Penny Lane Productions

Happy Valentine's Day!

2012-02-13T19:11:00.000-08:00

Tea Party

2012-01-18T18:08:00.000-08:00

Monday holiday tea party. The girls decked out in their fanciest necklaces. Pudgy hands gently clutching delicate tea cups. Fancy napkins. Mini sandwiches with the crusts cut off--peanut butter and jelly ones and salmon with cream cheese. Hot chocolate with marshmallows for dipping. Giggles. Sisters being sisters. Moments like these are for keeping.

Weekly church foibles

2012-01-15T11:24:00.000-08:00

We were late to church this morning. Embarrassingly so. Cheeks McGoo was having none of the whole sit nicely and be quiet thing, so Dear Husband and I took turns standing with her in the entryway. Catholics call this part of the church the narthex. Crazy word, huh? Fortunately, there are lots of families at the church we attend and so there are usually a bunch of stray parents and kids hanging out in the entryway.

I stayed in the church with Bee for the second half of the Mass. I saw my Husband and Cheeks at the end of the very long line going up to communion. Cheeks looked particularly animated. I shrunk down in my seat and watched warily.

Cheeks had decided that all the people in line for communion looked much like a line of people waiting for a bus. (She has a particular affinity for buses.) "Bus! Bus! Bus!" she called. My husband whispered to her, "We're not getting on a bus, but communion is kind of like a bus to God." Well, that did it. For the rest of the Mass Miss Cheeks was calling out for the bus, her bus, any bus so that we could please get on board. Yep, we're that family.

We told the priest after church and he laughed and laughed. Heaven help us.

Snow!

2012-01-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

No real accumulation today, but big fat flakes drifted by my window all afternoon. At one point I thought I might just stop working and curl up by the window with a cup of tea in had, but decided that perhaps wouldn't go over so well with the boss.

I did make hot chocolate though. And tonight I am going to dream of a future snow day at home with the girls.

Following yonder star

2012-01-08T18:31:00.000-08:00

This weekend we celebrated Epiphany. Miss Bee was so excited to sing "We Three Kings" at church this morning and follow along in her eponymous book.

We had pumpkin soup for dinner and Irish brown bread and I baked an almond galette for a special dessert.

While dear husband finished the soup, the girls made paper crowns in honor of those intrepid kings. I was feeling very domestic and happily sat with them as they decorated their crowns with minimal squabbling.

Dinner was less successful. Both the girls wanted to wear their crowns while they ate. Miss Bee's crown was too small for her head, and so she ate with one hand on her head and the other clutching her soup spoon. Cheeks' crown was too big, and it kept slipping down over her eyes and falling off, which caused a considerable amount of drama.

Cheeks refused to nap this afternoon and so was overtired at dinner. She refused the soup, ignored the bread, and pretty much just ate grapes. We put her to bed before dessert. Miss Bee, on the other hand, had seconds of everything.

Despite this evening's mixed success, I hope 2012 can be a year where we bring faith home to the girls. Whether it's celebrating a feast day, praying as a family, or just encouraging kindness, I hope that this year we can walk alongside those three wise men.

How I spent my vacation

2012-01-04T18:27:00.001-08:00

I discovered that my local library now has downloadable ebooks that work with the Kindle app. For me, this is the equivalent of putting a steady supply of drugs next to an addict. I have been in ebook heaven this past month.

When I first got an iPad, I didn't think that I would use it much for reading, but I wrong. It's just the right size to prop up in bed and you can read it one handed on the metro. Now that Cheeks is going to school with her sister, we don't have to haul stroller downtown in the morning. I really miss the extra time with my littlest one, but I am also a bit giddy to have a hands-free commute.

So--a few good books to download and a few you can skip:

Religion--

"An Unquenchable Thirst" by Mary Johnson: a biography of Johnson's time spent as a nun in Mother Teresa's order. Boy, does she ever tell all. It's a brave book.

"In the Land of Invisible Women" by Qanta Ahmed: I wanted to know more about what it was like to live as a western woman in Saudi Arabia, and Ahmed's narrative of her time as a Muslim doctor in the Kingdom was an interesting read.

Fiction--

"Winter Sea" by Susanna Kearsley: I devoured this book. Loved it. Loved the fact that it was a curl up, dive in, flat out escape novel. I enjoyed it so much I went right ahead and read "The Rose Garden," also by Kearsley immediately afterward. It was also very good.

"Blue Nights" by Joan Didion: I don't want to like Didion's narrative style, but I can't help myself, I do. If you read "The Year of Magical Thinking," it's just like that, and just as good.

"The Story Sisters" by Alice Hoffman: One crazy sister, one good sister, much angst. Three stars?

"The Lace Reader" by Brunonia Barry: Set in Salem, but not your traditional witch tale--the protagonist uses lace to read the future. A wee bit too much drama for me to recommend this one.

"The Buddha in the Attic" by Julie Otsuka: This book was written entirely in plural voice. It was lyrical for the first half of the book, but became annoying by the end. We do not recommend.

"The Scottish Prisoner" by Diana Gabaldon: More Jamie for those of use who love the Outlander series. And more Jamie is never a bad thing.

Non Fiction--

"In Siberia" by Colin Thubron: Reads just how one might expect a travel novel on Siberia to go: lots of trains, cold weather, communist references, and vodka.

"Medium Raw" by Anthony Bourdain: I'm not the biggest fan of his travel shows, but, despite his potty mouth, Bourdain is a good writer, and a true good food devotee.

WWII--

"Where the Birds Never Sing" by Jack Sacco: Partially about the liberation of Dachau, but mostly about an American GI's experience in WWII.

"The Heavens are Empty" by Avrom Ben David-Val: All about the lost Jewish town of Trochenbrod, destroyed in WWII by the Nazis. Not as compelling as "The Lost" by Daniel Mendelsohn. (This book makes you sad, whereas Medelsohn utterly and completely breaks your heart and makes you resolve to be a better person.)

"Lost in Shangri-La" by Mitchell Zuckoff: Just change one letter of the author's name and oh my goodness you are in trouble! This book is an amazing true adventure set in the wilds of Papua New Guinea. It's not as good as the book "Unbroken" but definitely worth a read if you like narrative non-fiction.

New Years Resolution

2012-01-03T18:44:00.001-08:00

Go to bed earlier.

This one really might be overly ambitious, folks.

Wishing you a sweet 2012

2012-01-01T18:30:00.000-08:00

My much labored over Buche du Noel from Christmas Eve with "12 Days of Christmas" peperkakor cookies, sugar cookies, spritz cookies, with a set of french macarons thrown in for good measure. Oh, and some chocolate fudge and chocolate covered vanilla cardamom cakes to finish everyone off. Let's just say I find baking to be cheaper than therapy.

I'm not particularly good at making or keeping resolutions. Year before last I resolved to try 50 new recipes. I think I made it somewhere into the high thirties before I stopped keeping track. Another year I resolved to learn to bake bread, and succeeded at that, much to my family's great happiness. I also once decided to read 50 books within a year, which was less of a resolution and more of a pleasure.

I haven't decided what I will resolve to do this year, but 2012 brings a lot of excitement all on its own: I am looking forward to meeting two new nieces/nephews before winter is done. In the spring, we are heading off on a long-anticipated Disney cruise. In the summer, I'll switch to a new position at work. Bee will start kindergarten in the fall. This boggles my mind. And in December, Dear Husband and I will be married a full decade.

I'm looking forward to this year's adventures, praying for strength to meet the challenges, and am optimistic that, if nothing else, there is a very high likelihood that Cheeks will be potty-trained before the year is done. Praise the Lord!

Wishing you all a very happy New Year.

Christmastime is here

2011-12-22T06:36:00.000-08:00

This year, both girls are finally old enough to get into the Christmas spirit. Every morning a mad dash ensues to check for treats inside their Advent calendar and to see what mischief the Nisse (Danish elves) have been up to during the night. Happiness. Cheer. A week's vacation.

My house is decorated and I have baked enough cookies for a hungry army of family members. It is officially Christmas time.

The Nisse are very naughty and have gotten into all kind of trouble. Every morning they can be found somewhere different in the house.

The girls scold them for their bad behavior, which is adorable. Their enthusiasm for Christmas magic is contagious.

At the start of the Advent season, the Nisse brought a Playmobil Weihnachtsmarkt, which has been a family favorite. Don't tell anyone, But I quite enjoy putting the market to rights after the girls have gone to bed.

Miss Bee has become quite the baking expert, and has gone from making messes in the kitchen to becoming an amazing baker in her own right. The gingerbread cake, for the occasion of Cheek's second birthday, was my own special masterpiece.

If they're not in the kitchen helping me, you can find the girls curled up in their book nook, which I have managed to fill with an embarrassing amount of Christmas books. We are reading a nightly advent story, which has become a yearly tradition, as well as a book of special Advent prayers.
Both girls are on Santa alert, and on their very best behavior, with the exception of Cheeks shouting, "NO, BABY JESUS" during church earlier this month. I'm surprised lightning bolts didn't fly down from the ceiling after that particular outburst.

We're doing our best to be good though, and would like to wish you and yours all the happiness in the world, a wonderful 2012, but especially a

Very Merry Christmas!

Oh my oven!

2011-11-13T17:53:00.001-08:00

The girls helped me make gingerbread babies tonight, and they lavished their cookies with every possible candy decoration.

While we waited for dear husband to finish up dinner, we read Jan Brett's "Gingerbread Friends" and "Gingerbread Babies." Sitting there on the couch, with my daughters, in a flour covered apron, was the highlight of my weekend. Because this recipe makes so many cookies, I also cut out a whole host of autumn gingerbread shapes: leaves, squirrels, acorns, apples, and turkeys.

I used these cookie cutters to use up the scraps, and have a container full of tiny cut out bears (for a teddy bear picnic perhaps) and another with the noah's ark menagerie (perfect for a quiet Sunday afternoon) tucked away in the freezer.

I really think there are two secrets to perfect gingerbread--black pepper, although I only used 1/2 t. in this batch, and refrigerating the cut out cookies before baking. A good 15 minutes in the fridge means that the cookies keep their shape in the oven, and they'll come out looking Martha Stewart perfect.

From tonight's dinner: want to know how to make the world's best bechamel sauce? It's not what you might think...

Double rainbow

2011-10-12T17:47:00.000-07:00

Favorite pic from my trip to NZ right here:

R.O.T.

2011-10-07T17:32:00.000-07:00

I have been sitting here, eating ice cream, musing over this particular post, trying to focus on a good opening sentence. And while I'm not quite sure how to start, I know (and by this I mean the kind of knowing that you know with all your heart) exactly what I want to say.

Dear Husband had to work late tonight and so Cheeks and I commuted home together. We were lucky enough to get a seat on the train, and passed the time reading books and drawing pictures on my iPad. As we exited the station I saw my father standing there at the entrance waiting for us. I hadn't told him what time we were leaving work but he had headed down to the station anyway to meet us. As we walked home together, I got to thinking about the many journeys my father and I have taken together. There is a special bond between this father and this daughter.

When I was very small, Dad was my nightly bedtime story and ride through the "spooky spooky jungle" (really just the hallway) on the way to bed. We traveled greater distances still, as we roamed the wild prairies and survived the long winter in Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" series. I would beg for just one more chapter, and most nights he would oblige.

One time, Dad traveled on Santa's sleigh. The Christmas when I was nine, Dad was sent to the North Pole to assemble a three story, Victorian, approximately 7,000 piece dollhouse kit. He managed to build it and put it under the tree with a bow just in time for Christmas morning. And, like everything he has ever built, it was perfect.

When I was in high school, he was a willing chauffeur, driving me to countless activities. And when I was troubled with school or friends or some other adolescent silliness, he would put the leash on our family dog and invite me for a long walk through the park near our house.

When I was in college, he logged hundreds of miles on the family station wagon, driving me home for long weekends, or coming down just for the day, so he and my mother could take me out for a grilled cheese sandwich at the Biltmore restaurant.

And at my wedding, he drove me to the church in his blue pickup truck. He put down an aisle of drop cloths from the house to the truck, so that I wouldn't get my dress wet in the snow. I was proud to have him walk me down the aisle, but I cherish the memory of driving with him to the church.

When Dear Husband and I moved to Guatemala City, I remember showing Dad that small sliver of a country on a map, and imagining myself transported hundreds of miles away from home. Dad visited us there and braved the jungles of Tikal and Guatemalan air transport (ever flown on a propeller plane, the reeeally loud kind?). He traveled farther still, thousands of airline miles to visit us in Eastern Europe.

And now we are all back together in the United States. And I am a mother with two girls who adore their grandfather and I carry my kids to bed and sing "spooky jungle." I have more gray hairs than I would care to admit. My little house is about a mile away from the house I grew up in, the house my father built. The distance between us is short.

I love you, Dad.

Blog crush

2011-09-22T17:37:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while, I start to think I have a pretty good little blogging thing going. And then, I go read sites like this one and I am completely blown away.

Ann Voskamp is one of those rare, rare talents. She's the kind of writer who can share her stories and make you cry, laugh, and feel stronger in your faith, all in one post. An amazing woman.

At home

2011-09-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

It has been really nice to take a couple days off this week. For once, I'm not staying home because of a sick child, half trying to manage pressing work concerns while dealing with fever or flu.

It's a double edged sword for me, though: Staying home makes me realize just how much needs to be done around the house. Men everywhere may laugh, but home keeping (don't even mention child rearing or I'll cry) is a full time job.

Never mind the cooking and general cleaning--these past few days have been a chance to catch up on all the chores that have been languishing--

I beat back the laundry pile, rotated the girls' wardrobes so they have weather appropriate clothing to wear to school, and ordered fall/winter clothes for Miss Bee because she evidently grew about three feet this year! (I finally broke down and bought poor Cheeks McGoo a sweater so she would have something that wasn't a hand me down from her older sister.)

Sorted through endless paper: artwork, advertisements, statements , magazines, newspapers--I think I could heat my home for the winter on junk mail alone.

Swapping out Miss Bee's book stand with fall books and fall animals. (Okay, not really a serious chore but she gets so excited when I put out her "new" books.)

Having the upstairs carpets professionally cleaned. Because they were filthy.

Having the furnace serviced. (The man who came today ominously told me it was time to have the furnace replaced. Dear husband will be so excited because he loves shopping for that sort of things.)

Baking bread. It's not really a chore, but something that if I could stay home full time--I would do it every day. Cheeks and Bee helped me make bread yesterday and despite a few fraught moments, it was largely a success.

Do I really have to go back to the office tomorrow?

I know it sounds like a cliche but

2011-09-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

it really is possible to have too much fun. Poor Ms. Cheeks proved that last night after a wonderful day at the water park, shopping in the afternoon, and dinner at a fantastic Italian restaurant. (As in, the food was so good I was planning on marrying my ravioli halfway through dinner.) Dear husband and I were eating and encouraging Cheeks to eat her spaghetti, which she adamantly refused to do.

Clearly we were completely oblivous to the issue at hand because upon arriving back to our hotel, Cheeks threw up everywhere. (And why, oh why, do my kids always throw up on me and not my husband?)

But on the whole, despite having a sick little person, I had a fantastic weekend. It had been too long since our little family had an adventure together, and Great Wolf Lodge was just the right speed for the girls.

quelle horreur

2011-09-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

So, my flight from New Zealand to Los Angeles was 12 hours, not that I noticed. I boarded the plane, watched a short movie, ate a very unmemorable dinner, folded my seat into a flat bed (oh the heaven that are business class seats) and promptly passed out for nine or so hours.
I slept through dessert. The duty free cart did not wake me up. I missed the sunrise. I slept through breakfast. I finally woke up about an hour before landing. It's a good thing I didn't sleep all the way to the gate.

When I finally woke up, I looked and felt a complete wreck. No problem, though, I am a frequent traveler and prepared for these contingencies. I went to the airplane bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and here is the key piece, people, changed my clothes.

I went back to my seat, feeling like a completely new person and congratulating myself for really pulling it together. I was busily organizing my luggage for landing when one of the flight attendants sidled up alongside. He asked, "Honey, did you do a complete change just now?"

Wide-eyed I looked at him and gasped out a "yes..."

He nodded seriously in reply and mock whispered, "Then I think you left something behind..."

I whipped my head around for the offending article of clothing. He just shook his head and handed me my unmentionables wrapped in a paper napkin.

The horrible question, that will forever remain unanswered, is where exactly did I drop them?

I didn't dare ask for breakfast after that.

Jumping the rainbow

2011-09-14T17:01:00.000-07:00

Me and this blog, yeah, we almost broke up. But I think I finally might be able to start writing again.

You might have guessed that August was rough. My poor dear husband was stuck single parenting for weeks while I begged for "just one more hour at work, please."

And then to top it off, at the very height of the madness, I had to take a business trip for eight days. To New Zealand. I love New Zealand! But-- it's a really, really, reeeeally, long way away from here.

I owe my husband big time. And my mother. And my father. And my in-laws. Family is amazing. Family steps in and takes the wheel when you're too tired to drive.

It wasn't all bad though. On my very last day in New Zealand I spent the afternoon with friends. We went to a local grocery store and picked up fresh bread, hot roast chicken, and salad. We ate outside, savoring the early spring sunshine. (Because in New Zealand, the seasons are reversed, crazy, right?) Afterward we drove down to a little beach and hiked up one of the many bluffs that surround Auckland harbor. And as we rounded the bend a rainbow pierced the sky, as if on cue.

I arrived home just after midnight on Monday evening to a quiet, sleeping, house. The crickets were chirping, the fan was humming, and dog was snoring and I slipped back into the fold unnoticed. The next morning, when the girls piled into bed and smothered me with kisses and hugs it was like Christmas and my birthday all folded into one.

It is so good to be home.

When the going gets tough

2011-08-02T17:14:00.001-07:00

the tough bake pie. Really good pie. Lemon meringue pie. With lemons. And meringue.

And then, life gets a whole lot better.

The end.

keep the old

2011-07-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

One of the harder parts of our peripatetic lifestyle is the making and losing of many friends.

During the first year we lived in Latvia we had a nice group of good friends our age. None of us had kids and thus I have fond memories of long afternoons spent in the Irish pub in Riga. It was one of the few places in the city where you could get onion rings, and, oddly enough, they made great chimichangas. We would eat and drink and laugh and do all the things that young, childless people do.

After a year, these friends went on to other postings and we lost touch. I'm terrible at keeping in touch, even with my family. I don't write many letters or emails. I don't send cards for birthdays. I probably should, but between my two little darlings, working full time, and keeping the house reasonably decent I have to let a lot of things slip.

However, due to a series of fortunate events, we were able to have a mini Riga reunion this morning. One friend, who lives in Serbia, is spending the week in the U.S. for training. The other friend drove up from Norfolk. It has been four years since I have seen them. Four years, people, since we lived in Latvia. Four years since I have seen these friends of mine. It feels like four minutes ago.

We feasted on egg and pepper strata, banana muffins, and cantaloupe. Instead of watching cricket on the tvs at the pub, we watched Miss Cheeks and Miss Bee play wildly. (Oh do they love to show off for guests.) And then we talked about our home renovation projects. We parted with no false promises of renewed friendship. But I do sincerely hope that it will be less than four years before I see these wonderful ladies again.

Frosty

2011-07-19T17:54:00.001-07:00

Oh my goodness. This week has been hot, even by Washington, D.C. in the summer standards.
Poor Frosty would last about five minutes before he turned into a puddle.

Why I love summer

2011-07-17T17:17:00.001-07:00

Pizza topped with garden-basil.
Tomatoes ripening on the vine.
Watching Cheeks ride her trike.
Buying fresh corn for supper.
Pretty flowers in hanging baskets.
Miss Bee longing for the pool.

Still here--

2011-07-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

Just taking a moment to peek at my very neglected blog. I have no particularly good excuse or explanation for vanishing, I'm-a just a-very tired these days.

There are months when I think I have it all together, and family, work, and life seem to harmonize pretty well.

And then there are months where I feel like I am banging all the piano keys at once. Life in discord. An exquisite cacophony.

I read status updates enviously as my friends go off on vacation, or revel in that sweet space between job assignments. In the morning, I stare, sad-eyed at the carefree tourists navigating downtown D.C.--toting water bottles and metro maps.

However, the ballerinas are the worst of all. Every morning on my way to the office I pass a group of 10-15 teenage ballerinas, clustered at a bus stop, heading off to rehearsals. They wear sweaters over their leotards (in this Washington D.C. humidity)! They are languid; I am rushing. I try to walk gracefully past, swishing by in my wool suit. Answering emails all day doesn't really compare to Giselle and pas de deux though.

There are a few quiet corners in my crazy life-- though, like this past Saturday morning when both girls inexplicably slept past 7 am and I reveled in a few extra hours of sleep--and when I took fat Max running and he actually made it all the way home with me (never mind that part when he lay down in the grass and refused to get up for a good ten minutes)--and when the kiddies were giggling and being cute at the grocery store and then there was NO LINE at checkout. There's good stuff in there, too. I just gotta hold on tight to those little things for a while.

Father's Day

2011-06-20T18:20:00.000-07:00

I should have written this post yesterday, but I was too busy orchestrating a happy father's day for my very dear and very deserving husband.

In the morning, Miss Bee was so excited to help prepare coffee and breakfast in bed for her father. After a round of Sesame street, breakfast for the rest of the family, quick jogs through the neighborhood, we all headed off to church.

By that time we arrived at church, Ms. Cheeks was feeling her fiesty side, which meant for an eventful service. In the span of an hour she did the following: demanded to be held upside down, and yes it is possible for a barely verbal child to demand that; ran wildly toward the font of holy water, probably for a swim; made strange noises during the songs, the kind where you take your pointer finger and flick it across your lips, which caused the entire row in front of us to turn around and laugh; and raised such a ruckus that she had to be carried out to the narthex on not one but four separate occasions.

At the end of the mass, the priest asked all the fathers to stand for a special blessing. Dear Husband was not among the honored group, as he was outside wrangling Ms. Cheeks.

We were all exhausted after church and fed the kiddies lunch and they all went to nap. Later on we gardened, and barbequed and simply enjoyed playing with the little ones and spending a nice quiet evening with family.

Oh man

2011-06-17T17:45:00.000-07:00

So, where did those past two weeks go?

**crickets**

We put the kiddies to bed tonight right after dinner. I came down stairs and my mother said, "You know it's only 6:55 pm right?"

Whoops.

(An extra early bedtime once in a while won't hurt them, but I think Dear Husband and I were the ones in the need of a break.)

When will I stop dreaming about answering work emails? The problem with catching up on work while sleeping is that you have to do the same darn ones over again when you're awake. They just don't transmit so well.

Thank goodness for weekends:

hangi

2011-06-04T17:17:00.000-07:00

We were invited to a hangi today and it was a really neat experience.

If you think the Texans are adventurous with pit cooked barbeque brisket, well, they have nothing on the Maori.

A New Zealand tradition, a hangi involves digging a very large pit, lighting a fire and heating stones and then using those hot stones and steam to cook a whole lotta food underground. Pork, lamb, chicken, cabbage, potatoes, the whole bit.

After quite a few hours underground, the hangi is dug up and out comes deliciously tender and flavorful meat and vegetables.

Miss Bee's eyes were the size of saucers as she watched the men dig up her lunch. She dug in happily to her plate a short while later, though.

Today made me realize just how much I love picnics and that we need to have more of them this summer.

it really does take a village

2011-06-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

It's going to be really hard to move overseas again in a few years. As in, really, really hard.

Just today--

--Seeing my parents in the morning when we park in front of their house to walk to the metro. Cheeks McGoo poured water all over herself in the car, so we run inside my parents' house for a quick change. Cause my Mom has an extra outfit at the ready for just that contingency.

--Exchanging emails with my dear mother in law over my lunch break. She sends me interesting articles to read; I comment.

--My Father-in-law picking up Miss Bee for their Thursday afternoon adventure, spent with Bee's cousin and uncle. This week's activity--baking brownies (with chocolate frosting and walnuts) and then sending a plate of them home to me.

--Eating Carolina barbeque for dinner, brought up from that wonderful southern state by Miss Bee's godparents (who live next door to my parents).

--After dinner, watching my Mom push Miss Cheeks on the swing where I spent many a happy summer evening as a child.

--Coming home to find a bag of bread flour in my front door from my grandmother. (I had been complaining that my local store had stopped carrying any kind of bread flour.)

Watching my girls grow close to their relatives is one of the sweetest gifts I have ever received.

There, but for the grace of God

2011-05-28T10:38:00.000-07:00

My hands have finally stopped trembling enough to type.

Miss Cheeks fell down the stairs this morning. She pushed on the baby gate at the top of the stairs and it gave way. Riding the gate like a surfboard, Cheeks fell, head first, down six steps, skittering to a stop at the first landing.

When I heard the crash, I ran from the kitchen and Dear Husband ran from the other end of the playroom (he had been steps away when this happened). Cheeks screamed and screamed, but it quickly became apparent that she was crying from fear more than any injury. By the grace of God, she was fine, with the exception of a big bruise on her forehead.

By a strange coincidence, the fall took place 20 minutes before we were supposed to take Bee to the pediatrician, so we loaded both of them up in the wagon and rolled them down the street to their doctor's office (which is only two blocks away). The doctor checked Cheeks over and reassured us that she is fine.

She's napping now, but I cannot help but check on her every few minutes, in order to be reassured by her quiet breathing.

It is truly gut wrenching to think just how easily our little ones can be hurt, whether it's from a fall, or mischief in the medicine cabinet, or a car accident. Despite our best efforts, we cannot hold on to our children every minute. Accidents happen.

This is why I pray.

tuesday bluesday

2011-05-24T18:19:00.000-07:00

It's after 9 pm and I'm still in my work clothes. I'm wrung out from a long day at work and two little girls who did not go quietly to bed tonight.

There are gardening gloves on the floor of my living room. I'm not quite sure why, but think that Cheeks deposited them there earlier in the evening. The washing machine is full of wet clothes that need to be switched to the dryer.

The gloves can stay where they are. The laundry will wait.

I have been hiding out on my little balcony, watching the very last rays of sun slip below the horizon. Swatting away the first mosquitoes of the season. Watching the cars drive down my street, their headlights ribbons of light on the pavement. Just doing nothing for a little while. A little nothing is some of the best medicine.

Appalled. . .with two Ps

2011-05-19T18:32:00.000-07:00

My mother experienced quite a shock when she picked up Miss Bee from daycare last Friday. As they were about to leave, Bee said, "Wait, Mimi, wait! I forgot my billy club."

"Billy club?"

And indeed it was.

Miss Bee's special project of the week was to make a police baton/night stick/people whacker. And she had learned, as part of her unit just what police officers do with those batons.

"They hit people!"

I'm all for learning about community helpers, but hand painting carefully cut and glued paper towel rolls with multiple layers of black paint to make an authentic looking billy club, well, that's just going a bit too far. What's next, paper mache handguns?

And plus, if you're a four and a half year old with a little sister who gets on your nerves periodically, what would you do with a pretend billy club? Whack your sister, of course.

I know that as my children grow up, the world will rush in the the force of an ocean wave, washing away the sandcastles and fairy lands of childhood. But for a little while yet, I will be standing in front of that wave, diverting the water as best I can with my hands and feet and buckets. These early years are supposed to be the magical ones. Billy clubs have no place in my kingdom.

Small victory

2011-05-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

Our washing machine has been acting up. It tried and groaned and tried and groaned but just couldn't manage to spin all the water out of the clothes in the load.

Due to a stroke of luck, we had exactly one week remaining on our one-year warranty and called a repairman without delay. We finally found one that could come on a Saturday.

Saturday morning, we shoveled the piles of dirty clothes out of the way so that the repair man could reach the washer. The repairman arrived (on time!) with a belt full of tools but refused to make any promises about whether he could fix the machine.

He had it fixed within 10 minutes. Evidently the inner workings of the washer were jammed with not one, not two, but FIVE baby socks. Whirlpool washers have got some powerful spin action.

For $3 at Target we were able to buy a mesh laundry bag that will prevent this calamity from happening again.

So let that be a word of warning to all you parents washing small socks.

TIme capsule

2011-05-10T18:41:00.000-07:00

I got my luggage back from Christchurch on Friday. I had tracked its progress online all week, as it passed through New Zealand's rigorous customs inspection, traveled to Hong Kong to be x-rayed, and then on to Cincinnati to pass through U.S. customs.

It finally arrived, all my personal items, painstakingly gathered from my damaged hotel in Christchurch and packed back up into my suitcase. My favorite jeans. My passport. My house keys. My laptop computer.

My laptop had to be shipped separately, due to the lithium battery inside. Tne package containing my computer was covered with so many warning labels you might have mistaken it for a shipment of dynamite.

Once I figured out how to put the battery back into the computer, I opened the screen and it popped right back on. I evidently hadn't turned the computer off the morning of February 22 and my email inbox and news articles from that day were still on the screen. Eerie.

It's all back in order now. My suitcase has been put away, dirty laundry washed and folded. Although myc experience in the Christchurch earthquake is something I will remember for the rest of my life, I think that I can finally now say that I have come home.

En plein air

2011-05-05T17:42:00.000-07:00

outside kids

2011-05-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

Read Bee her bedtime stories out on our balcony tonight. You would have thought I had served her the moon on a silver plate, she was so excited. We read "Harold and the Purple Crayon," and if you don't know the story, there's Harold, he has a purple crayon, and he draws what the author narrates. Or the author narrates what he draws. It's a nice little literary paradox.

As we read "Harold" and watched the sun set on our street. We are soaking up this beautiful spring weather as much as possible before the mosquitoes crash the party.

Wednesday

2011-04-27T18:11:00.000-07:00

I was in a contentious and stressful meeting today when my cell phone rang. Not only did it ring, but it was LOUD and rang right in the middle of my presentation. It took me a minute to realize that the reason that no one was silencing the ringer was because it was, in fact, my phone.

A mad scramble and furious blushing ensued.

As I reached over to turn it off, I saw that my the phone number was my parents' house. Uh oh. My Mom picks up Bee after school and if she was calling in the middle of the afternoon, then something was amiss.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function." Today proved my own intelligence falls squarely into the second rate category. I finished the meeting, but was utterly distracted. Then I almost walked into oncoming traffic while outside trying to return my Mom's call.

Miss Bee's okay, but it turns out she is allergic to penicillin.

Reason no. 5,392 I love Spring

2011-04-25T17:26:00.001-07:00

Everything is blooming at our house.

Hot cross buns

2011-04-21T11:26:00.001-07:00

I'll be making these hot cross buns tonight so we can eat them early tomorrow morning. Not only do they rise overnight in the fridge, they are ridiculously good.

Walking the dog at dusk

2011-04-20T17:37:00.000-07:00

The sun is staying up later and I can walk the dog before its full dark. We headed out a little before 8 pm. Passed a crazy man with two beagles who kept repeating in a high pitched voice, "Look at the big puppy! Look at the big puppy!"

He was talking about Max. Maybe his beagles were vicious and he was trying to prevent them from attacking my dog. I have no idea why he was acting that way, but it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

I picked up my pace, but then chided myself for being so paranoid. It's not like an axe murderer would be out on the prowl with a pair of beagles. Unless it was a really good ruse.

Safely away from the potentially vicious beagles/axe murderer, I slowed down as we walked past the library. I love the library, and would stop in every night, if just to breathe that musty book smell and hear the rustle of contented readers turning pages. But since dogs aren't allowed in the library, we just walked slowly by and stared in the windows.

And then I saw it. The sunset. Tonight it was a perfect, glowing pink. There were swirling clouds the color of cotton candy. And streaks of blue for good measure.

I don't think Max noticed the sunset. But I stopped for a minute, just to soak up the last rays of departing light. I wish I could write that as we walked quietly on, the sunset led to some big spiritual revelation, or caused me to realize something very profound, but nothing like that happened. It was just beautiful.

Milkshakes and basil

2011-04-18T17:43:00.000-07:00

I went on a date with my husband on Sunday. For us, a date happens pretty much any time we manage to convince someone else to watch the kids.

Week before last, we went on a date at the cafeteria in the building where I work. Not so romantic, but thrilling just the same to have uninterrupted adult conversation.

But on Sunday, we had a real date. My wonderful sparkly little sister is visiting from Germany, and she and my mother volunteered to play with Cheeks and Bee while dear husband and I went to the garden center.

Not the movies. Not to a fancy restaurant. We went to the garden center.

It sounds awfully boring, I know, but I can't tell you how excited I was at the prospect of browsing the aisles without worrying about a pair of little hands decapitating a prize peony.

On the way there, my husband turned to me and said, how about we grab a milkshake? Now, I can't remember the last time I even drank a milkshake, but before you could say banana split we were walking into the little burger place near our house.

I ordered vanilla with crushed oreos. Dear husband decided on a root beer float.

Back in the car, we slurped our milkshakes in companionable silence. Just being at ease together is probably one of the nicest things about being married for almost nine years.

On Saturday, I went wedding dress shopping with my little sister. We went to the same small store where I had bought my wedding dress at the tender age of 21. I proudly told the owner of the shop that I had brought her a new customer and related my warm memories of picking out a dress nearly a decade ago. She laughed, and then asked, "So, how's it going, the marriage?"

"Very well," I replied.

I reflected on this as we walked through the nursery and picked out herbs to grow on our back patio. Two kinds of basil for homemade pizza margherita. Mint for my husbands' mint juleps. Sage for roast chicken. Two strawberry plants, just because. Dear husband also bought me new clay pots and big bags of potting soil. What I know, after nine years, is that love doesn't have to be flashy. Sometimes its as simple as fresh basil and sweet as cold vanilla ice cream.

When we returned home, we found the girls happily playing in the front yard with my Mom and sister. I set to work filling the new pots. Cheeks McGoo loved digging with a child sized spade. Miss Bee took wearing her garden gloves very seriously.

Dear husband watched my gardening with great bemusement, knowing that my black thumb will no doubt inflict calamity on our purchases. I will surely forget to water one plant and accidentally another. I checked on my green charges after work today, and, surprisingly, all seemed to have recovered from being transported and transplanted. Perhaps this will be my lucky year in the garden.

Thursday

2011-04-14T17:34:00.000-07:00

Clothes spinning in the wash;
Children sleeping in their beds;
Herbs growing in the kitchen;
Stack of books on the nightstand;
Bowl full of ice cream;
Peaceful, quiet, house.

Thank heaven

2011-04-09T17:31:00.001-07:00

for hand me downs. All of Miss Bee's too-small clothes are in boxes in the garage. Poor, deprived McGoo doesn't realize that pretty much her entire wardrobe was previously worn by her big sister.

Earlier this week, as I dressed McGoo in her second-hand windbreaker, Miss Bee started to whine that she wanted a new jacket too. I laughed, and explained to my very equality-minded daughter that the jacket in question had been hers.

I am starting to understand why my sister and I, still, to this day, receive similar or identical Christmas presents from our parents. (Although I would say the odds of us fighting over them at our respective ages of 30 and 27 have significantly diminished!)

My dear husband took the girls to visit their great-grandmother today (always a popular occasion because they get to eat lunch at the retirement home, which serves french friends and ice cream) and I spent a very happy hour going through 18-24 month old clothes that used to belong to Bee. Most of those clothes were bought when we lived in Latvia, from my all time favorite children's store. Let's just say that it's probably a good thing there is no D.P.A.M. store in the USA.

I always write this, but every mother will know it's true--my girls are growing up too fast.

Right rabbit

2011-04-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

Miss Bee wears her heart on her sleeve. It's hard to be four years old.

Tonight Miss Bee's stuffed rabbit went missing. The child has an entire menagerie of stuffed animals and no particular favorites. She rotates through which ones sleep on her bed, so it makes it difficult to keep track of which animals need to be where. I need to start a spreadsheet.

S-o, I finally had Miss Bee all tucked up bed with her stuffed mouse and her big bear, when, with wide eyes and a panicked voice she says, "WHERE IS MY RABBIT?"

I called in for reinforcements and set my husband to searching under the bed. He had to dig through a vast field of dirty tissues (so that's where she puts them!) and I could tell he really wanted to say a few dirty words as he gathered those up. I had headed back to the playroom to see if Rabbit had been abandoned there when I heard him call, "Found it!"

Phew.

There was a brief moment of silence, but then the unmistakable snuffle/wail of Miss Bee. Exasperated, I stomped back into her bedroom and asked, "What's wrong?"

"THAT IS THE WRONG RABBIT" she cried.

My poor dear husband indignantly replied, "You mean there's more than one?"

Finally, after much additional searching, I located the right rabbit, as opposed to, you know, the wrong rabbit, tucked her back up in bed, closed the door and said a little prayer that there will be no more drama--at least until the morning.

Have your cake

2011-04-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Husband ate both pieces of leftover cake this evening. With guilty eyes, he claimed that it was an accident, that he had thought that I had taken my cake for lunch today. I asked him why he thought his leftover piece was so large. He had no answer for me.

However, instead of flying into a cake deprived rage--I solved my problem. Since the cake was eaten at my parents' house for dinner last night, I called them and asked to have one of their leftover pieces. And my husband very sweetly drove over to their house to retrieve it for me.

Poor Dear Husband.

He is so nice to me all the time and I am so mean to him. Here are just a few examples:

I demand cake.
I make him clip the dog's toenails.
I have appointed him the official killer of all spiders and anything else with six legs.
I ask him to go down to the kitchen to get me a glass of water after he has gotten into bed. (Isn't that just awful?)

Yet, despite all my bad behavior, he keeps me around.

It's a good thing he knows that I love him so.

TGIF

2011-04-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

The good: Portabella mushroom sandwiches from the Stray Cat for dinner. With curly fries. Yum.

The bad: While at work, I got a little lost trying to find the library. And then a lady kinda threw up on me in the hallway whilst I was attempting to locate the library. (She was attempting to locate the restroom, poor thing.) Thank goodness I keep a change of clothes in my office, and that she mostly threw up on the floor. Yuck.

The funny: Commuting home on the crowded metro with Cheeks McGoo today-- even though she is restrained in her stroller she still manages to get in trouble. This evening Cheeks startled a random man by reaching up and patting his bottom. All the lady commuters laughed. So she she did it again. And then again. My desperate attempts to stop her were all to no avail. The man, serious in a dark suit, was not amused.

matryoshka

2011-03-31T18:30:00.000-07:00

My mom bought these adorable nesting glasses for Bee for Christmas. She loves them. I love them. (And secretly use them.)

the things we keep

2011-03-30T18:06:00.001-07:00

It was raining when I picked Cheeks up from daycare today. I squeezed her stroller's rain cover over the stroller frame, and, after a lot of tugging and silent cursing, finally managed to put it on properly. My daughter stared out inquisitively from behind the thick wall of plastic.

Raindrops falling all around.

I, on the other hand, had forgotten to bring an umbrella. My umbrella is still in my hotel room in Christchurch. It--along with my favorite jeans, my house keys, my laptop computer (with all the photos of Cheeks McGoo from her first year of life, shame on me for not backing those up), passport, ipod, and the rest of my luggage--it was all left behind in my hotel room after the earthquake.

Since I was in a meeting when the earthquake struck, all I had with me was a North Face tote bag that I had been using instead of a purse. (The better to tote around papers in.) Fortunately, inside my tote bag I had my wallet, blackberry, digital camera, a hair brush and some lip gloss (oh vanity!), chewing gum, and lots of notebook paper and pens (which came in very handy). After the earthquake, I felt like a little refugee with my tote bag. I carried it everywhere, not wanting to be left with nothing if there was another earthquake.

This is not a tragedy though--the things I lost are just things, mere ephemera that can be replaced. What can't be replaced are the mothers, the fathers, the children, and the friends who died in Christchurch on February 22. I am blessed and lucky to be home with my family when there are those who will never get to go home again.

And this being New Zealand we're talking about here, I'll probably even get my luggage back eventually, once the center of the city is deemed safe and the hotel staff can reenter the hotel to put things back in order. It just might be a while.

In the meantime though, I'm going to go buy a new umbrella.

Christmas in March

2011-03-29T18:06:00.001-07:00

My Christmas cactus is blooming in March, which only further proves that I do indeed have the "black thumb of death" when it comes to houseplants.

Upstairs, my angel wing begonia is dropping its leaves sadly. I can't seem to get the balance of water and sunlight right and I fear it has reached the end of its life.

I long to plant tomatoes this summer but don't know if I can deal with the disappointment of another "two tomato" harvest this year. Yep. Last year's tomato plant yielded exactly two tomatoes and then it died. (In comparison, the eggplants did great, I think they produced a record-breaking four.) Clearly, my future as a gardener is very bleak.

But the cactus is very pretty.

Friday Vacation

2011-03-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

I am very good at cleaning the house, organizing my daughters' toys, and matching socks. Taking care of myself, not so much.

Earlier this week, I received an email from a colleague with a gentle admonishment to take some time off. I didn't reply.

But then I finally slowed down for long enough this morning to realize that he was right; I very much need a break. This past month has been more difficult than I care to admit.

I'm not sick, none of my daughters need to go to the doctor, there are no repairmen (that I know of) coming to my house, no trees have fallen into our backyard.

I just need a day to do nothing.

So tomorrow, nothing is on the agenda.

Tomorrow is my day to play dolls with Miss Bee and read board books with Cheeks McGoo. To walk to the library. To make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch and bake cookies for teatime.

There is no reason to stay home tomorrow other than the fact that I think it would be a good thing for me right now. But maybe that's the best reason of all.

(Thank you A.P.)

Homebody

2011-03-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

Less than one year until we go on our 5 night Disney cruise.

The best thing about booking a cruise 18 months in advance? The months of delicious anticipation. The bad thing about booking a cruise 18 months in advance? Well, there are many things.

As a result of our less than one year away journey to decadent eating, and the fact that my dear sister is getting married toward the end this year (in Germany) we don't have any elaborate vacation plans for this summer. We need to save our pennies.

I keep thinking that we need to find a way to take some short trips, as our weekends are currently regimented to the point of ridiculousness and involve cleaning, grocery shopping, church, and hanging out with the family. If we're really feeling wild, we'll watch a movie on iTunes and make popcorn.

The problem is, we have become creatures of habit. Maybe I should be more concerned that the children never travel further than a 5 mile radius from home, but you know, I'm really not.

It's all almost too easy in the United States. In Romania, grocery shopping for the week meant going to the grocery store, the vegetable market, the other vegetable market near our apartment to get the things that the first market didn't have, and then a trip to the other grocery store to get the things we forgot. It was a foraging adventure that took at least a couple hours every Saturday. (If we had learned to cook Romanian cuisine, our lives would have been much simpler.) Whereas here, I can do all my shopping in less than an hour.

In Romania, going outside to play meant schlepping to the park (which was beautiful, and nearby) but here in the United States, it means stepping out the door. I arrived home from grocery shopping this afternoon to find Cheeks and Bee busily playing cars with the little boy next door. My husband and the neighbors were standing around chatting. To anyone else passing by, this little scene would have seemed perfectly ordinary. But to me, seeing my family, in our own place, living in the United States after so many years away--it's the embodiment of a dream.

You know, I think I will be happy to not travel for a while.

Baby commuter

2011-03-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

Riding the Metro with Miss Cheeks is never dull. People hold their belongings tightly when they see her coming, her legend as a kleptomaniac toddler has spread up and down the Orange line. What can I do? The child loves purses. Other people's purses.

Cheeks was relatively mellow this afternoon, which meant she only rejected two board books, and didn't scream. "Touch and Feel Meal Time" is usually a favorite story, but it went flying.

Finally, after disagreeing with the entire contents of my purse, Cheeks settled on my blackberry. She made several important phone calls, which was adorable. She would made a very serious expression and press the phone up against her fat cheek. I guess that's how I look when I talk on the phone. I think she might have called Alaska.

I need to go read the chapter in the parenting book about how not to raise a baby tyrant.

The working moms and dads will know what I mean

2011-03-22T18:03:00.000-07:00

Here's to those of us who have t0 leave for work before the sun is up in the sky and don't get home until it is well and fully set.

Here's to faking it with our kids when the stresses of work follow us home. As in, "What's that? Mommy's really happy! She's not looking at her blackberry!"

Here's to tall laundry piles and aggressive dust bunnies.

Here's to the pediatrician who actually offers 7 pm appointments.

Here's to feeling guilty for not being home with the kids when they are little.

So, just for tonight, I'm throwing in the towel.

I'm off to wallow in self pity.

I will count my blessings in the morning.

Out like a lamb

2011-03-19T17:17:00.000-07:00

Spring has finally started to make itself known. There are purple crocuses in my backyard. The tulip trees have deep pink buds. On Friday, it was finally warm enough to go walking without a jacket. The robins have returned. Yesterday, I ventured into our postage stamp of a backyard and planted a flat of flowers.

This afternoon, Cheeks McGoo and Bee played in our driveway with the boy next door. I drew chalk highways and train stations and airports and brought out a basket of cars and trains. They provided the soundtrack.

If only the weekend could last all week long.

Yesterday

2011-03-16T17:31:00.000-07:00

It had been a bad morning. During breakfast, Cheeks McGoo smeared yogurt in my hair.
(Thanks, baby!)

Then, Miss Bee had a fit about her tights. Or as she termed them: "TIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHTS!!!!!" (The problem: she felt that they were too tight. Which I believe is an oxymoron of sorts.)

It was a very long, but surprisingly good day.

I got home just after 9:45 pm and took the dog for a quick walk in the rain. Poor Max. He was very ready to go out and do his thing, but thankfully just as ready to run back in.
(The fact that I have a Labrador retriever who is slightly afraid of water is a whole other issue.)

I spent a few minutes answering emails on my blackberry and then went to kiss my sleeping daughters goodnight.

Miss Bee was curled up under a mountain of covers, her favorite sock monkey perched on her pillow, standing watch against "things that might come out from under the bed." During the day Miss Bee is constantly in motion. At night, she is as still as one of Botticelli's angels. Cheeks McGoo, on the other hand, sleeps wildly, sprawled on her stomach, hair mussed in a halo around her head. I sang them lullabies they did not hear, so deep was their sleep. I whispered all the things a mama says, then went to bed myself.

My love for them is profound.

Neither here nor there

2011-03-06T17:17:00.000-08:00

Driving to the grocery store this morning, Miss Bee in the backseat, feeling just about as jittery as the rain beating on my windshield.

Bee must have sensed my quiet mood and tenderly called out from the backseat, "Mommy, I love you like the tracks of a train."

Train tracks, you know, go on and on, for as far as the eye can see.

I found myself blinking back tears.

Later, driving home with a trunk full of groceries, a car passed me with a bumper sticker that said, "The best things in life aren't things."

I felt as though the universe had seized me by the scruff of the neck and given me a good shake.

I can just imagine someone up in heaven must have said said, "All right angels, so, this particular human is rather slow so we're going to have to spell it out for her:

You're home, you're safe, you're with your family. Let them love you and it's going to get better."

Yes.

Auckland in the Morning

2011-03-02T17:38:00.001-08:00

There is something special about a sunny day in Auckland. The sky is big. The light is brilliant. It's as if the entire city puffs out its chest and preens a bit.

I contemplated going up to the top of the sky tower, but decided that I had risked enough calamity already. A colleague told me that you can even bungee jump off the thing if you want. Now that's insanity, if you ask me.

Even going out on the harbor seemed a bit risky. I was content to keep my feet on solid ground.

However, if I were ever to go sailing in Auckland harbor, this is the boat I would commandeer:

from the mouths of third graders

2011-02-28T10:21:00.000-08:00

I actually made it to my Sunday school class yesterday. I told the third graders that they had to be extra nice to me because I was very tired from traveling home from New Zealand and that I had been in an earthquake.

"An earthquake!" was their initial response, but then they were more interested in sharing their own stories of calamity:

"You know, a tree fell down in my neighbor's yard and there is police tape everywhere."

"The McDonalds near my cousin's house caught on fire!"

I found it quite refreshing.

They could tell that I was not well-prepared for class, and peppered me with questions like a bunch of hungry sharks circling a lifeboat:

"If Jesus rose from the dead, was he then, like, a zombie?"

"If Jesus had Joseph as his father on earth and God as his father in heaven, then who was his other mother?"

"If God made the world, then who made God?"

"Joseph was a carpenter? We have a carpenter who comes to our house and when he bends over, you can see his . . ."

(I ended that story right quick.)

Blessed and lucky

2011-02-27T17:00:00.000-08:00

By lunchtime on Thursday, I was on a flight headed out of Christchurch. I'm not embarrassed to say that I clutched my boarding pass like a winning lottery ticket. I was tired, both physically and emotionally.

Once on board the aircraft, I tapped my foot impatiently, willing the other passengers to just hurry up already. A speedy departure, however, was not in order.

Just as the plane began to taxi to the runway, there arose a sudden commotion two rows in front of me. An elderly lady had slumped over in her seat and stopped breathing. The cabin crew sprang into action, with an oxygen bottle and encouraging words, "Keep breathing, nice big breaths, there's a good girl."

I really thought I was going to completely lose it at that point.

The plane rolled back to the gate and the paramedics took the poor woman away in a stretcher. I'll never know whether she was simply overcome by the events of the previous days or if something more serious had taken place. I pray she is recovering in a hospital in Christchurch.

The flight to Auckland was almost an hour long but it seemed like years. I was a bit wobbly when I disembarked, but ever so happy to meet up with my colleagues there. I was spoiled utterly and completely--whisked away to fill out the paperwork for a new passport--shepherded to buy new clothes and toiletries--and then after a blissful shower, installed on a sunny couch where I proceeded to take a three hour nap.

I may have been their quietest house guest ever. I woke up around 8 pm, chatted with my hosts and ate dinner, and was back upstairs and in bed before 9 pm.

The next day was easy. I took a long walk through downtown Auckland and felt some of my bottled up tension subside.

The flight back to the U.S. was brutally long, but the prospect of seeing my family made it bearable. Thirty minutes before landing in Washington, D.C., however, the pilot came in over the intercom and announced that there were 60 mph headwinds on the ground and that the flight attendants had to take their seats immediately.

The strong gusts of wind rocked the plane. We began our descent, only to suddenly head back up into the air. We circled the airport. Once. Twice. I was certain that were were going to divert to Baltimore or Philadelphia. The pilot finally made up his mind to go for the landing. The plane rocked from side to side. One wing tilted up, then the other wing. We landed in the same way a leaf falls from a tree to the ground.

I have seen far too many History Channel programs and knew that a sudden, ill-timed gust of wind has the potential to make an airplane crash. And after making it safely out of Christchurch, I really didn't want to die.

I prayed. I think a lot of people on the airplane played. We landed safely.

Since my return home I have been glorying in the mundane: braiding my daughter's hair, scrubbing the toothpaste stains off of the sink, singing in church, spending time with my family.

While I know my memories of the past week will fade, I hope I can hold on to this new-found feeling of gratitude. I am just so happy to be home.

Christchurch Earthquake

2011-02-26T09:32:00.000-08:00

Preface: I am enormously lucky to have survived the earthquake in New Zealand. There are many people who did not. Scores of mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and friends are mourning loved ones who they will never see again. Countless homes have been destroyed. Please keep the people of New Zealand in your prayers.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed here are personal and not professional in nature and are not representative of the opinions or policy of the United States government.

Up until the point the earthquake struck, the day had been going to plan.

On February 22, the U.S.-NZ Partnership Forum, was taking place at AMI stadium in Christchurch, NZ. Gathered for the occasion were numerous foreign affairs and government luminaries, including Assistant Secretary of State Kurt Campbell, Former Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage and retired senator Evan Bayh. An eight member congressional delegation had departed earlier that morning.

At 12:51 pm I was taking notes in a meeting with representatives from the United States, New Zealand, and Australia and feeling quite pleased with myself because the agenda that I painstakingly hammered out back in Washington was proceeding according to plan.

The meeting was located in one of the stadium's luxury boxes, the room overlooking a flawless green rugby pitch, separated from the stands outside by a floor to ceiling wall of glass.

Suddenly, and without warning, the earthquake struck. The noise was like a freight train. The world seemed to fragment into tiny pieces. I stood up from my chair, took a step backward, fell to the floor, curled into a ball, unable to take shelter under a table that was mere feet away.

Glass was breaking; water was spilling; plaster and dust fell from the ceiling, coating the room in a fine spray of white dust. There was dust in my mouth.

As the world shook, I lay very still. It was as if a pure silence enveloped me completely and I went dead quiet inside. I can only describe the feeling as one of grace.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the violence stopped. We staggered to our feet and surveyed, with disbelief, a room that looked as though it had been through a tumble dryer.

Someone, I believe it a was a member of the stadium staff, urged our group to evacuate out onto the rugby pitch. The once level playing field was wrinkled with bubbles of liquefaction. Water seeped out of the ground, a thick gray silt. Mini geysers spouted. Car sirens blared incessantly.

Then the aftershocks began. The stadium lights, high overhead, shuddered ominously. We evacuated the stadium and onto a grassy area immediately outside. Our group milled about in shock and disbelief, texting and calling family members that had no idea that an earthquake had even taken place. We called the State Department operations center. They opened a crisis log.

It was cold, and I didn't have a jacket. A colleague gave me his. Time slowed down to the space between aftershocks.

After a short while the Embassy's security officer, showed up with his car and a satellite phone. Conferring with his colleagues at the Embassy in Wellington, he calmly planned the evacuation of the delegation, mapping out the safest route to the airport, which fortunately also contained the offices of the U.S. Antarctic Program--an ideal shelter.

Our small group moved to the other side of the stadium to join the rest of the partnership forum delegates, which included a group of 20 American Fulbright students and Kiwi college students.

The New Zealand Visits and Ceremonials office performed heroically, locating food, water, blankets and the bus for our delegation. Miraculously, the bus driver had not abandoned his post and immediately began the slow and hazardous drive to rescue the delegation.

Many in the group were shaken and bruised, but most everyone remained calm. The full implications of what had happened had not sunk in. A colleague would tell me later that a taxi driver outside the stadium during the earthquake had watched in horror as the huge structure bulged outward and then snapped back. Another few seconds of shaking and it seems likely that the facade would have crumbled and I would most likely not be writing this story.

I didn't know how to feel--it was mostly disbelief that a city already rocked by a 7.1 magnitude earthquake in 2010 would have to suffer nature's wrath again.

I stuck close to my Embassy colleagues, hungry for information about what would happen next. Finally the delegation's bus came wobbling down the road, a big boxy promise of deliverance.

At that point, it was as if a switch flipped inside of me, and I realized that I had a choice to make. I could either remain victim to the continuing aftershocks and completely freak out, or else I could choose to work and try to help my embassy colleagues. Since the prospect of having a complete meltdown seemed like it would be quite embarrassing, I decided to work.

We made lists of the present members of the delegation and tried to figure out where the missing might be. Once everyone had boarded the bus, we began the slow journey to the airport. Once there, the New Zealand government again performed heroically, arranging to have the entire delegation evacuated to Wellington. This was exactly the right thing for the Kiwis to do, as it freed up the government to concentrate on crisis response.

Embassy and State Department employees, however, are charged with assisting American citizens abroad. Those of of us with consular and crisis management training knew that we had a responsibility to any remaining Americans in Christchurch. We knew how to help; this was our job. Despite knowing this, and wanting to stay, as the final members of the delegation evacuated late that evening, and violent aftershocks continued, I questioned the decision I had made. As a final indignity, it began to rain.

A small group of us remained: the consul, the embassy's media specialist, a human resources specialist, the embassy's economic officer, the agricultural attache, the security officer and me. We were joined by a New Zealand police liaison officer.

Half of the group drove out in the dark to visit the shelters and crisis centers in the city, the other half of us set off to find a place to sleep in the Antarctic Program offices. By a stroke of good luck, the program had just brought several boxes of sleeping bags up from the ice to be laundered. The fact that they hadn't been washed yet was a small price to pay for comfort.

As we set up the sleeping bags and made plans for the morning, my colleagues returned from their drive into the city, and brought the final remaining member of the delegation, Tim Manning, who also happens to be the deputy administrator for FEMA. Tim, as you might imagine for someone in his position, has extensive crisis management experience. When the earthquake struck, Tim sprang into action, heading into the center of the city with other first responders. To say we were glad to have him on our team would be a severe understatement; Tim truly was heaven-sent.

With all the members of our group accounted for, we bedded down for the night, curled up under desks or against load bearing walls in case the unthinkable happened. I was exhausted, but continually woken by scores of aftershocks throughout the night. It was like sleeping next to a blender, where every few minutes someone would push the power button. I finally gave up sleeping around four am, and set to answering the avalanche of emails that had come in overnight. Everyone on the team had been assigned a job and mine was to provide updates to the embassy and Washington.

By six am, everyone had dragged themselves awake. We were a sight; unwashed, weary, and wearing dirty clothes. Once we had made ourselves reasonably presentable, we set down to prepare a plan of action of the day. Our team deployed to the shelters, gave information to American Citizens who were there, visited the hospitals, helped facilitate Americans onto the "visitor facilitation flights" that were moving tourists out of harms way, assisted with the arrival of a search and rescue team from California, and did our best to track down some of the Americans who had been reported as missing. When we regrouped that evening, we shared chicken curry, our stories, and relief that the aftershocks had diminished.

I want to emphasize that really, in the scope of this tragedy, our team played an infinitesimally small role.

As the extent of the damage and death toll became apparent, our hearts broke for the good people of Christchurch and indeed all of New Zealand.

Despite the horror of what happened, the Kiwis were magnificent. The strength and decency of everyone I encountered after the quake is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

Local business sent their delivery trucks to local shelters and gave all they had to those in need. The military and police stood double shifts in order to help rescue the trapped and restore order. School children wearing yellow plastic "civil defense" smocks passed out cups of water. The New Zealand police liaison officer attached to our team was no exception--he navigated us through the city, provided advice, and cared for us as if we were members of his own family.

In Christchurch's darkest hour, kindness triumphed over adversity. I feel privileged to have witnessed the very best of humanity.

floured up

2011-02-12T19:09:00.001-08:00

I am like a mad scientist in my kitchen tonight: refreshing sourdough starters both plain and rye; mixing up the levain for sourdough pain au chocolat (because I am insanely overambitious about what I'll be able to accomplish tomorrow); soaking seeds for the German rye I hope to make.

This afternoon, while the rest of the family was napping, I went to the library, ostensibly to return a stack of Bee's books, but spent an hour holed in in section 640.8, leafing through cookbooks.

After cleaning up the kitchen and putting away my recently arrived King Arthur Flour order I come upstairs and spend the next thirty minutes looking at pictures of cupcakes on Martha Stewart Living website.

The baking bug--I got it bad. But somehow, where my day job entails striving for a series of mini accomplishments inside a much larger organization, baking bread just seems so much more rewarding. Mix it up, hope it rises without any drama, pop it in the oven, and mission accomplished.

Plus, unlike emails, you can eat it.

evening prayer

2011-02-11T18:29:00.000-08:00

I had a laugh this afternoon when my daughter scrunched up her eyes and recoiled at the bright sunshine. She was appalled at its audacious intensity. She had forgotten the sun.

Her reaction reminded me of the young Latvian child sitting behind me on a flight from Riga once. The winters in the Baltic are cold and very, very, very, dark. It snows nearly every day in the winter, and as a result, the sky is usually clouded over. (In fact, when I lived in Latvia we were issued "happy lamps," bright fluorescent bulbs meant to simulate sunlight and chase away the winter doldrums.)

The young child gazed out the window as the plane ascended. After several minutes, the plane broke through the cloud cover and flew into the always sunny upper atmosphere. With a voice of pure joy the child turned to her mother and cried, "Saulite!" "The little sun!" She too had forgotten the sun.

There are so many dark places in the world: Dark winters in the Baltics. Dark nights of the soul. The dark hours after a thwarted revolution. Dark hospital rooms.

There are places that remain dark until they are finally pierced by the light of the sun. By the warmth of spring and renewal. By the light of hope. By the eternal glory of everlasting life.

The sunshine today brought a smile to my face and the hope that the weather tomorrow will be fine; that the sick will be well; that the light of grace will shine on, shine on us all.

Amen.

Food. Family.

2011-02-03T17:56:00.000-08:00

It's my Dad's birthday today, and not only did I really enjoy having dinner over at my parents' house, but my husband had to eat pot roast.

Poor Dear Husband. For the first ten years of our relationship, he claimed that he hated the very thought of the meal--all those mushy vegetables and stringy beef.

I'm pot roast agnostic, and pretty much happy to eat anything that I don't have to cook in my kitchen.

On the other hand, Dad looooves pot roast, and almost always requests it for his birthday dinner. Plus, he just loves to give my husband a hard time.

My mother makes pot roast in the slow cooker, and covers the meat with a jar of horseradish sauce. Horseradish sounds like a less than ideal condiment, but when you cook it for a period of several hours, the flavor mellows out and the beef becomes fork tender. It's delicious.

And you know, I think I saw my husband sneaking seconds onto his plate.

The best part of the evening, however, was watching Nora eat her own piece of chocolate cake. By the time she was finished, she had crumbs in her nose, hair, and in every crease of her neck. She brandished her spoon overhead and laughed. She clearly has her mamma's sweet tooth.

It's nights like tonight that I really miss when we are overseas--time to just be an extended family, to tease each other, sneak extra pieces of cake, and just revel in sharing our daily lives together.

Smells even better than it looks . . .

2011-02-01T17:44:00.000-08:00

I love bread, especially when I make it myself and the smell of it baking fills my entire house.

Lost and Found

2011-01-31T18:35:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-30T17:51:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-28T17:33:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-27T17:28:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-26T16:56:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-25T17:23:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-24T18:56:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-18T17:10:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-16T17:02:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-13T18:36:00.000-08:00

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

2011-01-07T18:05:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-04T17:33:00.000-08:00

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.

Merry, Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T17:54:00.000-08:00

Last but not least: Tonga and Air New Zealand

2010-12-22T18:52:00.000-08:00

On my way home, I spent an hour layover in Tonga. Tonga is a country in the South Pacific. I would really like to go back someday. It's a kingdom, with a King and nobles, yet the King just decided to try out the whole democracy thing, allowing the people to elect their representatives. And it seems to be going well.

Finally, a word about Air New Zealand. They are the best airline ever. I would rather fly coach class on Air New Zealand over business class on ANY U.S. carrier. Why is that? The service. Smiling, caring, competent flight attendants who actually try to make you feel comfortable and at home. Plus, what other airline has a safety briefing that causes the passengers on the plane to laugh and cheer?

South Pacific Christmas

2010-12-21T18:06:00.001-08:00

I came across this tropical themed Nativity while in Samoa:

Instead of straw and snow, palm fronds and leis decorated the stable.

Samoa Samoa

2010-12-20T18:49:00.000-08:00

Samoa was wonderful. The country is beautiful and verdant, just like you would imagine a tropical island paradise in the South Pacific to be (The Polynesian hotel at Disney kinda got it right!):

The little beach at my resort. Unfortunately, I went to Samoa for work and didn't have a chance to spend much time here.

The ocean seemed to change color depending on the time of day.

The walkway leading to my room.

Coconut trees were everywhere. What's more, over 100 different kinds of bananas grow on Samoa. And oh yeah, there is also lots of fresh pineapple, Samoan lobster, and giant shrimp. Speaking of pineapple. . .

My virgin pina colada, and a toast to my dear husband on our 8th anniversary. Hopefully next year we won't be apart!

Pohutukawa

2010-12-19T18:34:00.001-08:00

In New Zealand, the pohutukawa tree blooms at Christmas-time and the flowers look just like ornaments.

Tasman Sea

2010-12-17T17:51:00.000-08:00

Hiking in Tawa

2010-12-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

Earlier in the week, I had the chance to go hiking in one of Wellington's suburbs, called Tawa. Never mind that I have had a horrible cough for the past two weeks, I wasn't going to let a virus stand in my way of getting out and seeing New Zealand's famous countryside. And it was well worth the windy trek.

We hiked through a dense forest, so filled with primeval ferns and plants and trees that the air seemed positively charged with oxygen. Finally, after close to a hour of uphill trudging, we emerged into the light.

There were foxgloves blooming everywhere.

Standing at the top of the hill, the wind was blowing so strongly, you could almost lean against it.

Did you know that New Zealand has no poisonous spiders or snakes? (Truly my version of heaven!) Above, the fearsome nettle lies in wait for unsuspecting passerby.

There was a 360 degrees perfect panorama and I could not stop taking photographs.

Finally, no trip to New Zealand would be complete without an encounter with the ubiquitous sheep. New Zealand has a population of about 4 million people. However, it can boast of a population of 40 million sheep. That's ten sheep per person. These two were so cute, I'm sure the Kiwis wouldn't mind if I brought them back to the United States with me.

I am currently in airport purgatory waiting for my 12 hour flight from Auckland to Los Angeles. It has been a long day--I started my morning in Samoa and had an hour layover in Tonga on my way back to NZ. I bet you'd have a tough time finding those countries on a map!

This has been an amazing trip; but I have missed my family so very, very, VERY much. I am aching to hug my sweet little girls. All I want is to be home with them and my dear husband.

Wellington, New Zealand

2010-12-04T22:43:00.001-08:00

Wellington harbor on a beautiful Saturday morning. The water was as smooth as glass.

There were snippets of prose hidden in the most unlikely of places, delighting my English major soul.

I thought about commandeering a boat, but knew the police would be on me in a second.

I'm dreaming of white Christmas, but around here, folks are hoping for warm temperatures and plenty of sunshine.

Auckland at Sunset

2010-12-04T11:00:00.001-08:00

New Zealand is fantastic. If only it weren't so far away from my husband and kiddies!

Not in the parenting handbook

2010-11-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

Yes indeed, indeedy. So, Miss Bee threw a fit tonight over a trash can full of trash. That was a new one.

My poor child has had the worst cold. She is chapped and scrawny and miserable. My sick Bean-pod has had three days of antibiotics which have taken away her ear infection, but given her hives and made her very temperamental, to say the least.

We have endured days of coughing and sneezing and Bee leaving crumpled Kleenex throughout the house as though she were Gretel venturing off into a dark forest.

In an attempt to corral the tissues, we placed a trashcan at the edge of her bed. This was having a positive effect until tonight. It was trash night in our house and my husband was busily emptying all the cans upstairs. Suddenly I heard screeching coming from Bee's room. "They're mine! They're my tissues. You can't take them out," she cried.

Disbelieving my ears, I hurried to my daughter's room and found her and my husband involved in a fierce game of tug of war over the plastic trash can.

You can guess who won that battle, but I had the harder task of consoling Bee over the thrown out, lost forever, dirty tissues. (It's really hard to do that with a straight face, by the way.) And then I had to make her go apologize for yelling at her father. Over snotty kleenex.

Buying the cow . . .

2010-11-17T18:18:00.000-08:00

So I guess it all really started when I read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," about three years ago. I went from not really thinking about the food we ate at all to thinking a lot about it, and how I wanted to feed my family. Since then, dear husband and I have dabbled in vegetarianism--organic food--buying local--farmer's markets--cooking from scratch--baking bread with a wild yeast starter--and now, milk delivery.

Over the course of several years, I have learned a lot of terminology: Grams of sugar. High fructose corn syrup. Cage free eggs versus certified humane. The prevalence of corn products in the American food supply. Feed lots. Factory farming. The difference between grass fed versus grass finished beef. Shopping the perimeter of the grocery store.

Some of the above activities were compulsory, a part of living in Romania. In Bucharest, if you wanted good vegetables, you bought them at the market. If we wanted to make an "American" apple pie, we had to make it from scratch. This new-found self-sufficiency has had such an impact on our lives, however, that we bought our house in America within walking distance of a farmer's market. I have learned a lot of things. Sure, you can buy canned pumpkin at the grocery store. It tastes fine. When I'm feeling lazy, that's what I do. However, it does not have the depth of flavor of the cheese pumpkin I bought at the farmer's market, baked in the oven, and pureed in my food processor.

Mainstream America would read the above sentence and roll its eyes in disbelief. I think most people would scoff at my refusal to buy Poptarts and laugh at my "Little House on the Prairie" pantry stocking tendencies. That's okay. And you know, I will eat at McDonalds once in a while, but in the full knowledge that most of my meal is some sort of corn by-product. We do buy some premade items, like veggie burgers, for the nights when we are feeling too lazy to cook much. We eat out and at friends and family's houses without worrying about where they buy their products or the ethics behind the meat that we're being served. (Because really, we are just ecstatic for anyone else to be doing the cooking!)

But so I actually wanted to write about our milk delivery service. There is a small dairy in Maryland called South Mountain Creamery that delivers milk, orange juice (from an amazing farm in Florida), yogurt, cheese, eggs, meat, bread, and even some pre-made dinners. The milk is incredible. It even comes in glass bottles (you return them to the company when empty.) You sign up to participate through their website and within a few weeks you house is added to a delivery route. On delivery day, you have to leave out a cooler with ice so that the products don't spoil. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy this service. It's a worthwhile splurge. I am grateful to be able to feed my family well and hopefully raise adventurous eaters in my daughters!

Is it still a vegetable if it's fried?

2010-11-15T17:47:00.001-08:00

So I am trying to summon the energy to get up a do at least a few chores before going to bed. It's chilly downstairs though and my bed is just so comfortable. Both the girls are asleep. We have finally managed to get Miss McGoo to go to sleep around the same time as her sister, which is a blessing. (Never mind that she still wakes up in the night, at least we have the whole going to sleep thing figured out.)

Tonight my dear husband made eggplant parmigiana and boy was it good. He has perfected this recipe, as he has with most things that involve cheese and/or frying. Eggplant parmigiana is that perfect combination of decadent and down-home that elevates an ordinary weeknight into something special. It almost makes you break out a tablecloth and some candlesticks. (I say almost, because we didn't quite get that far. But Miss Bee did set the table quite nicely.)

So here's how you make it:

Eggplant Parmigiana
by Dear Husband

Slice 1-1.5 lbs eggplant and put in a large bowl filled with cold salted water. Let them soak for ten minutes or so.
Prepare the eggplant for frying: dip the slices in flour, then into a beaten egg, and then panko bread crumbs.
Fry eggplant in a large skillet with as little oil as you can get away with.
Stack on paper towels to drain.

To make the sauce-mix one can tomato sauce and one can chopped tomatoes. Season liberally with salt, pepper, basil, oregano, and red pepper.

Slice one pound of mozzarella cheese.

Arrange eggplant in a single layer in a large baking dish. Stack one slice mozzarella cheese on each piece of eggplant and cover with tomato sauce.
Repeat with the second layer.

Bake at 375 degrees until the cheese is melted and the sauce is hot and bubbly, approximately 20 minutes.

Serve over angel hair pasta.
Swoon.
Enjoy watching your children eat aforementioned pasta. (Especially the 11 month old!)
Have seconds, or pack up the rest for a Tuesday bag lunch that all your colleagues will envy.

Her eyes

2010-11-11T18:36:00.000-08:00

All the colors of the sea. Blue and brown and gold and green.

I am hopelessly smitten with this baby girl of mine.

I heart Maileg design

2010-11-10T17:35:00.000-08:00

Both my Mom and I have an obsession with Maileg home design, particularly their Danish Christmas elves, or pixes. I have been browsing through a Danish design website that has one of the largest selections online-- and have been alternating between drooling over the Christmas decorations and laughing hysterically at Danish-English Google translations.

Take this one, for instance:

********

Drug pixies

Maileg funky and stylish fabrics elves, in sizes XL to the micro.
Elves have long, long, striped legs and arms, a long red hat and all are in separate nissetøj, depending on the collection and vintage.
Among such limbed sizes can occur pixie-teasing ... so be prepared - big and small.

*********

I am prepared!

But what I really want to know is where I can find this advent calendar!

Child labor

2010-11-09T17:04:00.000-08:00

Last week, my husband took Bee to the pediatrician for her four year old checkup. During the visit, the doctor asked Bee a lot of different questions, partly to distract her from the fact that she was about to receive five immunizations, but also to check her language ability.

After Bee successfully answered a few basic things the doctor asked, "What is your favorite thing to do with your Mommy and Daddy?" Her favorite thing, as in the thing she loves to do with her parents more than anything else. . .

Now, if you had asked me to speculate on this question, I might have had a couple ideas--bringing a stack of picture books over to Starbucks for special reading time with Mommy; riding her brand new scooter to school with Daddy; being pulled in her red wagon to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings; carving pumpkins for Halloween and her owl-themed birthday party that included an owl pinata and very adorable owl cake. . .cue the happy family music right there folks. But when the question was put to our saintly daughter, only one thing came to her mind:

"Vacuuming."

This should be an interesting year.

All Hallows

2010-10-31T16:01:00.001-07:00

Happy Halloween!

Dee-cisions Dee-cisions

2010-10-28T17:59:00.001-07:00

In which the pumpkins were inspected, rejected, and selected.

The good part of my day--

2010-10-14T18:11:00.000-07:00

The Indian woman who prevented Cheeks McGoo have a meltdown on an overcrowded metro train. She was a one woman baby hypnotist, quieting her royal Cheeks-ness's shrieks of protest at the fact that the metro doors had malfunctioned and zee train was stuck on the platform. (Ever had to listen to "Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Doors clo-sing!" for more than five minute straight? And the conductor was yelling at the passengers over the intercom. But I digress.) The kind woman entertained my daughter until the train got underway again and then for 6 stops after that. We chatted a little and it turned out that she had a 22 month year old son. I am thankful for the fellowship of mothers everywhere.

The other good part of my day was eating salmon chowder at my mother's house. It was the perfect meal for a cold rainy night, hot soup paired with steaming cornbread, with apple turnovers for dessert. It was a good day to be a little bit spoiled.

In Romania

2010-09-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

this time of year the sheep are coming down from their summer pastures high in the mountainsr with the shepherds, the "ciobani."

The cliffs are so steep in parts you wonder how they do it without falling, scrambling down the rockfalls, urged on by the shepherds, herded into line by the sheepdogs.

Have you ever seen a shepherd drive a flock of sheep across a road? They never seem to hurry. There is no sense in rushing the sheep as they will only startle and scatter. Instead, it's a balletic, almost slow motion event. A woolly parade.

I always loved when we were driving in the Romanian countryside and had to stop the car to allow a flock of sheep to surge by. It was like stepping back in time.

No whining

2010-09-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

I cannot even venture a guess as to how many times a day I remind Miss Bee of the above. Whhyyyy is three going on four such a tough age? One minute, my darling firstborn is little miss helpful, baking cookies and helping me walk the dog. Two minutes later, it's meltdown central. I can understand whining on the weeknights--the poor child has to behave at daycare all day, and that's a lot to ask. But whining on the weekends? Come on! There's too much to do, no time for drama.

On Friday afternoon I finally got around to sorting through the nice pile of mail that had accumulated in my entryway. I found a small envelope addressed to me that surprisingly didn't look like junk mail. I opened it up and found a cork inside. Puzzled, I took a closer look. The cork had a web address and it took me here. My little cousin, who is not so little anymore, in fact he is quite grown up, is starting out in the wine business. And his wine, unlike whining, is fantastic.

Three Quarters One Year

2010-09-15T19:01:00.001-07:00

Dear Cheeks McGoo,

You are nine months old today. You celebrated by staying up way past your bedtime and practiced your latest baby milestone--sticking out your tongue. You shrieked with joy every time I mimicked you. We must have looked like a couple of fools.

Cheeks, you are such a funny, sensitive baby, and the ultimate Mama's girl. You ride the metro and make friends with complete strangers, yet you cry when I leave you at daycare. Every. Single. Time. You can crawl, but only backwards. You go wild for paper, any kind. You wake me up at 3:30 every morning, but I don't mind--much.

I love you Peanut.

You have utterly stolen my heart,

Mama

Definitions

2010-09-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

I was out walking the dog tonight with Cheeks McGoo and Miss Bee in tow.

Bee is very proud that she can read the words "stop" and "no." As we walked, I pointed out various other signs and words.

We came across a sign that had the word "emergency." Out of curiosity, I asked Bee, "Do you know what emergency means?"

"Yes," she replied, "An emergency is like if you pee your pants."

Indeed!

Good pizza

2010-09-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

Fall fruits and vegetables have arrived at the farmers market: hearty kale, bumpy squash, and crisp apples. This week, I bought home a pair of acorn squash and immediately set about figuring out how to cook them. Roasted squash received the best reviews and so I decided to try a food network recipe for roasted squash pizza with gorgonzola and arugula: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/roasted-acorn-squash-and-gorgonzola-pizza-recipe/index.html

Doesn't that sound like a strange combination? It looks even stranger on the pizza but believe you me. . . it tastes delicious.

(New recipe #I have no idea; I have missed writing down quite a few.)

Evening song

2010-09-02T18:30:00.000-07:00

We had dinner at my parents' house tonight. My father grilled filet mignon. It was an impromptu celebration. Cheeks McGoo loved the roasted potatoes. Bee mostly ate sour cream but declared her "chicken" very tasty. The poor meat-deprived child. Good food, good company, but the greatest gift for two full time working parents--no dirty dishes at our house.

I have been making a big effort to get Bee ready for bed at her bedtime and break the habit of rushing through teeth brushing and story time. I had gotten into the habit of hurrying Bee off to bed, mostly because during the summer she tended to stay up a little too late. Now that I am working and not usually arriving home until after 6 pm, I have a very small sliver of time with Miss Bee. We need to spend more time together snuggling on the couch, not less.

While her big sister is a champion sleeper, Cheeks McGoo is a decided underachiever. We have been working her bedtime routine this week. Infants can keep their own crazy hours but big babies, ones that are almost nine months, well I just feel that they should be sleeping a little bit more. You know, like through the night. And not in my bed. It's not going well, mostly because I know that Cheeks spends the day crying at daycare and I cannot bear to cause her anymore trauma. My Baby has the most delightful, sparkling personality. It should be impossible to love her as much as I do. But boy oh boy she is loud when things aren't going her way.

Right now, though, both of the little ones are sleeping and I had a chance to bake bread. (I will post soon on how it is possible to bake sourdough bread while working full time. It is possible) The whole house smells delicious. Tomorrow morning I will toast a huge piece for breakfast and thank my lucky stars that it's Friday, and a three day weekend.

Yes you can

2010-08-31T17:13:00.000-07:00

pop popcorn in a half a stick of butter. The butter browns and the popcorn kernels pop and turn a lovely caramel color. Put some really fancy sea salt on top and oh. my. goodness. It is the epitome of popcorn. A popcorn sonata. Popcorn perfection.

2,000 calorie popcorn is really what you need when you have a serious case of the Tuesdays. It's pretty sad that a bowl of popcorn is the highlight of my day. I have a summer cold, which is always worse than a winter cold because warm sweaters and hot tea just don't have the same effect when it is 90 degrees outside.

Being sick is a good excuse for oversleeping, and this morning Dear Husband and I managed to do just that this morning. We overslept despite the fact that we went to bed at nine p.m. Cheeks McGoo woke up around 4 am and snuggled back to sleep in the bed with us. Max the dog must have come into the room around 6:30 because my Dear Husband and I woke up simultaneously gasping with horror as we saw that I was supposed to be leaving for work in 20 minutes.

I made it to work, mostly washed and dressed, but spent the morning in a complete fog. I poured dish soap into my tea instead of honey! (Not so good for a sore throat.) I wandered over to the wrong office for a meeting.

So, It was a generally disastrous day, but I am optimistic that tomorrow can only get better. And if it isn't, we'll make more popcorn.

Community

2010-08-28T17:49:00.000-07:00

So it is rather embarrassing that it's Saturday night and I am in my pajamas and ready for bed before nine o clock. I have heaps of excuses though:

Miss Cheeks has given me her cold and the massive amounts of antibiotics I am taking for strep have wiped me out. Plus, my two little ones keep me busy; my Dear Husband and I played parent to daughter defense all day.

Did you know that we suspended our Netflix account because we couldn't even manage to watch one movie a month? At home.

Despite my ongoing battle with exhaustion, today was a wonderful Saturday and reminded me of how much I love my little community and my extended family.

This morning, I was walking to the farmer's market with Cheeks when my father-in-law drove by with my niece. We met up among the vegetables and I convinced him to stop by our house for a little while. So the girls had an impromptu cousin party.

Dear Husband was outside mowing the lawn when our neighbor down the street came over in a panic. A chipmunk had gotten loose in the house and could we please help. Hubby tried, but the chipmunk took refuge behind their dishwasher. I believe it had been gravely injured by the family cat.

Later on, my Mom came by to go to Michaels--because there are some stores that my Dear Husband flat out refuses to set foot in and Michaels is one of them. It's no fun to look at craft supplies alone, so I brought Cheeks and Bee and my mother.

Later in the afternoon, I took Bee to the grocery store. While we were there, we ran into my sister-in-law and the aforementioned cousin and had a nice chat in the milk aisle.

Then this evening evening we went over to my in laws for dinner and saw everyone again. I love having a little community to call my own.

Sidelined

2010-08-27T18:38:00.000-07:00

So this week has not turned out exactly as I planned, but then, no week ever really does.

I had a sore throat last weekend, which has mostly disappeared, but starting on Tuesday night it suddenly reappeared. By Wednesday evening it felt as though I was swallowing knives. I lay on the floor of Miss Bee's rooms, trying to make her puppets talk, but could only manage a few whispered croaks.

"You're going to Urgent Care," my husband declared. Both he and my mother strong armed me into going to the doctor, and I hate the doctor, but it proved to be a good decision--diagnosis strep throat.

I went to bed Wednesday night with the intention of staying home the following day and focusing on getting well. Then Miss Bee woke up in the night with a fever. I assumed that she had strep too and so the next day my husband took both girls to the pediatrician to be checked out. No strep. Mystery fever. But not a particularly restful day for anyone.

Fortunately, I am feeling much improved after taking a few large doses of amoxicillin. I was back to work today and allowed in the office after assuring my colleagues that I am no longer contagious. Bee's fever vanished as mysteriously as it arrived.

And now Nora has caught her first real cold. She recoils from a proffered Kleenex but loves wiping her nose on my shirt. Repeatedly.

Poor babies.

(All of us!)