoes and the crepe concoction were patiently sitting right in the refrigerator, in bowls topped with plates as they had been for days.

However, John and the others' stomachs were not quite so patient.  Multi-step breakfasts sometimes don't do the trick.  Everyone persevered, sort of.  Will bided the time doing math:  how can 13 crepes  be split between 6 people with differing preferences.  He was ultimately my biggest fan, claiming they rivaled our Valentines Day crepe dinner. (Another story.)

The leftover filling still sits in my refrigerator, this time in actual tupperware.  I'm just waiting for sunshine to inspire.

PS - The recipe for "Jacob's Blintzes" is in Deb Perelman's inspiring cookbook, The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook.

10 Feet of Beautiful

As an antidote to my 10 Minutes of Beautiful with John, we have recently been sharing about 10 feet of beautiful.  We drive into the snowy mountains and park beside one of my absolute favorite kid trails, summer or winter.  Just being there, breathing in the forest, taking in the quiet, it is worth the drive.  

Then, the kinetics begin.  John and I spend about an hour in and around the car, "gearing up."  This includes:

• going to the bathroom, somewhere in the snow
• having a snack
• putting on a snow suit
• putting on a hat
• putting on gloves
• putting on wool socks
• taking off a snow suit
• taking off a hat
• taking off gloves
• taking off wool socks
• repeat all the above to infinity

After an hour, we stumble out of the car.  We take another half hour to fastens boots and skis to our feet.   I am generally in a state of both surrender and aggression.  I surrender that it is a John-led winter event.  Yet, on the whole, I shaped our day.  I brought him to this place.  I initiated this activity, even imposed it on him.   And amidst my patience with his pace, I am aggressive about my singular goal to make it onto the trail with skis.  

And that is what we do.  We make it out of the car.  We "ski" about 10 feet.  It takes a good long time.  I am in heaven.  John seems to be proud of himself.  Then we turn around, get in the car, and reward ourselves with hot chocolate.

Leaving, I think of Robert Frost, from "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening":  

          The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, 

          But I have promises to keep, 

          And miles to go before I sleep, 

          And miles to go before I sleep.

I did get my piece of the lovely, dark, deep woods, but am honestly happy to turn to the view of little / big eyes peeking over a cup.

Advent

I feel a bit proud of our advent tradition.  Well, we've (not quite) done it all of two years.  Beginning on December 1st, we alternate between "giving" and "getting."  Some of the "gives" included: 

• write a gratitude letter to someone you admire
• make peanut butter pine cones for the birds
• make bread for the local homeless shelter
• deliver neighbor gifts
• send presents to cousins
• draw pictures and deliver them to the senior center nearby
• give a gift to Melody the children's librarian during storytime
• make something for your teachers
• make something for your friends
• make end-of-the year donations

The "gets" were things like pencils, candy-cane pipe cleaners, a holiday book, gum, and mints.

The humble part of it all, however, is that I couldn't really pull it off.  I thought that we'd stretch them out and then on Christmas Eve, we'd just make sure we'd covered everything.  But, that didn't happen either.  

So, the kids will either remember the goal of giving, or quite honestly, until they're 25, they'll probably just carry an overall disorganized impression of their mother.  

Right now, I'm ok with good intentions.