Princess HeyYahHeyYah

I have a three and a half year old girl, and that means princesses. How did this happen? In addition, her favorite color is pink and she has ideas about what boys can do and what girls can do. I tried to avoid this, but I guess if I really cared I would have banned tv. And music. And movies. And contact with other kids (and with adults) And the receiving of gifts. And about a sixth of the books we have.

But she wants to wear that pink to go hunting and fishing. And she wants to be president, a fire fighter, a dancer, a doctor AND a nurse, and HeyYah!HeyYah!er (also known as a marial arts expert.) And my favorite story she ever asked me to tell was this..."Mommy tell me they story where I was the princess and Daddy was the king and there was a dragon and I rescued Daddy from the castle."

We get to know one another in beers here, cups of juice there. I call you on a Sunday, three weeks after you left a message. To leave a message. We ask each other questions between breaking up fights and folding laundry. I break out the bluetooth for the 15 minute ride to daycare or you get me on the phone when I have half an hour before a meeting. We chat online late at night, after kids have gone to sleep or, rather, in the intervals between escorting them back to bed. Facebook. We have lunch, during the week. We never manage to talk for longer than 10 minutes at a stretch. This is friendship after children...simmer over low heat, stir occasionally, very occasionally, hope it doesn't splatter all over the kitchen...It is not at all like it was before, but it still is delicious.

The Good Wife

Today my boss and I had a meeting with one of the candidates for the open Congressional seat in our district. Whenever I sit with politicians - be they candidates or electeds - I come to the same conclusion. These are not ordinary people.

This particular man, a local lawyer who has operated a lot behind the scenes for years, told us that if he wasn't running for office, he would be climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro with one of his daughters. So not an ordinary either or. But all things are relative, and in the grand scheme of things, he was fairly normal. That is why I doubt he will win.

There has to be something deep inside that drives a person to open up their life to their community -small or large. There must be a greater feeling of purpose. The best in politics have public services as that purpose. The worst? Ego.

That is why when I see strange things happening in the marital relationships of politicians, I have a different take. The "good wife" who stands at her husband's side no matter what? I am guessing that 9 times out of 10 she has the same extraordinariness as her husband. Because really, you usually know who it is your are marrying and, if my theory is right, a politician is born a politician.

One More Week

Bill will be back one week today, provided the gods of air travel choose to smile upon him! That is all really.

Oh, and we had some really good pot roast for dinner tonight.

My Complaint

I've always been a sleeper. 8 or 9 hours is my ideal. I know that a nightly 9 hours is highly ambitious for someone over the age of say, 5, but I used to get it as often as possible.

The story of my sleep is the story of motherhood. My nine whittled down to 8, 7, 6 as I became more and more pregnant with Eva. From my 8th month of pregnancy on I was getting 5 or 6 hours. And then she was born. And she didn't sleep. But by the time she was 7 or 8 months old she was only waking once, and I was sleeping 7 hours again. Not all at once, of course. By 10 months she was sleeping through the night, and by the time I got pregnant again I was back to a solid 8 hours of sleep.

Now I am plunged back into sleep hell. 10 months old next week and Waylon is still waking 2 or 3 or 5 times. If I could go to bed when he does, at 7:30, I suppose I could handle this, as his wakings come much later at night. And they start about an hour after I fall asleep.

People give advice about this. Let him cry. Sure, that makes him fall back asleep on his own, but it doesn't stop him from waking up again and hour or 2 later.

There is nothing I want more in this world right now than just ONE night of 6 hours of solid sleep. Six hours of deep sleep. Six hours of burrowing deep in a nest of flannel and fleece. Six hours of dreaming. Six hours of heaven.

I Love Tomato

All Mine

When the wind blows like this and I am home with just the kids in the house, I sometimes feel like any minute I will be Dorothy, swept off into another dimension. Our house is like a sieve, all cracks and holes.

We used to have a postcard on the fridge, an abandoned house with the words "One more payment and it is our!" scrawled across the roof. When I feel like the roof might break off at any moment I think about that postcard and realize we don't have one more payment left.

We really own this place. It is all ours, holes and cracks and all. No mortgage. And I realize how lucky we are.

Farm Fresh Food Club

I could go on and on about vichyssoise, but that bitch already did it. The one with blog and the book and the movie. At least Julia C. said some not so nice stuff about her, that makes her success easier for me to take (and makes me feel all the more justified in my bitterness.) But the vichyssoise. She was right about that. It really is perfection.

Pretty much everything from my farm share has been perfection, actually. And it keeps getting better. This week I am overwhelmed by the chard and the onions and the garlic the broccoli and the potatoes and the tomatoes and the carrots and the herbs and the beets and squash. And just when I think I have figured out everything I will be making, something else remembers itself to me...But what about the kale? (Chips. Kale chips.)

We pick up every Friday afternoon, and that has become such a treat for my 3 year old. "The FARM! Can I see the chickens?"

I love that she is able to see where her food comes from, to pick beans, to meet our farmer. To know that carrots come out of the ground, not a bag. I love that she has heard the soft music that is a flock of clucking chickens. Now I just have to explain that not ALL chickens live in an old camper turned chicken coop.

Not Perfect...

Why yes, I did make these cinnamon rolls from scratch. But don't worry...my house looks like a tornado went through about 10 seconds ago. The first responders haven't even been paged yet.

Whip It

All I have to say is that I am so excited to see this movie that I declared next Friday "Whip It" day at my office and officially decreed that we will all go see this movie as a team activity.

And how much do I love my boss that she suggested my team also get drinks together after?

This what I think when I run...

Click the lock shut. Bend and touch your toes. Straighten up. Walk out of the locker room, Bound up the first set of steps. At the second set, use the middle step to stretch your calves. Walk past the men's locker room and wonder why there is a sign telling them to wear at least a towel while the women's locker room has no such sign. Say hello to the attendant. Scan the gym. Climb the stairs. And stretch. And Stretch.

Start around the track, Clockwise on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Walk briskly. Feel the cold air coming in the windows. Breathe. Count off five minutes. It is faster than you can imagine.

Start to run. Feel strong. Think about your posture. Don't spill the water from the bowl of your pelvis. Keep your feet straight. Arms loose. Shoulders loose. Head up. Think about where you foot hits the track. Smell the gym smell. Count the laps on your fingers. 11 times is a mile. Do you count the lap as you do it? Or when you finish? Why did they change the radio station? The other one was better. Why don't you have an ipod? Wonder if birds ever fly in the windows. Is that bird poop on the blue rubber of the track, or is a drop of white paint?

Should you be breathing that fast? Running that fast? How many laps was that? This song is okay. Maybe this station won't be so bad. You can look at your watch after four songs. Or after 15 laps. How do you count again? Look at the track. No, keep your head up, Look at the brick wall. Don't look at that clock. Think about work. Think about work some more. Some more. See? You ran a lot while you thought about work. But how many laps was that? If you just think about work, you won't get tired. You can't think of anything to think about. How can this song still be on. Don't look at your watch. Don't look. Don't look.

Think about the kids. When will that rash go away? What will you feed them for dinner tonight? Your hip hurts. You should have stretched more. How many laps? How many fingers? Try to do the math. If 11 laps is a mile and 16 and three quarters laps is 1.5 miles, how many miles is 25 laps? But if you run faster than a lap a minute, which you do now, you will run more than 25 laps in 25 minutes. And you want to run 2 and a half miles in 25 minutes today. Wait. How fast do you have to run each lap if train A leaves the station on time?

Why did you look at your watch?

Just sing along with the song. Sing. Sing. Sing. Your voice in your head is a really good singer. Sing. Sing. Sing.

It is over! Now you can walk! Walking feels so good. And that was easy. You could have run for many many more minutes. Oh shit. This is why you should start your run on a time ending in five or zero. You should have been running until 12:28 not 12:26.

So add an extra minute. Sprint. Sprint. Sprint. You are fast fast fast. You think about work again. If you can run this fast now, you were not working hard enough before. Run fast fast fast. Make sure the time is up before you stop. There. And walk.