Lost and Found

When I travel I like to buy souvenirs that I will use on a regular basis. I like things that remind me of the places I have been, yet have a function.

As a result of my peripatetic life, I have a stack of thick wool blankets from Guatemala, hand carved wooden spoons from Latvia, and table linens from Romania. I also have a pair of prized woolen mittens from Estonia.

The Estonians, they know cold. They also know their sheep and how to spin a thick, soft wool unlike any I have ever found anywhere else in the world. On a trip to Tallinn way back in the winter of 2005, I bought a pair of double lined wool gray mittens at an outdoor market . They sustained me through -30 Fahrenheit weather in Riga and weeks of snow in Bucharest.

Last Friday I emerged from the metro and my regular "it's Friday and I really need something to get me going" trip to Starbucks. (This rationale actually works quite well for every day of the week.) I reached into my purse to put on my mittens and only found one.

You know that child's poem about the three little kittens? Well, I spent the rest of the weekend meowing and searching for my lost mitten. It was ridiculous really, a small unimportant thing in the grand scale of things. But since I have had children I feel like I have lost entire continents without knowing. And that really irks me.

And thinking back to that now long ago trip to Estonia, I remembered driving back from Tallinn with my husband, in the no-man's-land on the border between Estonia and Latvia. It was there, on a long gray road tended by surly border guards that I came to the decision that I was ready to become a mother. Why there, I don't know. Maybe the car trip was just too uneventful with just two adults. But after that trip we decided to have a baby and I had Miss Bee and the mittens were somehow inextricably wrapped up in all that.

But then I found the missing mitten today, in the restroom at work. Miraculously, or maybe not so miraculously, the cleaning crew did not throw it away over the weekend, and some helpful person placed it right on the mirror where I would find it. And I am embarrassed to admit that I rejoiced.

It is the little things, you know? A lost mitten found; a handmade card from my daughter; a dinner alone with my husband . . . There are just so many small joys in life that are too easily overlooked.

Weekend Escape

This is where I spent yesterday afternoon:


As a Christmas gift, my in-laws got us a night away at a bed and breakfast in Maryland called Antrim 1844.

It has been two years since we have gone away by ourselves. The last time was to the ice hotel where there was no roaring fire to warm my toes, only the ominous threat of hypothermia.

This was much, much, better.

Two heartbeats

Cheeks McGoo is growing up and I can hardly stand it. My little precious baby, the daughter who at this time last year was cleaved to my body at least 15 hours a day, that little baby is now driving a car. And it's a red one. And she will periodically attempt to stand on top of it, just to show me that she can.

Thank goodness the car in question is only a small ride on toy as opposed to our family station wagon. If her legs were long enough, I'm certain that she would commandeer that one as well.

McGoo went from crawling and taking just a few tentative steps to reeling around the living room like a wild drunken sailor in the space of a week. Turn your back from 15 seconds, and she will try her best to climb the stairs. If I sit her down in the middle of my bed, she races to the edge, peers over, and . . . laughs.

I don't know what to make of her daring behavior. Miss Bee was a cautious toddler, and I hovered over her in the way that most first time parents do, waiting to steady any potential wobble.

I am not a daring person. I think I have done exactly one daring thing in my life--cliff jumping at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. I wanted to impress my husband, so after he had taken the plunge, and a number of our other acquaintances had done so as well, I scrambled up the rough-hewn trail at the edge of the cliff.

Climbing barefoot over the sharp rocks and spiny weeds was a struggle. At the precipice, at the literal edge of sheer rock and nothingness, I looked down and saw the water sparkling almost 30 feet below. I made the decision then and there that I wasn't going to jump, and that I would try to go back down the way I had come.

But then, I looked down at my legs, and realized they were covered, just covered, in a swarm mosquitos and other biting insects. So I stepped out. I remembered to take a big step forward, away from the edge, as opposed to merely jumping into the air. (Jumping didn't get you enough distance away from the rocks.)

It was two heartbeats from the cliff to the water.

I closed my eyes as I fell. In doing so, I made a crucial mistake. When I closed my eyes, I tipped my head back and my whole body landed in the water as if I were sitting in an office chair. Feet, thighs and bottom. (I still flinch when I think the sound I made entering the water.) My dear husband swum over to rescue me; I was in complete shock.

The next day, the price of my daring would be revealed, in dark purple bruises from my heels to my back. Even the spaces between my fingers were not spared. I watched in fascination over the course of a week and a half as the bruises slowly faded from purple, to green, to yellow.

Someday McGoo and Bee will take their own big leaps, but hopefully not from a mosquito infested cliff-side in Guatemala. I am savoring these early years before independence.

My daughters, they fill the space between my heartbeats. I don't know how I can ever let them go.

Morning commute

Riding the escalator up to the metro platform this morning, I found myself trapped behind two over-large business men in suits. They were talking loudly and not paying attention to the fact that they had completely blocked the stair. As we reached the top, the train was on the platform, doors closing. The first man said, "Hey that's our train!"

(Yeah genius, it sure was.)

The other man laughed for far longer than was necessary.

I'm glad they thought it was funny. I didn't. Spent the next short eternity stamping my feet and blowing my breath, shivering on the frozen platform.

I was actually glad to get to work this morning.

Thundersnow

Boy did we ever have a snowstorm this afternoon, emphasis on the storm, to include the very rare combination of swirling white flakes plus thunder and lightening. That's kinda like the Easter bunny showing up on Christmas eve, if you ask me.

The good thing about thundersnow is that my office closed two hours early and I enjoyed a long evening with my girls and dear husband.

Miss Bee was beside herself with excitement at the snow and the prospect of a snow day tomorrow.

Dear husband made her hot chocolate for dessert and threw in a giant handful of mini marshmallows which caused no end of excitement. Every time she ate a marshmallow she counted how many remained. It was a good exercise in subtraction.

The wintry weather continues outside and our lights are flickering. I am off to say a little prayer that our power stays on.

Kasvispiirakka

Yes, we managed to cook something for dinner tonight that I can't pronounce. Kasvispiirakka is Finnish for vegetarian pie. Another possible English translation: scrumptious.

For this dish you start by mixing a pie crust with lots of butter and sour cream. While the crust is chilling you shred 6 cups of winter vegetables. We used leeks, carrots, turnips, cabbage and parsnips. (I don't know that I would attempt this much shredding without a food processor.)

Then you cook the vegetables in more butter on very high heat. You mix in cooked rice and cheese and then assemble the pie and weave a lattice top. Brush the whole assembled pie with an egg wash and that pie dough will puff and flake like crazy.

Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes and you have the perfect winter comfort food. Clearly the Finns have experience with this sort of thing.

Want to make it? I'm too lazy to write the whole recipe out but I think this link will take you to the recipe.

Hyvää ruokahalua!

Homemade popcorn

The other night I convinced dear husband to make popcorn in a cast iron pan. From my nest of wool blankets in the family room, I could hear the first kernels popping and then the pan shaking over the stove.

Once I heard the popping stop, I shuffled downstairs and found my usual bowl.

I like popcorn with all kinds of different things, particularly m and m candies and sea salt. However, if you want a real gourmet combination try adding melted butter, sea salt, herbes de provence, and shaved Parmesan cheese.

Yum.

365

Some people celebrate 100 posts, or the anniversary of starting a blog, but I haven't ever really kept track of that sort of things. There are some months when I am bursting with things to write about, and whole seasons when life gets in the way. However, I just noticed though that this post is post number 365. Woohoo! Happy "as many blogs as there are days in the year" to me!

I'm a bit slow it seems, as my 365 posts are spread over the course of three years. The blogs that I like to read on a daily basis are updated frequently, Pioneer Woman seems to have new photos up every day. Smitten Kitchen tries out several new recipes each week.

There is an interesting article on Slate.com about Mormon mommy bloggers and why so many non-Mormons (including myself) like to read them. Indeed, several of the blogs I read regularly--Nienie Diaries and Reagan's Blob, are Mormon, but really also enjoy two Catholic authors--Sister Mary Martha and By Sun and Candlelight. Two of my very favorite blogs, littlebrownpen and The Wednesday Chef, espouse no religion at all. Some of the above blogs are super popular, others have a smaller readership, but all have a strong narrative voice that opens a window into another life. They keep me coming back. Which I hope you'll continue to do here as well.

Makes me wonder

I have been taking advantage of the long weekend to get my home life in order. That means I picked up the clutter, washed the clothes, cleaned the house and baked the bread.

Anyone who has children will know that toys have an tendency to creep out of their allotted containers and drawers and spread themselves around like butter on toast. In other words, everywhere.

I have been trying to convince Miss Bee to explain to me why I found her winter hat filled with her alphabet puzzle hidden in the corner of her room, but she won't talk.

For one brief shining day (tomorrow) my house will be the way I like it. Once we start back to work, the school papers and mail and shoes and coats will overwhelm the entry way; the laundry pile will grow perilously tall; and the dust bunnies will dance all over my parquet.

The best part

about being married is that my husband spoils me.

He knows that I hate to walk the dog when it's cold outside so he does it without complaint.

Since he is painfully aware that I am not a morning person so he leaps out of bed when Cheeks wakes up and changes the first diaper of the day.

He makes me popcorn in his beloved cast iron pan and pancakes on the weekend.

He encourages my hobbies, from baking bread to teaching Sunday school.

And when life gets a little too crazy, he knows how to calm it all down.

Zulily.com

It's a good thing I have a forgiving husband. One of the little pleasures of my day is receiving an email from zulily.com. It's a daily sale with deeply discounted children's clothes, shoes and toys. They also occasionally sell art for children's rooms, stationery, car seats, and strollers. Usually I take a quick look and then hit delete. But not yesterday . . .

I wanted a new stroller when Cheeks McGoo was born. I really did. I wanted a certain Quinny Buzz 4 stroller. But it was too expensive. Plus, I already had a stroller--a Quinny Speedi. I bought it before Bee was born and can you believe that I practiced pushing it around my apartment? (Note to future parents, you don't need to practice pushing the stroller, it generally comes naturally). That same stroller has lasted for 4 years, three countries and it still works fine, just a bit battered from being gate checked before numerous transatlantic flights.

So, The Speedi is great, but it's built like a tank. I tried commuting to work with Cheeks in it exactly once and immediately realized it's too big for the metro, especially with the crowds. It's built for navigating the wild streets of Eastern Europe. I have been carrying Cheeks in the Ergo, but we would both like a little personal space when we are feeling grumpy on the evening metro ride home. So I need to start taking her in a stroller again.

Well, would you believe that yesterday the exact stroller that I wanted was on sale on zulily.com at 50% off? It was still way too expensive, but only half as expensive as a full price one. Is that a good argument? Probably not. Like I said, it's a good thing my husband is understanding.

Regardless, I think I might have exhausted all my impulse buying credits for 2011. I cannot wait to to bundle up Cheeks and take her for a ride, though.

And a Happy New Year

Ohhh Christmas is over. So is my vacation. All the decorations have been put away except for my Lladro creche (which I would leave out year round if I didn't fear it would meet with a toddler/preschooler mishap). There are a few stray candy canes and a freezer full of Christmas chocolates.

I have been thinking a lot about this time last year, when I had a new baby who nursed constantly, and endured wild hourly hormone swings (my poor dear husband).

Last January sleep was elusive, Miss Bee was far less self sufficient than she is now, and I felt strongly that sweatpants were the perfect wardrobe choice. Now the kids go to bed at the same time each night (sweet miracle of miracles), Miss Bee can write her letters, and I have even more wonderful pairs of sweatpants. Unfortunately they aren't really de rigueur at my workplace and so I forced to wear skirts and suit pants.

This year, I haven't made any resolutions. I don't have any wild ambitions. All I want is for my family to stay healthy and for Cheeks to stop waking up at 4 am every blessed morning. I officially declare 2011 the year of the homebody.