Mixed Threads

Post Yoga Green Goop

2012-02-09T16:11:00.001-06:00

After sweating it out in hot yoga today, I needed something tart to refresh my palate. Just happened to have some rhubarb in the freezer to do the trick.

Spinach
Rhubarb
Apples
1/2 lemon (juice)
Water

Blend. Drink. Rejuvenate.

Death Awaits.

2012-02-09T15:38:00.002-06:00

When I have with me a little kid in tow, I tend to look down more frequently. Look what Jasper and I found on the side walk yesterday.

Jasper found this particularly fascinating because he believed it was a dead snake. Oh, that would have been exciting, a snake dead from a Pepto-Bismol overdose.

As it is, I find it curious that the author chose to express her morbid thought sugared up with bright pink bubble gum and a cute heart. Is that the grim reaper popping his gum under his shroud? So annoying.

Why Raw?

2012-02-08T20:22:00.001-06:00

My family eats out or orders in a lot. It was a habit formed from my former hatred of the kitchen. I am known for setting the smoke detectors off frequently, boiling pots dry, and even when standing directly over a pot of rice, I can have a conversation with someone and just not notice the pot of rice boil over and flood the stove until it runs over the ledge onto my feet.

It has happened, that thing with the rice, in front of the veterinarian (who does house calls) as we talked about our kids' schooling. She talks a lot, which is usually great for me, because sometimes, frequently, there are days when I don't get a chance to talk to adults. But also, talking for me is distracting. I'm a one thing at a time kind of gal. I don't talk and drive at the same time, even when the audio's coming over the sound system. And just as I was impressing her (surely) with the merits of homeschooling, the pot boiled over, I kept on talking, and then I burnt my toes - because, you know, homeschoolers don't wear shoes.

I am almost certain this is why my husband will never consent to living in the suburbs. He's afraid with limited delivery options, I might just burn down the house while trying to make a simple meal.

Perhaps that's why raw is so appealing to me.

PS: I had that yummy Mediterranean Kale salad for dinner tonight. So good.

Mommy Guilt

2012-02-07T15:39:00.000-06:00

In spite of being super productive today, I've been feeling a little down. Jasper is my youngest. There are many days that I wish there are more kids to come; however, age, infertility, and perimenopause are all working against me. So when Jasper really, really didn't want to go to his little neighborhood preschool this morning, I was conflicted. About two thirds of the way to school, he abruptly turned around and high-tailed it across the park towards home. I caught up with him at the cross walk - he waited to hold my hand before crossing the street. Yoga was the biggest thing on my schedule today. Giving it up for some Mommy-Jasper time wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Yet, I remember having this discussion with a teacher a few months ago, if I give in, it will be harder the next time he doesn't want to go, and the next time, until he is empowered knowing that he can call the shots.

But there is another side to this. Why do we (conflicted mommies everywhere) feel so compelled to let go of our children at such a young age? The research to support early childhood education seems as conflicted as my feelings this morning. I am on the fence on this one. While I still have one foot in the homeschooling community, I am scheduled to attend an open house for a school that seems interesting. School for him means more time to write, photograph, workout, prepare meals, garden, blog... maybe get a job. No school means more time with him. Time moves so fast I'm afraid he'll be gone in a blink. Oh, I love this boy.

Leaving him at school crying was devastating. Yet, when I called fifteen minutes later, he was fine. Quiet. But fine.

Pico de Gallo

2012-02-06T22:56:00.000-06:00

When I began including significantly more Raw foods into my diet, I began to look at restaurant menus in a whole new way. Mexican restaurants are my favorite, because if they have nothing else, I can always enjoy an ample dish of pico de gallo along with some fresh guacamole. I like a little spicy, but not too much, so I was motivated to start making my own. I crave this always. Once started, this has become one of my weekly staples, and a favorite to share for potluck gatherings.

Good tomatoes aren't always easy to come by in the wintry Midwest. I pick the best I can, but have had to make do with some not-so-great tomatoes. With the mix of peppers, lime, and cilantro, this recipe can be a little forgiving of those sorry, weary traveled nightshades. But when summer comes, boy, those tomatoes will steal the show.

Seed and dice the tomatoes. For this batch to have some and share some, I used ten Roma tomatoes. This can be a big job, especially if you are me and get a little lost in the threads during the slicing and dicing. When I just want to get it done, I throw them in the food processor and using the s-blade, pulse them a bit. This batch above was for a party, so I wanted them pretty. With Pandora's family folk station on some hip swinging, toe tapping tunes, I made quick work of those babies without loosing a digit.

Rinse the cilantro and pulse in the processor. You can also chop them to bits, but time... that's the advantage of owning one of these machines. I don't bother separating the leaves from the stems. Once I learned the stems are about as savory as the leaves, I wondered why I had been wasting my time for all those years.

Put a half of red onion (or my usual preference, a bunch of green onions), two jalapenos, and two cloves of garlic into the processor and pulse.

All in it looks something like this. Add the juice of one lime (fresh, please), about a tablespoon of olive oil, a teaspoon of salt, and grind some pepper over the top. Mix. Taste. Then start adjusting. Here the onion was too strong so I kept adding tomatoes until it found balance. Then the lime started to disappear so I added two more. Yum. A little more salt and a few more grinds of pepper later and it was perfect. This is why you won't find too many quantities in my recipes. Once I think I've got it perfect, I'll record it, make it again, and it won't be the same.

Taste, adjust, mix and repeat.

And clean up.

Share to a room full of football fans and feel the love. (Didn't Madonna look great, last night?)

Pico de Gallo
Roma Tomatoes
Cilantro
Jalapeno Peppers
Red Onion (or bunch of green)
Garlic
Lime Juice
Olive Oil
Salt
Pepper

Sunday Morning Slice of Life

2012-02-05T16:01:00.000-06:00

Not everything I prepare is Raw vegan, much to my children's great relief. At least one day a week I will make them banana pancakes. They are not my favorite to cook because I can never seem to get the pancakes out of the pan without some major stick. I prefer a waffle iron with its perfectly non-stick surface and a clean exit every time. However, there is a soft spot in my heart for that yummy banana goodness as I fondly remember my Nana making them especially for me when I was a kid.

Chloe was amusing Jasper with snap circuits while I was cooking. She is all to familiar with the burnt byproducts of my short little span of attention.

Jasper decided to help with the cleanup...

using quite a lot of bubbles.

I'll be making some fresh pico de gallo for the Super Bowl party we're attending soon. Come back again this week to see the recipe.

Cheers.

Saturday Smoothie

2012-02-04T09:20:00.000-06:00

The majority of my smoothie concoctions are inspired by what is already in my refrigerator - what needs to be used now before it becomes waste. As long as I've got a little green, some fruit and a finger of ginger, I can whip up something delicious and nutritious. When most of my produce has been used up, I almost always have these basics.

Celery
Apple
Cucumber
Ginger
Lime
Water

Blend
Drink
Share
Be Happy

Mediterranean Kale

2012-02-02T20:23:00.000-06:00

My first taste of this delicious recipe was from my friend, and Raw food mentor, Imani. She makes a variation of this by mixing in fresh pesto. Yum, so delicious.

The original recipe is from Raw Food Made Easy by Jennifer Cornbleet. Once I discovered this book, it has quickly become my food bible. All the dishes are quick and simple and enough for a meal and leftovers. If you're beginning this journey and haven't built up your kitchen with a bunch of small appliances, the recipes have the added benefit of seldom needing any special equipment aside from a good cutting board and sharp knives.

Start with a bunch of Kale, remove the stems and wash. I prefer Lacinato Kale, but any variety works well.

PS: The avocado didn't make the final cut. I could eat avocado's with just about everything, but with the pine nuts and olives, I left it out for another day.

Those kale stems need something important to do. I've got to get my worm farm set up. Otherwise, I've known people who will juice these.

Chop the kale. Or pile up the leaves, roll 'em like a cigar, and thinly slice to make lovely ribbons.

Mix equal parts olive oil to fresh lemon juice and/or apple cider vinegar w/mother. Pour over the chopped kale and add salt. You can get all fancy, schmantzy and use Himalayan Pink Crystals or Celtic Sea Salt. Or not and use Mortons. I keep it light and add more salt to taste when serving. Massage the dressing and salt into the kale.

Dice the pepper. Slice the olives. Throw it all together with the kale and add pine nuts.

To dress, mix equal parts olive oil to fresh lemon juice and/or apple cider vinegar w/mother and toss. Grind a little pepper over it, sit by a lovely window and eat.

Here's the recipe:

Mediterranean Kale

Bunch of Kale
Olive Oil
Lemon Juice
Salt
Red Bell Pepper
Pine Nuts
Black Olives
Fresh Ground Black Pepper

Eat well.

Not For Me

2012-01-29T14:46:00.001-06:00

Still soaking wet from hot yoga, I found a text message from my husband, "We’re waiting at [trendy pancake joint] to get in. It will be about 10 minutes. Join us?"

Sweet, huh?

Me, "No thank you. Enjoy. Please don’t bring me anything. Don’t bring home the leftovers on my account."

This new pancake place is divine and breakfast foods (I’m not talking Cheerios, here) are my favorite: pancakes soaked with maple syrup with every variety of decadent combinations imaginable, Belgium waffles with deep pockets of melted butter dusted with powdered sugar, thick slices of French toast that taste like bread pudding, 3 egg cheesy omelets with chunks of ham and sauteed veggies, enormous blueberry muffins with sugar encrusted tops. Oh yeah, I could have breakfast three meals a day.

Like many restaurants these days, this one serves enormous portions that could feed 3 to 4 people at least. Some folks (not many if you take a look at US obesity rates) are great at portion control. They eat what they need and bring home the rest. Or discard it. Me, if the food is that good, and even when it is not, I will continue eating until my 3-year-old is under the table napping in the coats, my 11-year-old is lost in a book, and my husband is standing up with his coat on, check paid, ready to go. The pleasure of those huge brunches is only fleeting. The pain will most certainly come later in my fickle gut, inflamed joints and with the befuddlement of my thoughts.

Best not to join them, today. Let that be their special Sunday morning daddy fun time. For me, I’m having a green smoothie, or I’ll whip up a beautiful batch of tabbouleh with flax bread on the side, or some raw-vegan banana pancakes.

And I don’t even feel the tiniest bit of deprivation.

(Well, maybe just a smidge.)

Mommy Timeout

2012-01-27T15:03:00.001-06:00

Today is a day of temper tantrums, from both my 3 year old and myself. I needed to put myself in timeout, so I went for a walk by the lake. So beautiful, tranquil. Back at home, major breakdown over a pair of socks. I think I'm about to have a break down myself... I'm just going to sit and look at this picture.

Kale Mango Smoothie

2012-01-26T15:59:00.002-06:00

A simple little green smoothie - not my best, but refreshing and filling all the same:

- kale (I prefer to remove the stems)
- green apple
- frozen mango chunks (because the fresh ones didn't look so fresh)
- about an inch of ginger
- avocado
- 1/2 banana
- water

Blend. Drink. Love.

(not) Nacho Cheese Sauce

2012-01-24T13:08:00.001-06:00

Nachos is one of those things that I think I cannot live without. Saturdays and nachos seem to go hand in hand - easy to make and everyone loves them. Yet, they make me feel lousy afterwards, almost every time. It's mostly the dairy that is bothersome to me, but pigging out on a pile of tortilla chips can't be so good, either. I know, portion control matters, but with salty, crispy chips, it's like asking an alcoholic to have just one sip when a tray of cheery martinis is made available.

Recently I Googled, "raw vegan nacho cheese" and came up with a ton of great recipes. This is the one I chose because I had all the ingredients on hand. I've altered it a bit to suit my taste and each batch turns out a little different based on what seasonings I play around with. The fun part, this is one of those really good Raw vegan recipes that most people will eat up without caring a fig whether it is dairy free, raw, vegan or whatever. I don't have to explain myself when I serve it - just whip it up and watch it disappear.

Here is the basic recipe:

This is taken from notes from my iPhone. I copy all my favorite recipes into there because I move frequently from home to farm to friends' homes, etc and I always want my best recipes at hand. It also makes it so easy to share. Whenever I've tried to make from memory, disaster occurs and then I mourn the loss of those fresh, (sometimes expensive) beautiful ingredients.

A few of my fussy notes: About 2 hours beforehand I'll soak the cashews in water. I think it can be done on the fly but the results won't be nearly as creamy. These babies seem to sprout fast, so if I've soaked them, but don't use them, I pour off the water and refrigerate in a sealed container.

I've always used the entire pepper which will typically yield more than 1/2 cup. I love the flavor and it gives a great color to the sauce.

With the lemon juice, I stick to the measured amount. When I've used too much, I'm always unhappy with the result. Always use a fresh lemon versus bottled lemon juice - such a difference in flavor. I'm now in the habit of keeping a bag in the fridge at all times.

Why onion powder and not fresh onions? I haven't tried it the other way. Onions are one of those things that I really don't like raw no matter how I mix or dehydrate them, so I'm grateful for the suggested powder.

I can't really tell what the turmeric adds except the color looks very "cheesy". The taste, not so much.

What I do add to the recipe: A good dose of chili powder (tsp, tbsp? depending on my mood) and a pinch of cayenne pepper.

Here are the ingredients ready at the start:

I start with the peppers because they blend so easily and help the cashews along. Note the Vitamix blender. I love, love, love my Vitamix and makes a huge difference in how creamy this recipe can get. However, I made this at my sister's home with a regular blender and the result was still great. I may have stressed her machine a bit, though. If not a Vitamix, add a little more water to help with blending. The result will be a little thinner in consistency, but still delicious. Now, recently I went to a good Mediterranean restaurant that served up a similar dip that was a little chunky, like a good pesto sauce, which made me think this might work in a food processor as well. I'm going to try that next week.

I have to include my juicer because it's shape and color is so cheery. I use a reamer often, as well, but then have to deal with the seeds in the juice. Just one tiny step, to juice fresh, makes such a big difference in flavor.

As it appears in the blender before firing it up. Oh, I should mention that if you're not using a Vitamix, chop your veggies smaller. Be kind to your machine. Notice my little punk rocker? He cleans the Vitamix blades - they're too sharp to want to get my fingers even close.

Yum, all blended and creamy.

Here it is again. It's always a challenge to get the thicker, creamy sauces out of the Vitamix. I've got small spatulas, chopsticks, long handled spoons (bad, bad, bad for the blades). I get the most that I can get out of it and then lick the rest as if I were three and my mom just gave me the bowl of remaining cake batter - that is before we were all terrified of salmonella. No salmonella in this stuff, though. Just nuts, veggies and spices.

I serve this with a crisp flax bread that I make weekly and a bowl of fresh pico de gallo and maybe some sliced olives. I'll work up those posts in the future. In the interim, serve up with some crisp romaine like I did here, or a platter of colorful crudité.

My best variation to this recipe, yet, happened when I made this for my lovely sister-in-law, Mara, and her husband, Danny. We had no chili or cayenne for seasoning, so I dropped in a packet of tandoori seasoning mix. It was amazing, but obviously not nacho cheesy. I've got to get up to Devon Avenue in Chicago with someone who really knows their Indian cuisine to fill out my spice drawer.

Except for the soak time, this whips up in less than ten minutes. Really. I'm not fast, just ask my mom.

Eat well.

Trying Not to Cry

2012-01-23T16:44:00.001-06:00

Rain, a photo by Dominique on Flickr.

Again, the hot yoga. It is extreme punishment for all the years of neglect to my body - for the miscarriages, surgeries, pregnancies, births, the excess food, drink, the accidents, broken bones, arthritis, depression, age. No, the yoga isn't the punishment, the clunky, popping, cracking, unbalanced, awkward, jiggling body is the punishment. The yoga is just one of those paths to change.

In class I was thinking about Richard Simmons. His shows in the 80s would have my sister and I in stitches. I thought he was so weird with his big frizzy hair, spandex and little legs. Classes full of big, soft people with large t-shirts and white sneakers. Jane Fonda was popular then, too, with her perfectly made up face, head bands, bright colors. Classes full of happily, fit people. I laughed at Richard Simmons, but secretly I loved him. He was always hugging people. Someone would choke up, break into tears, and he would wrap his little arms around her big body telling her she's great. Everything was possible because Richard told you it was. But, I didn't need Richard then. I wasn't that fat. I worked out with Jane, but loved Richard.

Today, I am the biggest woman in class. I know, because I looked carefully at each woman there, weighing myself against her. Once in the past, I used to always identify someone in class who was bigger than myself. It kept my perspective when I would be too hard on myself for having a little pot, a soft layer over my muscles. For years I haven't gone to classes. I typically work out in privacy, isolation, because the biggest person in class in now me. No amount of clothing will minimize me. Spanx would be a decidedly bad idea for this class.

It was when moving from the Tandasana (tree) to Padang Ustasana (toe stand) that I thought about Richard Simmons. I was the only person left standing as the entire class of yogi's were low to the ground on just five toes each. Well, I should say not moving from one pose to the other because it takes every ounce of effort to not topple over with just one foot on the ground. My big self, towering above all those lithe, flexible, strong women, imagined him wrap his little arms around me to tell me I'm doing great.

In the locker room after class, trying to cool down, my friend asked me how it went today. "It kicked my ass," I said, trying to be funny. She asked again and I tried to put her off, because this is where the fat lady would cry and make a scene. Instead I smile, fight the tears, keep it light. Save the tears for the car.

I fought off the tears. This isn't about what I cannot do in the class - it is what I can do. I made it through another ninety minutes of Bikram Yoga. The heat, humidity, breathing, stretching, sweating, holding, strengthening.... felt really good.

Conformity

2012-01-21T14:41:00.001-06:00

I've been to this park hundreds of times. Today, while I sit back while my kids play in the snow, I notice the trees are planted in perfect rows, all spaced evenly apart. There was probably a good reason for this. Maybe someone calculated the space around which a tree needs to grow its roots. Or perhaps, the park district had a hundred trees in its possession and spread them equidistant in a determined space.

Whatever the wisdom behind the design, I look at how each tree is unique. The branches break out at different heights, different directions. The patterns in the bark are similar, yet they'll take unique paths up the trunk.

No matter the intention of the grand design, each tree resist all efforts to conform.

Hot Yoga, Cool Lunch

2012-01-19T15:59:00.001-06:00

With the encouragement, and good company of my trainer, I took a Bikram Yoga class for the first time today. Hours later, I still feel like a noodle, or jelly fish, or anything else you can think of that has a terrible time holding its form. I ate super light in the morning, knowing that I couldn't handle anything in my stomach for the duration of the class, so when I got home, I was Starving.

Nothing better to celebrate making it through 60 plus minutes in 105f and 50% humidity than by enjoying a Raw Vegan lunch. Beautiful, beautiful food. While sipping lots of cool water, it took me just a few minutes to put together this, romaine lettuce with nacho cheese sauce (raw, vegan), and homemade pico de gallo. It helped that I had made both the pico and sauce earlier in the week - they'll keep for a few days, the sauce up to a week. So good. The pico and lettuce are too light to sustain my appetite. But the sauce is rich, creamy and nutritious. A perfect pairing. I need to call this something... Raw Tacos? No - hate comparing new food to old food, it sets up unrealistic expectations. Hmmm, have to think on this. I'll put up a recipe for the pico and sauce soon.

Making changes that work for the long haul has everything to do with finding a routine that's workable. For me it is all about having the right stuff in the refrigerator. On the days that my son is in preschool (at the moment, only 2 days a week, because my house is too lonely and quiet without him around), I do lots of food prep. I load up the dehydrator, chop veggies, and whip up a few sauces. Today, not so much as I'm still trying to find my legs after that hot, hot, hot yoga.

Eat well.

School Angst

2012-01-18T15:56:00.000-06:00

We went to the farm this weekend so my daughter, Chloe, could get some good snow playtime in with her friend, (let's call her) Cindy. Cindy's mom had invited us especially to get our two girls together. Even though we live in the same city, the only place, the best place, for these kids to meet has been in the country. Cindy and her family have always been the greatest of inspiration for us to get outside and enjoy nature. When we met up, her mom and I ran to the store for some food. Once alone, she fervently asked me to please not bring up homeschooling around the kids.

Whoa. I said sure, but what's up? Is everything okay?

Cindy had started going to therapy in the fall because she refused to go to school. I was a little sad for Cindy when I heard this because I know she struggles with her classmates and with the school workload - but I don't want to undermine her mom's parenting in any way, either. Never, never, really. Her family is tops, to me. Her mom is one of the woman I know that seems to have her shit together. And really, I had enough insecurities about homeschooling, I would never press someone else into it. After several sessions when it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere, the therapist asked what kind of goals Cindy had, and where would she like to see herself next year. She said her only goal was to be able to Homeschool!

Yikes, this is Ironic. She did not know that Chloe had gone back to school - mostly because of her daughter. Chloe was very unsettled with homeschooling for a myriad of reasons. We had only done it for a year so I really believed it would all work out in time, we just hadn't found our groove. One of the BIG reasons, the one she was most vocal about, was her conversations with her friend, Cindy. At this girl's school, they were visiting different high schools and learning about the options so they can prepare themselves when going through the very competitive high school selection process - in 6th Grade! This kid talked about it as if it were college application she was preparing for. I am very cynical about high school selection in my town. I think it is a terrible amount of pressure to put a kid through. However, in many large cities around the country, to compete so intensely is our only option, unless you've got the money for private school, or the flexibility to move out of town if your kid doesn't get into an acceptable school (because, believe me, there are many unacceptable ones). Chloe was anxious that if she weren't in school now, that she won't qualify to be in school in the future, which she then won't qualify for a good college, and so on. She knows that isn't necessarily true, but she felt the angst nonetheless.

Ultimately, Chloe went back to school. Mainly because she found a school that seems a little like what this guy, Geoff Mulgan, is talking about - studio schools. I had seen this earlier in the year and though, wow, wouldn't it be so cool if we had something like this in America?

I had also been very moved by this guy, Sir Kenneth Robinson, and while I think to homeschool your kids gel with his ideas of education reform, it would be great if kids could have a place to go to learn in a way that is engaging and relative to our modern environment.

That's the big thing, Chloe went back to school this year after a short experiment in homeschooling, because she found a school that she's really excited about. As her mom, I worry about whether the curriculum is rigorous enough. Is the environment going to be safe? Will she be demoralized by her peers? Yet, each day that I pick her up from school there is a bounce in her step. I don't even turn on the car until she has a chance to tell me about her day. I feel like the luckiest mom in Chicago at the moment.

Stop and Go Apples

2012-01-16T10:49:00.000-06:00

Mom: Would you like a red apple?

Jasper: No.

M: A green apple?

J: Yes. I want a GO apple. I do not want a STOP apple. A GO apple.

Huh? Ohhh.

Because I Woke Up Craving Chocolate

2012-01-13T10:01:00.001-06:00

Today's green smoothie includes spinach, avocado, banana and mango.

I awoke this morning with a serious chocolate craving. This will be a super dense, creamy smoothie with the idea that I'll feed the craving with fat - lots of good fat. Still super nutritious and good balance for blood sugar levels.

This is like pudding. So good, even my 3yo loves it.

2012-01-12T15:45:00.001-06:00

This field was green only a few short hours ago. Winter may finally be here in Chicago. The kids are going to love this.

Lovely Day

2012-01-10T14:17:00.001-06:00

- Posted from my iPhone

Green Smoothie

2012-01-09T09:22:00.004-06:00

There has been a lot published lately on the futility of dieting and exercising for long term weight loss.

Instead of feeling hopeless, I feel like fighting. In our culture of excess and poor eating habits, I have lived with a love-hate relationship with food. In a nutshell, when dieting, I am obsessed with what I cannot eat. When breaking a diet, I consume with guilt without thought or taste.

I work to perceive food as a beautiful, life giving gift. I make each selection with care as I know it will be broken down into it's smallest elements in my body to provide nourishment.

With that in mind, I give you my smoothie of the day... cilantro, avocado, mango, lime and water. As fresh as possible in the cold Midwest.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Bully at the Beach

2011-06-17T21:34:00.006-05:00

There is much written on bullying, as I am sure much more will be said. When it happens to my own kid, I am still dumbstruck, never knowing the best way to handle it.

The first beach day of the summer, it was beautiful and in the 70's, my favorite weather. Today we met with some of the homeschool families in our co-op. The kids ran off and played while I got to enjoy some time with the parents - adult conversation, what a treat.

In spite of the perfect weather, the beach was pretty empty. There was one other large group besides us, and just a few other smaller groups. At one point I noticed our girls playing with the other group. They were laughing, running races, and playing in the water together. It looked like they were all having fun. All was well and I stopped paying attention to them. A few moments later, I glanced up to see my daughter approach. At first she was walking, trudging through the sand. Then I noticed her face contorting, trying to hold back the onslaught of her emotions. As soon as we made eye contact, she lost it. Her pain came flooding to the surface as she broke out into a run towards me, sobbing. At the same time she sat down next to me, Jasper tripped over something in the sand and began to howl. I was trying to calm her down to get her story, to see if she was hurt at the same time Jasper was having a total meltdown.

What I heard between her sobs, “They were splashing me, she was throwing mud (wet sand) at me, she held me in a headlock, she pushed me, she kicked me in my private parts, and when I came in third place, she CALLED ME A LOSER.” I was up and ready as soon as I heard headlock. Ready for what, I didn’t know, but I knew I couldn’t let this fly.

I grabbed her hand, “Let’s go.” With her by my side, Jasper whining along behind, I marched over to those girls. Chloe’s friend joined her to stand by her, arm in arm. Fortunately the walk was far enough for me to slow down and think about what I intend to accomplish. When close, the girls came out of the water to talk to us, first asking if Chloe was okay. I asked them to tell their side of the story, involving Chloe to verify if that was how she perceived things. The one who had done the hitting, kicking and throwing mud had left the beach. The other who was name-calling was hiding behind the group. Everyone agreed she was in on it and pointed her out. When I told her to come forward, she rolled her eyes, turned her chin, cocked her shoulders, hand on hip. I gave her my fierce, “don’t you roll your eyes at me, girl! Did you do those things?” She stuttered, tried to deflect any accusations onto the other bully. I kept up my stare and waited until her lip started to quiver and she dropped her head about to cry. Enough.

This wasn’t a bad group of kids – they were honestly concerned about what had happened. It had spoiled their fun as well. Some girls offered reasons for why the bully was a bully. “She plays rough. She has a lot of brothers. She’s really competitive.” I remembered a show I had watched recently – most kids don’t know how to deal with a bully within their group. To some, it brings up their own pain from being bullied. To others, they are embarrassed or scared which leaves them frozen. Some may nervously laugh along because of their own fear. Some may minimize what had happened; blow it off to lessen the crime. Whatever it is, most kids won’t act to stop it.

I didn’t pursue it further. Chloe was still shook up and Jasper was clinging to me. She returned to her friends to play while I went back to mine.

My friends were surprised. They had never heard me raise my voice. Fierce, they called me. Tiger Mom. We debated over when a parent should take action and how far they should go. I never know. Do I come to aid to quickly? Should I hold back and let my daughter fight her own battles? I’ve tried to do that for years, giving her guidance and support in the privacy of our home. It hasn’t worked well for her. The teasing gets more sophisticated. The bullying gets more physical. She loses more of her voice with each year.

On the way home, Chloe told me in more detail everything that had led up to the fight. She was ashamed that she didn’t defend herself, but was afraid she’d get into trouble if she hit back. She was baffled why the bully targeted her. She was still frightened of having been attacked. I was still furious, and kept going over of the things I should have done as her parent. I should have found the other bully and dragged the two kids over to their parents. No, I’ve tried confronting parents in the past. That can backfire easily. I don’t know those people. Some parents encourage aggression. Should I have gone to the lifeguards or a park official? If it happened between adults it would be considered an assault. I wouldn’t hesitate to call the police. Why do kids get a pass? Those kids should have been asked to leave the beach. Should I have pursued that?

We had returned home hot, tired, and sandy. My counsel to Chloe after the tears had subsided is to stick with your friends. Lock arms to give you strength. Shout loud at the bully to stop it. She may target whom she perceives as weak and alone. With your friends you can form a shield. The bully will back off. If she doesn’t, walk away with your friends. Get help.

I won’t always be around to come to her aid. What will give her the strength to stick up for herself on her own? When is it okay to retaliate? What is the best way to protect oneself? I know one thing is certain; it is not too soon to sign her up for self-defense.

Testing BlogPress

2011-06-05T10:43:00.001-05:00

Phoebe on a lazy Sunday morn.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Another Test

2011-05-28T18:31:00.000-05:00

I Did It

2010-11-18T23:21:00.002-06:00

After years of following homeschool blogs, believing that this was what was right for my family but not having the guts to do it... well, I did it. Withdrew my eldest from public school this week. A whole new adventure awaits. (Wish I did it many years ago.)

Happy Birthday Phoebe

2010-10-18T12:11:00.002-05:00

I have a new baby and she's turned five months old today. Phoebe is a French Mastiff, or Dogue de Bordeaux. She will become very large. While she is a fantastic dog in many, many ways, she is currently under probation in our home. She's been kicked out of her puppy playgroup because her trainer doesn't think she takes correction well from older dogs, and we've been advised to rehome her due to her level of reactivity. There have been many tears shed over this dog. Yet each day, she brings us so much delight as we are all smothered with her puppy happiness, love and plenty of drool. We've decided not to decide just yet, and we'll continue to train and manage her behavior the best we can.

Just now was a good example of why it's great to have a Bordeaux...

When relaxing with a cup of coffee after our morning walk, I heard someone whistle. It sounded so clear like someone was in the house. Phoebe heard it, too. Instead of barking like mad, she got up and quietly walked from room to room throughout our entire home - all 14 of them including the bathrooms. She even bypassed both cats without a look while she was performing her duty. When done, she grabbed a bone and retired to her crate.

Oh, I love this animal. How can a beast elicit such affection having been in our home for only three months?

Riding High

2009-12-03T22:33:00.001-06:00

Riding High
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce

After at least three significant temper tantrums, I thought there is no way I can take this kid to playgroup. But it was cold outside, so we went, and had so much fun.

Dog?

2009-12-01T21:44:00.003-06:00

Now that Jasper will sleep uninterrupted, I too will get a good night's sleep. We worked long and hard to get to this point. I tell you this, because now I have half a brain to let my thoughts be consumed by the thoughts of others. In other words, I've slipped back into my blog habit - reading others, that is.

One of my favorites is new to me though not to the rest of the world. For the last several nights, Chloe (9) and I have been reading the archives of The Pioneer Woman's stories about her dog, Charlie. Each night, we read a few entries out loud, page through the photos, and laugh until we cry (me), or just about pee our pants (Chloe). In fact, every night, there is a moment where we have to stop everything while she bolts out of the room shrieking with laughter, rebounds off the mini-tramp and dashes to the bathroom.

I think we need to get a dog, maybe a basset hound. Yet, it seems that there are many of them in our neighborhood, and they all seem to be walking their owners. In fact there is one woman who I see almost daily, who appears to be playing tug-of-war with her dog as she tries to drag it down Dearborn. So funny. Maybe I'll work on potty training Jasper, first.

To Do

2009-11-30T14:20:00.003-06:00

Today I had a plan to go to the gym. Baby's sleeping. Sitter is here. Now's my chance. Instead, my sister-in-law called to schedule a pottery painting activity when everyone is in town, which changed my plans to this:

1) Find Holiday Travel Itinerary

Why do I need the flight number to look them up online? If I knew that, I wouldn't have to look it up online. It must be somewhere here in this pile of filing. If I do my mail and pay my bills, I'll have more filing to do. Better do that first.

2) Get Through Piles of Mail

This is never so easy. Can't throw out the catalogs until I get a chance to look through them. If I look through them, I'll get distracted and never get through this pile of mail. Oh, that reminds me of the really cute pair of boots from Title Nine. Set that aside. Can't buy them now. Will get too distracted. Pour over gym's calendar of classes. Don't really like classes. Why do I read this every month? Throw out junk mail. Throw out catalogs. Oh, I just remembered that I need to fix the guitar and buy new ballet slippers. Maybe I can squeeze that in before pickup. Put leotard, tights and hairbands in stroller for ballet. Look, another cousin is getting married! Maybe I can make it, but have to find that itinerary first. Oh wait, do bills first. Then do filing. Then I'll find that itinerary.

3) Pay Bills

Email is open on top. Forgot to RSVP for lunch - do that first. My left shoulder/neck/back hurts if I even look at the computer. I need a massage. Don't like massages - but I need something. Hey - someone commented on my flickr photos. Oh, it's only Mom. Don't look at flickr, I'll get distracted. And lost. And lose a few hours. Baby's going to wake up soon. Better pay the bills, do the filing, and find that itinerary. Opened online banking. Hey, the Pioneer Woman was at Mall of America. Wish I was there to get a cookbook signed. That's a big mall. I don't really cook, much. Ever. Except when I made one of her steaks which was amazing. Hmmm, steak. I digress. Ooo, my shoulder hurts. Whatever did happen to my new chair? That's a lot of bills.

4) File

That's a big pile. My neck hurts. There's my itinerary. I'll file later.

5) Find Itinerary

Found it!

6) Schedule Pottery Party with SIL

Baby's awake. Will call back later.

7) Go to Gym

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

I never get anything done.

Day of Thanks

2008-11-29T11:59:00.005-06:00

Barack Obama joined us for dinner.

Chloe made the center piece.

And Jasper helped with the dishes.

Exploration

2008-11-10T22:10:00.000-06:00

Jasper is nearly 9 months old. Now that he crawls with ease, he is determined to cover every square inch of available floor space. These journeys of exploration usually include me trailing alongside him to pull various objects out of his reach. Recently I was convinced that I had successfully removed all dangerous items so I let him have a little free reign.

First he cruised over to the TV and slimed the Wii numchuk. Then to the cat's Cosmic Alpine Scratcher to scratch? No, to chew on the corners. He pulled himself up to look out the window only to gnaw on the ancient sill (hmmm, maybe I should get that paint tested). Next to the window, the steam trap on the radiator was only too tempting to fit him mouth around. Luckily the cold front hadn't forced the furnace on, yet. In the kitchen he had found that I had moved the cat food to a higher altitude, so he simply planted his mouth right on the floor to suck up any remaining crumbs. Before leaving, he chewed on the leg of a stool before making his way to the shoes at the front door. I finally put a stop to it when I heard him smacking away with one of my gel insoles in his mouth. How many miles had I walked in those to get the funk just right for him? Ewe.

By the time he learns to walk, he will have marked just about everything with his saliva: carpet fringe, cat toys, controllers, socks, toes, newspapers, homework, curtains, chair legs, my Kindle, pots, measuring cups, etc. But god forbid not ever... a baby toy.

Reintroduction

2008-11-09T12:16:00.006-06:00

It has been a long time.

Since I've last written, I have won an extension to my job contract, as I am now a stay-at-home-mother of two. Meet Jasper, our bouncy baby boy.

I still live in downtown Chicago in an old loft with my husband, two kids, two cats and a camera.

This is my blog.

Owl in the Playground

2007-03-26T12:52:00.000-05:00

This owl had mistaken a tree in our sparsely landscaped, urban playground as a good place to nap. About 50 school kids, having been couped up all day with no recess, formed a mob at the base of the tree trunk. The owl looked down at them with no apparent concern as the kids jumped up and down and screamed with excitement.

I, too, was impressed by his visit. He so calmly observed us as the children came and went, came and went again before finally, they became bored of the special visitor. Perhaps he was waiting to see if the group would leave one frail, feeble creature behind for his lunch. No such luck.

I returned to photograph him. He looked at me and took flight, crashing into a nearby reflective window before disappearing from sight.

Snaggle Tooth

2007-02-12T22:17:00.000-06:00

Six-year-olds have the funniest smiles with their mouths a mix of little teeth, big teeth and big ole gaping holes.

What's even more funny is visiting a best friend who has almost the identical smile.

Oh what fun we had in the snow today.

Another Name For...

2007-01-15T13:19:00.000-06:00

On a recent homework assignment, Chloe had to draw body parts that came in pairs. For kicks, I drew two dots with an arc and made her guess what it was.

"Oo, oo, oo. I know it, I know it" she claimed as she jumped up and down with excitement. "I just can't think of it... um, um, um... SNARKLES!"

What?

"Snarkles, you know, the holes in your nose."

Fungus

2007-01-15T11:12:00.000-06:00

Smile

2006-11-15T21:30:00.000-06:00

Chloe & friend

Today was school picture day and the one day this year the kids get to wear something other than their uniform. Chloe picked out her favorite dress and chose to wear a headband. I brushed and brushed her hair to get out all the tangles (typically I hide them in a ponytail) and tried to spray down the unruly strands. When I pulled out a few bobby pins to keep the bangs in place she protested. I pleaded with her first, "please, it will look nice."

"No, Mom."

Then I demanded, "Just wear them."

"No."

Then I became the six-year-old...

"Chloe, if you don't let me fix your hair, I'm not going to pay for the pictures."

And she became the Mom...

"Mom, will my hair mess up my smile?"

Gulp.

Linkage

2006-10-27T23:03:00.000-05:00

Okay, I've finally done it. Although meine schwester had terminated her blog ages ago, I refused to believe it and kept a link up in hopes it would some day be revived. No, it is still gone. It was when I realized that a few of my blogging buddies were now dormant that it's about time to clean up. I'm afraid that I don't have much to replace them with as I too contemplate hanging my hat and haven't been reading much, lately.

It must be the new school year which is not so new anymore. Thought I would have SO-MUCH-MORE-TIME if I didn't have to drive my daughter to school anymore. Instead, because we now walk to a neighborhood school, I find myself sucked into (or politely said, more engaged with) my community in ways I haven't experienced before. This is good, I think. But for today, there are still dirty dishes in the sink from last night, bills to be paid and letters to be sent and we've had take-out for five days in a row. Bad mommy. Time to prioritize.

Where Am I #5?

2006-10-27T22:29:00.000-05:00

This one may have actually gone beyond local news... so name the Chicago landmark that went up in smoke this past week and get a point. The last two ones are up for grabs unless JH intended to play with his email answers. It's been fierce competition, I tell ya.

The Right Color

2006-10-20T13:57:00.000-05:00

My friend, is getting a lump removed from her breast this morning. I believe she will be okay, but I am sad and concerned for her to go through this.

Since telling me about her cancer last week, I realize there is so much about this disease that I don't know. Seeing pink all over town hasn't done much for my awareness. It has only fueled my cynicism. Why celebrate this illness with such a delicate, color? Pink brings to mind princesses and fairy tales, glitter and fainting spells - the color trend of 2004.

What about Red or Black - Superhero colors of strength that can knock down and annihilate those nasty cells and throw them out of Dodge?

2006-10-16T22:17:00.000-05:00

Look, I'm a minority.

Where am I? #4

2006-10-11T18:36:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been a few weeks since I've posted a contest image, and still, no one has gotten the last one. I'm not going to give it away, though, just in case I've attracted any new readers from my local community. So now there are two points up for grabs. After I post ten images, a prize will be awarded (like prints).

This is an old one, but a favorite of mine. Not because of the quality of the image, but for the fact that a student (a clue) dumped detergent into the fountain. Great gobs of bubbles were whisked into the air and swirled among the buildings. My daughter danced around the fountain in her pajamas jumping to grasp the suds. Crowds of people gathered - dog walkers, diners, students and Streetwise venders. Strangers talked and laughed as if they were old friends.

I found it amazing how a box of detergent and a lonely fountain created an instant community that night.

Sleepy Time

2006-10-10T11:58:00.000-05:00

I have been trying to limit snuggle time with Chloe in the evenings to just a few minutes with no avail. In the past, I’ve thrown that child sleep regimen advice to the wind for me to indulge in those few moments of quiet time just before sleep. I scoff at Dr. Weissbluth and his zealous followers of sleep police. My daughter loves this special time and so do I. We end story time, turn out the lights and snuggle together on her tiny twin bed.

This is that precious time that she’ll tell me about her day. It is the time with no power struggles, no saucy attitude. Usually when grilled at the dinner table about her day she won’t give us any good stories. But at night, relaxed, in bed, she’ll tell me about the girl who had a tantrum in class, or the boy she’d like to marry except he pushed her on the playground that day. She’ll tell me how well she did on the spelling quiz and she’ll even admit to losing a point in class because she wasn’t being “respectful or courteous” to her teacher. Sometimes she falls asleep with her head in the crook of my neck. Sometimes I leave her with a few books to browse because her active mind isn’t ready for rest.

She is now six years old and in first grade. I wonder if she isn’t a little too old to snuggle with mamma so long before sleep, so I’ve tried to cut it down to just a few minutes. Last night she exclaimed, “Mom, I can’t breathe. You’re breath smells funny.”

“Oh dear, I must go brush my teeth.” I say in a funny voice.

She giggles but holds my arm. “No, don’t go. Not yet.”

“But Chloe, I really must go brush my teeth. No one will want to kiss me with funny smelling breath. Certainly Daddy won’t want to kiss me good night unless I go at once to brush.”

Still giggling she kissed me. “Mommy, I still like to kiss you even if you have bad breath.”

That is love unconditional.

Family

2006-10-06T12:17:00.000-05:00

Whew. It's been a fun and crazy few weeks. I've had about twenty some odd people stay at my home on different nights for a wedding we hosted recently. At the time, I didn't think I could pull it off. But each guest, even the littlest ones, were so tremendously helpful that I barely had to lift a finger.

When I told a friend that at the most, seventeen people spent the night in my home, she exclaimed, "that's about fifteen too many!" But really, I had my room to myself so I slept well, and the meals practically made themselves (okay, we did order out once). Typically when visiting family, we've always stayed in hotel rooms to be more comfortable. However, through this experience, I can appreciate putting that luxury aside for the pleasure of enjoying being closer to my family.

In the photo above, the look of concern is from one uncle telling the story of another's near death escape from the Navajo "Mafia" and the brother who saved him. We should have been around a campfire telling these stories, but the weather was not kind to us. Instead, we stayed up late each night playing cards, spoons and poker.

Isn't it said that rain on a wedding day brings good luck? Kind of like stepping in doggie doo, right? Each time we had to leave for a scheduled event, and there were several, black clouds darkened the skies and a storm would dump a ton of rain on us all. For the bachelor/bachelorette party, there was even a tornado that drove right through the city of Chicago into Lake Michigan. I didn't think they struck urban centers. Yet, when the marriage was over and the bride and groom drove off with cans bouncing along the street behind them, blue skies prevailed. I take that as a blessing for what is to come in their marriage, I hope.

With everyone gone, and Chloe at school, my home seems a just little more empty.

Where Am I? #3

2006-09-13T11:50:00.000-05:00

Hey, I'm actually in this one. Can you see me? Name the location of this image and get a point.

2006-09-08T12:55:00.000-05:00

Oh, sad day. I've finally fallen off of 25Peeps. It was a good run at 46 days which had me kind of baffled. I was flattered, though, that most of my traffic was new and not referred. George thought the image of a fat lady on a scale could resonate with more of the average person. Gee, thanks. I think.

2006-09-07T22:16:00.000-05:00

Melanie has wrecked my day because after posting this link I've been able to do nothing practical all day as I've been filling every possible moment catching up on what I've been missing out this entire season.

Project Rungay guys, it is you who are so fabulous.

Where Am I? #2

2006-09-06T10:56:00.000-05:00

Identify the room and name of the major Chicago historical/cultural/educational institution in which this was taken and win a point.

I realize that any of my Chicago friends will easily name each of my photos as they have accompanied me to many of these places so they are disqualified from the contest (sorry C.D.). However, I'd gladly treat any of them to dinner or prints although you might have to suffer my cooking but I promise to serve plenty of alcohol to ease the burden of eating my food. Oh wait I know, if no one else has guessed the exact location by the end of the day on Monday, then friends can take a shot at the point.

Spread the word if you can stand the competition and good luck and have fun.

First Day of School

2006-09-05T14:21:00.000-05:00

Here she is walking to school. Walking instead of sitting on the congested Eisenhower bored, staring out the window, waiting to get to school. She loved walking to school. I did, too.
This is what happens to her face when told to smile.

A New Day

2006-09-04T21:44:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new (to us) experiment in education. Chloe will begin public school. Anyone who has read me for more than a month knows that my decisions regarding my child's education has caused me a great deal of angst. The last three years she has been going to an amazing school, only it was far away. I was unhappy being on a congested highway for up to three hours daily. I was unhappy with the little amount of time I had to spend with her being the stay-at-home-parent that I purposely chose to be.

Earlier this summer I met some intelligent homeschooling mommies that inspired me look at other options (mainly homeschooling at the time). However, as the summer sped by all to quickly, fear gripped my soul at the thought of me being her primary teacher. Not that I don't think I can't teach, but full-time sounded scary. And my daughter LOVES school. She loves being in a group of students. And she loves her teachers.

Public school has been a topic of dissent in my home. I was for it in spite of its shortcomings, while my husband was not. I have a kind of idealistic view of the city I live in. When my daughter was only two, many parents of her peers were hustling to get their kids in the finest private schools. The hustle included waiting lists, intelligence exams (for a two-year-old???), observations, and gifts $$$ to the school that didn't assure acceptance. I had heard of this, but was blown over at the effort these parents made.

At the same time, the local public school was going through a major change. A principal had been fired and threatened with prosecution on corruption charges (mishandling finances, I think). Boundaries had been changed and a magnet program and gifted program had been created. The community took notice, albeit guardedly.

I wondered, if so many parents put as much effort and extra gifts to the local public school, perhaps it could be the finest in the city. There must be something that I don't know, because why isn't that happening? Obviously these families really care about education. I couldn't speak up, though, because we had also chosen private school, primarily to offer our daughter immersion in a foreign language - something we couldn't help her with ourselves.

Well, it seems many people had the same ideas as mine, only they took action earlier. The school that was slurping sludge in terms of its performance has now brought their students up to standards and beyond (including those kids still here from the previous boundaries). They have band, art, music, drama and get this, recess (huge concern for me). There is an active and production parent organization. When I walk by the school, I recognize many of the parents from the local playgrounds. When I toured the classrooms, it was hard to identify any one minority - it seemed to be a true representation of the kids in our area.

Just a week and a half ago, I convinced George to give it a try and I went ahead a registered. Tomorrow, I will get to walk my daughter a short distance from my home to her new school. She will know many of the kids already there, but she is also very anxious to meet new friends. She is so excited that she has been modeling her school uniform to almost anyone who steps into our home.

I think I am almost as excited as she is. I hope this is all good.

Definition

2006-08-31T11:35:00.000-05:00

Self-defeatism: Telling daughter to go play with her dolls so I can clean the house.

(This room sparkled only moments ago.)

Where Am I? #1

2006-08-30T10:18:00.000-05:00

There are days when I've run out of things to say, then I realize that I haven't posted a photo in a while.

I'm going to start a contest. If you're from Chicago, live in Chicago, or have spent a considerable amount of time in Chicago this is for you. This is the first of ten photos that I'll post each Wednesday. Identify the location of this image in remarks and win a point. The most points wins.

The prize... I haven't decided that yet. Prints of the series? A restaurant gift certificate? The architectural river boat tour? I'll take suggestions.

Spread the word if you can handle the competition ;) Good luck.

For this week, be specific as possible like name a nearby cross street. Oh - and family is excluded.

water wheel

2006-08-25T10:16:00.000-05:00

water wheel
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

Yesterday was a rainy day so it seemed appropriate that we spent most of our day wearing slickers in the water room at the Children's Museum. We had nothing planned for the day so I let Chloe take the lead. We were at the museum for nearly four hours as she worked her way deliberately through each room. Luckily I had a new knitting project with me.

As she became lost in her imaginative play, I noticed many parents pushing their kids through the exhibits. The poor kids frantically touched, pushed, pulled, played at a hectic pace to meet whatever expectations the adults had for them - as though there were a conveyor belt under their feet processing them through childhood. No wonder there are so many kids misdiagnosed with hyperactivity disorders. They must be desperate to get it all in before their parents catapult them to adulthood.

What are these girls doing indoors on a beautiful summer day?

2006-08-23T12:08:00.000-05:00

campout
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

Chloe's best friend on the planet is visiting us at the farm. It is among the last few carefree days of summer. The skies are clear, the air is warm and not a drop of humidity. We should be at the beach.

Instead, all sorts of random objects around the house have been assembled to form a miniature city at the center of my small living room. The chairs have been moved and a quilt (machine made I'm embarrassed to report) has completed their tent city. How could I break this up?

tent

2006-08-23T12:00:00.000-05:00

tent
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

There's a tent in the middle of my living room. So why would I ever spend the big bucks for this when my child can experience the great pleasure of imagining and building and playing in this ->?

Pointy Hat

2006-08-22T21:08:00.000-05:00

hat
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

A better view. I haven't woven the ends in, yet. Sometimes it never gets done. I thought Chloe looks like a little flower fairy in this so I might add a few soft green leaves around the edges, or even leaf ear flaps. Maybe that's too much.

Pointy Hat

2006-08-22T21:03:00.000-05:00

hat
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

My sister-in-law was in town last weekend to plan her wedding (to be held at the farm - hurray). She gave me a gift of a few skeins of hand spun, hand dyed yarn. Here's one of them after I turned it into a hat. Would have taken me about a half hour because of the bulk, but I had a few shaping challenges so it took about an hour.

So here is how I think I did it:

Materials: One skein chunky, irregular yarn and size P/11.5mm (I think) hook.

Ch 3. Join with sl st to form ring.
rnd 1: ch 1, work 5 in ring, join w/sl st (use a marker at end of round - I use a large safety pin as I lack many of the nifty notions people have come up with.
rnd 2: ch 1, *sc twice in 1st st, sc in next st*, and repeat from *.
rnd 3: ch 1, *sc twice in 1st st, sc in next two stitches* and repeat from *.
rnd 4: ch 1, *sc twice in 1st st, sc in next 3 stitches* and repeat from *.

Do you see the pattern? Each of the following rows you add another stitch before the 2-in-1 stitch. Stop when it's big enough, but still tight enough to hold your head, then do a few rows of all single crochet without any increases.

Chloe's got a 6-year-old kid sized head so I did 11 rows of increasing rows and 5 rows of the same size. I also try to space out where I put the 2-in-1 stitches when I increase so I don't ever increase above a double stitch from the previous row.

I know, this isn't a very exact pattern, but a few people have asked how I do this, so this is the best I can do. One of these days I'll have a notebook by my side and record each row exactly - although I can't imagine that would actually work because with nearly every project that I do, I rip out just about as many stitches as I complete. It's part of my process.

And believe it or not, I started this hat from a pattern (pg 42 from One Skein by Leigh Radford) determined to stick to the point for once - that lasted for three rows before I backtracked. Only the first five chains remained from the original pattern :)

2006-08-20T09:17:00.000-05:00

Getting lost in Doow's vacation photos. A great place to be.

Splash

2006-08-16T11:47:00.000-05:00

Splash
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

My friend betrayed me a couple of years ago by leaving downtown to buy a 1 1/2 acre lot out in subdivision hell in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. She's been begging me to come for a visit this summer, tantalizing us with their new blowup waterslide.

Well, finally, FINALLY we made it for a day trip. And what a day it had been. I now completely forgive her for moving on. Her home is as lovely as she is. Her garden is abundant with the most incredible, edible delights, and the kids went mad over this waterslide. Everything about yesterday was perfect, except for leaving. Chloe threw a temper tantrum remiscent of her terrible-two days. But it passed quickly, and we both slept very well last night.

This will become a monthly routine (Missy, be warned).

PS: I so love my new lenses. I took this with the telephoto - safely from the shade of Melissa's deck several hundred feet away from the water. Click on the photo to see more in the set. Kids and water always make me smile.

Ahhhh

2006-08-14T19:46:00.000-05:00

I'm a little drunk on mojitos and beignets and the power of the new outfits my camera gets to wear. George really made up nicely.

Thank You

2006-08-14T14:57:00.000-05:00

Thank you everyone for the very kind Birthday wishes. As birthdays go, this probably wasn't the most extraordinary one. But as I said to my mother this morning, I really don't expect much, and it doesn't mean that much to me.

However, it is in good fun that I exploit one of my husband's most amusing weaknesses. It was so hard to not say anything to remind him during the day. I felt mute, so I threw myself into a sewing project to keep my nose down. It first started as gauchos. When all assembled, they looked positively goofy - like two giant bull horns portruding from my thighs. So I ripped out all the seams, including the zipper. Sewed the front to the front, and the back to the back, then all together. Threw on an elastic waistband and wha-la! A lawn skirt suitable for Shakespeare in the park. Only it turned out to be a children's storytelling which was fine, even fun (especially with the bottle of wine we polished off on empty stomachs).

George didn't get it until my friends opened the door to their humongous, Oak Park mini-mansion and their two darling girls came screaming Happy Birthday from the other side of the house and threw their arms around my legs in fits of giggles. George smiled sheepishly and said nothing. I think he was embarrassed.

We had a lovely afternoon in the park, a lovely evening on their lovely deck. My eyes glazed over as George and his friend talked at great length about their work (our friend has joined him as a partner in his new business - hooray!) and the girls played without conflict and actually ate everything on their plates including their vegetables.

George drove home as I chided him for forgetting my birthday. I pretended to be hurt, but he saw right through me, and we had a good laugh. After Chloe fell asleep, we stayed up to watch Deadwood and Entourage. (Oh - isn't Deadwood getting soooo good? Just as I exclaimed that Swearengen must change his rugs frequently, Johnny mumbled something like, "This rug almost lasted a year" as he rolled up a dead Pinkerton.)

Who could ask for a better birthday?

PS: We'll be shopping together for a new lens this evening. He wants to make sure it's exactly what I want.

Happy Birthday

2006-08-13T10:00:00.000-05:00

Today is my birthday. Shhhh, don't say anything.

I'm pretty sure my husband has forgotten as he got up, showered, kissed me goodbye and went to the gym. His forgetfulness has ceased to bother me many years ago. It's not that he doesn't care, he just is a little flighty about relationship things. Now, if I were 8-bit code, or a financial instrument, or naked, he'd be all over me :) When he realizes that he forgot, he'll really make it up to me. So I'm going to see how far I can take this.

We have dinner tonight with friends, I could really embarrass him and let them be the first to wish me happy birthday today. Or I could spill the beans and drag him to the camera store to buy me a really good telephoto lens. I have a Canon EOS 20D. Any recommendations or testimonials for a good lens?

Dead Snake

2006-08-10T23:18:00.000-05:00

dead snake
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

My mother was reminiscing about picking blackberries when she was a little girl in Louisianna. She was terrified of the snakes - poisonous ones that could kill you. I ran inside to change into pants to protect my legs from the thorns when my uncle called.

"What'er'y'all doing? Where's yer Mom?"

"Picking blackberries."

"Better watch out for those snakes. They like the rodents that eat the berries."

"Yeah - Mom just said (like two seconds ago). I don't think we have any here."

I guess we do.

Volley Ball Camp

2006-08-10T22:46:00.000-05:00

Set
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

Chloe went from having never touched a volleyball and barely being able to catching and throwing, to actually bumping, setting, and not-quite-spiking in all of four days.

It was a humid, but fun week.

red jug

2006-08-08T11:25:00.000-05:00

red jug
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

I haven't had many words, lately. Part of being at the farm and having a child at home, full-time again. Chloe was in time-out nearly fifty times yesterday. It was a day to cause me to seriously rethink homeschooling.

2006-08-07T09:42:00.000-05:00

After two weeks I'm still hanging tough on 25 Peeps. Who would have thunk that my big belly hasn't grossed everyone out?

Thanks for the clicks, friends. Now I've got to work on some content.

Closet

2006-08-03T10:49:00.000-05:00

closet
Originally uploaded by Dominique Alyce.

There was the most ferocious electrical storm last night. Usually, I would watch and enjoy. This storm was frightening. It sat nearly on top of my house and didn't move on for several hours. The farm house being the tallest building around and designed with many glorious windows made me feel completely exposed.

I called George, "Are you sure I'm safe? Will it come through the windows? Will it jump to the bed? Should I go to the basement?" He continued to reassure me all is well. I remember him showing me once - the wire that grounds the house. It is grounded. Usually I am, too. I'm not prone to irrational fears.

Finally, in spite of knowing otherwise, we moved downstairs. I put Chloe back in her room and I slept on the floor. It's the only room with blackout curtains. I would have slept in a closet if I could have. If I wasn't the Mom, the one who should have no fears.

Fantasy

2006-07-31T14:37:00.000-05:00

I was eating dinner with my mother last night on the porch, curiously watching her as she brought spoonfuls of okra to her mouth. That is one of the few foods that holds no appeal to me. It is the texture and slime that grosses me out. I watched the slime stretch from one gooey piece to another which reminded me, "Oh yeah, I'm ovulating." Which accounted for the extra jelly fat around my middle and that special, elastic goo.

George had thrown out his back, bad, so I was alone in my bed last night at the farm. A little insomniac, I wistfully thought, "hmmm, a good f*@k right now and I could get pregnant." No, not really without the tubes, but I could still fantasize. There have just been too many cute kids in and out of my life this summer to really, really, really desire more.

Fingerprints. That's what the holdup is in sending off the adoption papers. Just one tiny errand until the next big batch of tasks they assign us.

Just One Reason Why The Health Care System Is Broken

2006-07-30T11:01:00.000-05:00

I went to see a dermatologist to diagnose a mystery bump on my scalp. Turns out is was as mundane as a swollen lymph node from an infected hair follicle. He took a small sample of the puss (ewe) just in case it got worse, so he'd know exactly what to treat it with. I asked him, "So you'll just call me then with results, right?"

He not-so-discreetly looked through my file to find my insurance information. He found what pleased him, "No. You definitely need to set an appointment. I need to see you in two weeks."

The bump was gone the next morning.

Tantrum

2006-07-29T09:12:00.000-05:00

Peace. That is all that I wish for. It is these days that start out with my daughter’s whining and temper tantrums because she wants to watch TV that I think there is no way that I can survive being with her 24 by 7 to homeschool her. George is concerned that I’m jumping into this too fast, that I should start part-time if we can find a way. But I think, when I gave birth to her, there was no easing into motherhood. There was no part time option to get used to it first, just in case I couldn’t hack it.

I am doubting myself. Yesterday was her last day at summer camp at the school I love so much. One mother, the one who directed the school last year when it was in turmoil, the one who inspired me with her leadership that I volunteered nearly full time to be a part of her staff, was so concerned that I might not be back. Throughout the year, she had her own reasons why she wouldn’t keep her daughter in the elementary program, but she had finally decided to stay. She never pressed me for my commitment. We were both exhausted after having kept the school afloat. And we were both tired of those parents who pulled out all the emotional baggage to keep us tied to the school. Decisions about my child should be made for what is best for my family, not for all those other families, and not for the school. Yesterday, I choked back my tears as my friend suggested all these bizarre fixes for the various concerns that I had. She even offered a room in her home for those days that I was just tired of commuting. She had broken our rule – she was pulling out all the stops.

I let the tears flow silently as I drove home. This school has become like a church to me with its strength in community. It will not be easy to let go. After boring all my friends for a year with constant concern over schooling, I still don’t know what to do.

Have Fun, Gals

2006-07-27T22:33:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year when all the cool bloggers get to go to BlogHer and all the dorks, I mean newbies, or geeks - oh wait, we're all kind'of geeks aren't we? get to go to say, Indiana.

But my groovin' sister is going, so I expect to find out everything, about everybody, and she's generally sober, so if you're not, beware. High School rules. Oh - I mean BlogHer.

(I'm just jealous.)

We've Named it Alex

2006-07-27T20:11:00.000-05:00

Here's the goofy things I do to amuse my six-year-old. A new pet.

Blue

2006-07-26T12:29:00.000-05:00

I know I'm depressed when I promise my daughter that I'd take her to the American Girl Place (aka: The-Whore-Of-All-The-Earth) and super-strong, Starbucks puts me to sleep.

Senses

2006-07-24T18:42:00.000-05:00

Your sense of smell can be altered by psychological factors. I uploaded this today, and although I was fresh out of the shower, I smelled bad BO.

This was taken at the end of a long day at the farm that began with rescuing chickens from my rogue cat, Edwin. The robins ratted him out so he was found in a head-high thicket. Fowl of the farm UNITE! The pole beans had to be weeded in order to reach the pole. And Chloe and I picked wild blackberries in the woods, fields, and marsh.

When I first came to the farm a few years ago, I read the story, Blueberries for Sal, frequently to Chloe. I remembered yearning for hills with wild blueberries to feed on. I lamented the overdevelopment of my environment. Yeah, we have plenty of U-pick farms nearby to keep us stocked with fresh strawberries, blueberries, peaches and apples, but that just isn't the same. It lacks spontaneity.

This year I had the surprise of being at the farm on the weekend when the blackberries were blossoming. Aha. The wild exists. Now I knew where to find the loot. They were probably cultivated at one time, but now they grow wild in thorny, thickets among tall grasses. More went into our mouths than into the basket, so scratched and stained, we dropped our drawers for a dip in the swimming (mud) hole.

Finally, before leaving for home, we dined at an outdoor restaurant where we played volleyball, badminton and threw bean bags while waiting for our dinner to be served. We all slept well that night.

Another One Where I Remove My Clothes

2006-07-24T10:30:00.001-05:00

I'm beginning to see a trend. I take off my clothes, then get traffic. File this under blog whore. I'm on 25 Peeps. Show me some love, friends, and click through.

If you want to see me naked...

2006-07-20T23:29:00.000-05:00

I just sent photos of me and my story to Shape of a Mother. If they post it, you get to see me naked. Well, a little bit naked. Wahoo.

Check it out whether I get on it or not, it's the new Post Secret. No better. Way better, because it's NOT about dark secrets that bring us shame, but about beauty that brings us joy.

Next Project: Yo-Yo's

2006-07-19T09:04:00.000-05:00

outTAKE1
Originally uploaded by raymilauren.

I've recently knit a tank top out of some sale yarn - well, ribbon - bought at Meijers. Not really the best place for fiber, but I was at the farm and having just finished the green tank, I was desperate for a new project. I saw this image over at Raymi's and was won over by the yo-yo skirt so I bought $100 of silk remnants in various shades of blue. I realize that such a busy skirt may not be very flattering for my rather large bottom, but, well, if it doesn't work, the yo-yo's can make an excellent cloak, or vest, or dramatic throw. Or hey, I'm still trying to come up with a really groovey room divider, only blues aren't in my color scheme. Or like my brother-in-law remarked once, hot pads. What would you do with a bunch of silk yo-yo's?

Now I'm cracking up after reading a few of Raymi's posts - I think she would be appalled that she was linked to a crafty mamma. Oh well. Inspiration comes from just about everywhere.

This is why I care...

2006-07-18T16:00:00.000-05:00

This is Chloe presenting her "Great Work" project for Kindergarten Graduation. She prepared a map of the United States complete with the state capitals written in Japanese. Her teacher (not the condescending one) would select a state, and Chloe would read off the capital.

I know this doesn't prove brilliance, I just think that it's cool that my daughter knows more about geography than I did in 12th grade.

Can you tell I'm in a snit... 3 posts, today.

My Response to the Condenscending Teacher

2006-07-18T15:26:00.000-05:00

Because Mamaloo asked, here is the response I fired off instead of taking ten, deep breaths... Breathe In. Breathe Out. Breathe In. Breathe Out. I should really get George to program the send button to have a list of questions that I have to answer before my mail is gone, like:

1) Are you sure you want to send this?
2) Really?
3) How many people will you alienate with this email?
4) Are you PMSing?
5) Have you taken your medication?

And here, my response to the condescending teacher - who I might have eventually won over with my brilliant research, delightful child, and all around good will, except that I sent this:

Dear Ayumi,

I'm afraid that I don't really agree with your comments. There is a tremendous amount of research that supports homeschooling alternatives at ALL ages - this is not based on a few families that you may know, but a more accurate picture of the population. What is healthy development for my child is not full-day institutionalization. Even other Montessori Schools don't require such an absurd amount of hours for their regular day programs. I'm sorry that I seem a little polemic, but I can't disagree with you more when you write, "I know what suits the best for the parent's need is not always the best for the child's healthy development, and this is one of those occasions." I'm afraid that your experience as a parent is new, even your experience as a teacher is not as lengthy that it could warrant such a statement. I don't disagree that the Montessori environment is excellent, it is not the only one.

I am sorry that I put this on you, because I think it is the administration's responsibility to organize a curriculum that can be taught in a "normal" school day. Unfortunately, they continue to be borderline-chaos. Full day programs may be fine for working parents, but I don't believe that should ever be the norm. In fact, it is substandard to replace parenting with institutionalization. This is very disheartening to me and will affect my decision to continue at the school.

And so there I have it... I now have to hustle to find a better school, or decent homeschool curriculum before September.

Down

2006-07-18T12:16:00.000-05:00

I received this today from my daughter's potential teacher in response to my request to shorten her day at school so I can homeschool part-time. (See this)

I totally understand your desire as a parent to spend more time with your child each day. I feel the same way about my own child. However, as a Montessori educator, I know what suits the best for the parent's need is not always the best for the child's healthy development, and this is one of those occasions. I can not accept part-time students in our community, for it brings separation, confusion, isolation, and interruption in the child's learning and the environment. Based upon my past experiences of working in immersion/non-immersion Montessori program, I have come to believe this is the best decision for any child in the elementary program at this point.

I also suggest that the home-schooling starts later, around when Chloe is in middle school or high school. I don't know you and Chloe well enough to say you are/are not likely to succeed in home-schooling at his point. But I do know many more successful home-schooling families who started at later age (and some of them happened because their children asked for it) than the families who started early.

Doesn't it just make you bristle when someone else is so bold to say she knows what is "best" for your child?

I'm bristling.

I can totally appreciate that having different schedules for each student may be disruptive to the class (although not that different from the PKK program), I cannot believe that this woman has not done ANY research on homeschooling. Also, let's remember that the school we're talking about is from 8:30 am to 4:00 pm. That's nearly a 40 hour work week as if I've enslaved my child to a corporate job already.

After firing back a response, I feel sad and anxious. Sad that I didn't do a better job finding the right school for my daughter. Sad that she won't get to go to her Japanese class. And anxious because while homeschooling sounds really great, I'm not sure that I have it in me to do it all alone - full-time.

She just came right out of the computer...

2006-07-17T20:33:00.000-05:00

and into my home. I received a special visit from blogger friend, Melanie, and her lovely children. You know when someone is a really great person when she comments on how photogenic I am while I'm counting the number of chins rolling up on my neck. Oh, and you know when someone's kids are really great kids when they disappear behind my daughter's bedroom door without a peep, shout or tantrum, and when they all emerge, the room looks pretty much the same as when they arrived. But really, if all this blogging thing seems trendy, pointless, or yesterday's news... I have made a friend.

By the way, this photo doesn't even do her justice, because when she removes her sunglasses, you will say, Wow.

Project Journal - Crochet Tank Top

2006-07-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

This was another reason why I had neglected my blog for awhile. I make and took apart this top three times before I got it right. The first attempt, I was determined to follow a pattern I found in "The Happy Hooker" vebatim. It turned out having a lumpy middle, enormous top and tiny trunk. Perhaps it would have been suitable for a stripper with 38 double D silicone breasts and a lipo'd waist. Regardless, I ripped it apart and made my own pattern up as I went along. The 2nd attempt almost worked but the armholes were too big. I could have worked around it, but after establishing a perfectionist approach, I ripped it out again. The 3rd attempt was almost exact, but I had to redo the breast cups a few times. Not as bad as starting from scratch. Finally, wa-la! Complete. I wore it to the Taste of Chicago and got soaking wet on one of the rides. I wondered why I received an extra amount of gazes throughout the remainder of the day until I realized that the water stretched the who thing out. It barely covered my nipples. Back in the dryer, it shrunk up okay.

Oy, Oprah

2006-07-12T16:11:00.000-05:00

Today I was on Oprah (in my dream). Now where did that come from because I don’t even watch Oprah? In fact, I can count the number of shows I’ve seen on one hand. I don’t watch Oprah because she is condescending to most of her guests and she talks as if she has a PhD in Psychology and she doesn’t. And then she says, “look, look at me while I’m giving money to this little village in Africa so the women can have some very important operation that will save their dignity. And look, look, look at me as I am seen with these poor, poor women. And just look, look, look, look at me while I get up in the morning to work out with my boot camp team, and wait, don’t turn off the TV just yet because I want you to LOOK at me while I show you my favorite pink fuzzy slippers and frumpy bathrobe and I just LOVE to sit around watching TV at my home while eating several boxes of graham crackers.” (Oprah lovers, can you tell which three shows I've seen?)

She’s just another fucked up woman who thinks that her self-help truisms works for everyone else because everyone is just as fucked up as her. Well, she’s not so fucked up that she hasn’t made billions of dollars and donated a tremendous amount of money and time generously to people in need all over the world. So for that, she’s okay. I just cringe when I watch her show.

So, today I was on Oprah and the set of her show was really just virtual. The room and the furniture were all images that had been superimposed over what was otherwise a sterile void. We walked into a blue room that felt as if we were underwater so all the newcomers to the show including myself started doing the breaststroke and gulping for air and making fish lips until a director directed us to stop and just sit down but we were welcome to dance to our seats if we wanted to. I tried to two-step but no one would join me. They said the trend was so passe.

I couldn’t figure why I was on the show. There was rather short man on the show and he was sitting behind a long table (that wasn’t really there) with all the other guests. Because he was so short, his head barely cleared the surface. When they realized how odd he looked, instead of giving him a booster seat, Oprah and all her friends hunched down in their chairs so everyone’s chin just barely cleared the table. They looked crazy.

This funny, little man was really a fashion designer and had a small shop on Seventh Avenue in Park Slope called Big Butt. He designed clothes for big-butted women (he got his target market wrong – he really should have opened on the other side of Prospect Park). I think I was supposed to be there to model the clothes, only I don’t just have a big butt, I also have a big tummy, big hips and big thighs. The butt is just an afterthought. And his clothes were terribly frumpy.

So there I was in a dressing room in some shapeless, hospital gown looking thing ranting, “just put me on stage. I’ll tell this little weeny that there is no big-butted woman who wants to look institutionalized. And while I’m at it, if the producers of Project Runway want to give their designers a real challenge, send out some normal sized and plus sized women as models for one of the shows.” Whew - Oprah to Project Runway in one breath.

Then I continued to rant about Project Runway and how guys like Tim Gunn and Michael Kors shouldn’t be allowed to think about design for women when they cringe at the mere thought of cellulite and make fun of anorexic models because they think they have big butts, God Forbid. If they want their women to look like little boys, then they should design for little boys who want to dress like women instead of women who look like women who also want to dress like women. There! (Except that I really like Tim Gunn – I think he was there when I was at Parsons many moons ago.)

Then they decided to cut me from the show because I said a few bad words.

For the Love of a Country

2006-07-11T13:26:00.000-05:00

It was this post of Lisa's that inspired some of my thoughts here:

I’ve been disenchanted with my country for some time. When I first moved to Chicago five years ago, I lived in a temporary apartment in the Gold Coast area. Never had I lived among such wealth. I felt terribly intimidated if I were to leave my home without having my nails done, hair done and clothes polished. Me, in my stretchy pants and t-shirt had to push my stroller past the outdoor cafes on Rush Street filled with rich, beautiful people as they dined for lunch. Then I’d return from the park and they were still there, having no place they had to be, I guess. Along the way I’d pass several stores that sold nothing for less than $100 and nothing larger than a size 10. As if being rich kept one immune from calories. I often wondered if I would ever grow wealthy enough to not care about a price tag and have nothing to do but be seen drinking chardonnay all afternoon.

I admit that I am a cynic. I used to think that what our country needs is a serious war – one that would limit our resources and people would actually have to give up a few things. Or we needed an economic depression. Our Grandparents had both war and depression. They knew the value of frugal living, of reusing materials, of saving instead of spending. Perhaps it would improve our spirit as a nation to actually have to sacrifice a little, to go without.

Then terrorists drove planes into the World Trade Center. I didn’t wish for that. My thoughts grew darker, more melancholy. Bush told us to get out, shop, go on vacation. By God, we’ve got to keep the economy moving. I didn’t get the sense that too many people had to sacrifice much. Of course there were those people who lost loved ones, jobs tightened, fear gripped us. Soldiers were sent to Afghanistan, then later to Iraq. Yes, there were people who had to sacrifice much. But to the majority, I don’t think we felt it.

The Iraq war began, and for every small protest or peace vigil, there were throngs of flag-waving, Bush zealots chanting U S A, U S A. I grew to despise the flag. It came to represent mob-mentality, the ugly-American.

In time I have mellowed. I generally feel so powerless and alienated over the politics of my country, I hardly feel I am a citizen. Instead, I just live here, enjoying the good life I have, raising a beautiful daughter and loving my family.

One day in May, I came upon this march as I was headed to the L-train. United States flags floated enmasse through the streets, held by proud, peaceful immigrants, demonstrating their passion for our country. Their numbers only reminded me of the many people seeking citizenship who have touched my life, directly and indirectly. Having mostly lived in a major city, how could you live without the benefit of their work ethic, familial strength, art and music, friendship, and food?

I held back my tears as the American flag had never looked so beautiful to me. It is when I see our nation through the eyes of people who dream of becoming a part of it, that I see it for all the beauty that it is.

Happy birthday, America.

Lick my Heels

2006-07-10T13:02:00.000-05:00

For about a week now, I have awoken remembering my dreams. Actually, I’ll wake up to a dream, then go back to sleep and have another one, and wake up again and so on. The problems of having dull back pain in the morning, I think. Never allows me to sleep in. It’s better to get up and stretch it out.

Once I dreamt that George confessed to having sex with hundreds of women over the ten-year course of our marriage. I suddenly got superhero-sized biceps and beat the shit out of him. And then when he could do nothing but lie in fetal position on the ground beneath me, I continued to kick the shit out of him in my Wonder Woman glam boots. I woke up furious and told him about the dream. He was barely awake, but muttered, “that must have been why you were kicking me.”

Awesome.

Sex

2006-07-09T09:31:00.000-05:00

Flies are copulating all over my kitchen and I couldn't even get my husband off this morning. Which could only mean one thing:

He was surpressing a fart.

A Seed Has Been Planted

2006-07-01T08:43:00.000-05:00

When my inlaws came to town, they asked if they could take my daughter to church with them. I was unsure. Chloe adores her Grandparents and they wield heavy influence over her. Her grandparents love the Gospel of Jesus Christ (Mormons) and can’t contain themselves when given an opportunity to proselytize. I tolerate their rantings because I, too, adore them and I am comfortably secure in my agnostic cocoon. Chloe, on the other hand, will follow them to the end of the world if given a chance. Most six-year-olds do not hold the power of critical thinking.

I gave in. Sure, go ahead (maybe I’ll get laid this morning). Instead I gardened and George slept blissfully, unaware of what terror we were to face that day and for many days later.

In a matter of three hours, my delightful child had been brainwashed. Doubtful that the kindly primary teacher could wield such power, I was convinced that throughout Sacrament meeting, Primary opening exercises and the rides to and from Church, her grandparents were giving Chloe a crash course on the Gospel. She came home bouncing off the walls from the sugar she’d been consuming and a newfound knowledge of Christ.

“Mom, Mom,” she breathlessly declared, “I know about God and they talked about Jesus and look at this picture I drew… it says Jesus loves me backwards and if I put my face in this hole and look at the mirror it’s talking about me and I need some scriptures because I’m supposed to have scriptures at church and LOOK, I got this HUGE bag of CANDY.” Whew.

Okay kid, accept Christ as your Lord and Savior and have some candy.

George tried to balance her overzealousness on a level that she could understand. “Chloe, do you know how you like to play with your disappear friends (that’s how Chloe refers to anything make believe)? Jesus is Grandpa and Grandma’s special disappear friend. In fact, he’s many people’s special disappear friend.”

“Oh.” She exclaimed as she thoughtfully nodded her head.

Now eat your candy.

A Room of One's Own

2006-06-30T09:51:00.000-05:00

I’m back into blogging. Well, at least this week. After a season of unrest, I now have some private moments to myself. You see, since February, my husband has been working full-time from home. That was on the heels of a VERY rocky month or two of our marriage. I was convinced that him being around all day would surely mark the end of things and we wouldn’t last to celebrate our 10th anniversary.

I was wrong. Sure it was weird at first, and frankly, I felt I had a new retiree at home. While I am not a proficient housekeeper, I have my routine and I will draw the line at certain things. It was disturbing to me to find at the end of the day a sink full of glasses, nearly all the glasses in our cupboard, just for one man. Or the bathroom… unspeakable, really unspeakable. Bags of Cheetos and Twizzlers and 2 liter bottles of pop began to show up frequently dotting the landscape of my once tranquil home.

“Get a Job!!!” I would scream.

“I have a job, honey. This is it.” He replied with a baffled look. I suffered in quiet and oft-times not-so-quiet desperation.

My husband has been threatening to start his own company from the day we met. While I have some security issues, this has always thrilled me. I remember the specific moment when I fell in love with him. We were on vacation in Arizona – he dragged me there to meet his parents. I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t think our relationship was there, yet. We were in a rental driving up to the Grand Canyon so we had a lot of time to just talk. At the time, the Internet was just starting to boom. In my work, we were months backlogged trying to implement fiber to just about every startup in New York City. I watched in utter amazement at the creative things people were doing. During that entire vacation George and I brainstormed, trying to come up with that one great idea to launch our own company (we hadn’t even talked about marriage, yet).

We never did start anything, but it was his creative energy, his edge, his confidence that one me over. He was like so many of those artistic types that I’d fallen for, except he had a job and didn’t have a drug problem. So what if it was code that was his medium instead of paints or clay.

Soon after we married and settled into our corporate slavery, urban lifestyle. Each year proceeding bonus time we’d have a flurry of discussions over whether it would be the year to start anew. Then the money came, and with it, some serious strings to keep him tied down for at least another year. Well, this year was it. I’m not certain what tilted the scale for him. Perhaps it was our unhappy marriage. Perhaps he’d finally had enough of suffering the condescending attitude of his peers. Or perhaps he felt he finally had enough safety net to make the jump. Whatever it was, he has been walking about like a zombie for several years now, and something fantastic has kick-started his circulation and got him off his arse.

Since quitting his job he has been a mole, sitting in the closet of an office in front of his computer. That kind of screen exposure would put me over, but he would emerge from his office at the end of the day filled with enthusiasm and energy.

At first I was frazzled. With him around all the time, I felt the need to constantly be on task. To see him work so intensely, I felt guilty to just sit and write or do any other creative task. I fell into a happy housewife routine. I came home, did the dishes, a few loads of laundry, pressed some shirts, and swept the floor, and then turned around to pick up my daughter from school. Came home, made the dinner, bathed the kid, read stories, cleaned up after dinner, put the kid to bed, and fell on the couch exhausted.

Can I tell you all that I really don’t care if my house is clean? I find it an unrewarding, unfulfilling venture to keep up all the time. But during this time, I felt busy, and purposeful.

I also had the advantage of George working from home. While I felt my life was shifting to a focus I cared little for (and believe me, he has never asked me to do any of this – it’s just some strange thing took over me), I enjoyed his constant company. We would enjoy impromptu sex during the day – WaHoo - while we still had the energy and no interruptions of the patter of little feet. Oh, there is nothing like abundant sex (with your spouse, of course) to smooth over some marital difficulties. We’d have lunch together, sometimes at one of those sidewalk cafes that I used to eye with envy. We’d bask in the noonday sun with our newspapers. Isn’t this what we used to do before having a child? I don’t remember, that seems so long ago.

He has succeeded in his task. With his programming complete, he is gone now, at a trading desk somewhere downtown putting his machine to work. My home is empty again, the dishes are piling up, the garbage needs to go out and I am alone. Ahhh, I can write, again.

I'm Glad There Is Somebody Else Out There Who Hates These Things

2006-06-29T13:09:00.000-05:00

I have a secret confession to make and in doing so, I’m afraid of the repercussions. But since many people have the compulsive urge to share their dirty laundry on the Internet, I will give in for a moment and do the same.

I read Dooce.

There, I said it. Whew, got that one off my shoulders.

I can relate to her even though I’m not clinical because a) She’s a Mom, B) She’s not afraid to write about the sometimes horrible feelings of motherhood, and C) She’s and ex-Mormon who has a totally irreverent sense of humor about the Church.

Today I feel compelled to refer to her because it is summertime in Chicago and a strange, hideous obsession has taken over my fair city - Crocs. Ewe.

Each year a new ugly shoe fad rears its frumpy head. More recently it was Ugg boots. Doesn’t the name explain it all? Ugg is supposed to be a warning – she who wears this will be met by the expression of Ugg! Because they are ugly. See, it’s even in the name.

Then it was Keen sandals (I made the gross error in buying a pair because they look so cute on all the kids at school). Not only did they inflame my plantar fasciitis beyond control, they are ugly and they make my already size 11 feet appear larger than a clown’s. Now, what exactly do I need to protect my big toe from? I ask.

Now the trend is a plastic looking garden clog. What was at first slightly amusing on little girls, has taken over and offends the eye at every corner. I try to pretend that these are all just tourists invading my urban pleasure ground, but the numbers are too great.

That is why I share with you my dirty little secret today, because I am delighted that Heather has the same sentiments and has taken this to guerilla warfare. (I know, I’m a little behind on my reading, this is old news for anyone else who reads Dooce.)

Eye on the Arrow

2006-06-28T19:45:00.000-05:00

For anyone wondering where the photos are, my camera is at the Canon hospital, again. I think that it has somehow synched up with my sister's Nikon, for it has also been very bad. I think the two snuck out one night, met up in Vegas, and have never been the same since. They are now in rehab.

So here's an oldy, and in a shameless attempt to boost my traffic from Peeps, I show you this again. Sorry if you're tired of seeing my flabby, naked stomach, but of all my photos, this represents the mission of my blog most accurately. However, I have veered far from my intent, very far, which is why the arrow remains in the same position.

Almost a year later, the body remains the same. Only now I have new clothes to fit and I'm tanner which makes the situation seem less desperate.

Is it self-acceptance? Or complacency?

Summer should automatically render me more active, but instead I've been housebound with a sick daughter. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I say.

Going Back

2006-06-28T16:34:00.000-05:00

I have recently returned from a short trip to my hometown of Minnetonka, Minnesota. I always face anxiety as if I were going to a highschool reunion. It seems as if each time I go back, I'm carrying an extra five pounds.

This trip, I'm at an all-time highest weight, yet I finally quit dying my hair. What does one have to do with the other, you may ask. I've figured that any beauty treatment that I've inflicted upon myself (micro-dermabrasion, waxing, electrolysis, laser hair removal, lasic, hair extensions, foils, perms, tanning beds, sunburns, manicures, facials, etc.) is a distraction to what I feel powerless over changing - my weight. There is no beauty treatment that can be done to make me appear healthier than for me to actually become healthier.

So, after breaking off tons of hair during the last fiascal, I've decided to let the gray come on in. My hair has never looked shinier, and the gray is not so bad, I suppose. Most people don't see it until I point it out. In fact, when I ran into a friend that I haven't seen for a few months, she grabbed me and exclaimed how young I look. What did I do to my hair?

Back to Minnesota... at the last minute I decided to leave a day earlier. I was spending so much time obsessing over what kind of clothes I should buy to pack - that I finally threw my hands up in the air, threw a few old things in a bag, grabbed my kid and left. Shoot, I was going to see my Mom and sister. What did they care what I wore?

And it was great seeing them both. And even greater to see my daughter fall totally in love with my sister whom she hadn't seen since she was two.

I had the extra benefit of spending much time with an old friend and her two young children. She and I sat on a beach while our kids played in the sand and water. I felt totally at ease. I so enjoyed being with her, our kids, and feeling the sun shine on my body, that I'd forgotten all my big body issues for the day - and I was in a bathing suit.

Before returning home, I took my daughter to the church I grew up in. Most of the people my age have moved away, yet many families are still there. Parents told me who married who, how many children they have and where they live. The information was dizzying. What was more incredible was the good wishes and warmth from everyone I recognized.

Finally, a few steps from the door, I ran into my first, significant boyfriend. "Wow, Dominique. You never change. You are still so beautiful."

Whew. Thanks.

Ice

2006-06-26T09:50:00.000-05:00

After seeing the Field Museum’s Pompeii exhibit, Chloe’s become very concerned about volcanoes. Whenever we travel, she is quick to ensure that there are no volcanoes where we are going.

This last weekend we took a road trip to Minnesota. We're on the road crossing into Wisconsin and Chloe asks, "Mom, are there volcanoes in Wisconsin?"

“No. No mountains, no volcanoes.”

"But Mom, there's a mountain. There, there." she points to a small hill. There are a lot of small hills - beautiful, lush, green, gently rolling hills.

“Chloe, those are just small hills. They just seem big because there are no mountains behind them to show how small they really are.” I look back to see the furrow in her brow deepen, so I try again.

“Once a long, long time ago, this entire area was covered in a great sheet of ice. All these hills are leftover debris from when the glaciers moved over the land and receded North.”

Her furrow only deepened further.

“Chloe, these hills were made by the ice-age.”

“Ohhhh.” The light went on and a look of sheer delight crossed her face. “Ice age.” She mused while nodding her head.

2006-06-11T13:28:00.000-05:00

Chloe’s thumbing through the little, brown notebooks on my desk. “How come you have two of these and I only have one?” She asks.

“Uhhh, because I write a lot.”

“I think you should become a writist.”

Airborne

2006-06-07T22:20:00.000-05:00

She ran up, threw her body against my raised feet and squealed with laugher as she rose to the sky. Hair flying, grass in my ears, the sun in my eyes, my soul was filled with her joy. "Again, again, again!" she shouted the words on my tongue.

Wet

2006-06-07T22:11:00.000-05:00

There are so many good reasons to hate Milennium Park, but I love this fountain.

Me, a Homeschooler?

2006-06-06T11:24:00.000-05:00

I think that George and I have finally come to an agreeable education alternative for Chloe. I’ve written extensively (mostly to myself) how conflicted I’ve been with her current school. I LOVE the foreign language immersion program. I think it is a special opportunity for Chloe and one that would be difficult to support outside the school (me being like most Americans, handicapped at fluency in one language). I don’t like the long commute each day and the excessively long day. For elementary, I would have to pick her up daily at 4pm which puts me on the highway right at the start of rush hour. If we’re lucky, we’ll return home around 5pm each day. That means from 8am to 5pm we would be commuting to school or she’d be in school. That’s a nine-hour day, which seems absurd for a six-year-old with a stay-at-home mom. The school’s day is so long because the entire curriculum is taught in both Japanese and English.

The solutions we have tried to come up with just don’t fit entirely. We’ve considered moving to Oak Park. This is a lovely idea, but I have many reservations. I LOVE living downtown and all that it offers. I want my daughter to have the city as her playground, classroom, etc. I want all the conveniences and cultural venues. But it has not been so convenient to me to take her to and from school every day. And we hardly have any time at home to take advantage of the reasons I had wanted to live here.

We’ve looked into other private schools. Chicago offers a tremendous selection of good schools, but we started late and it would be unlikely she could get a spot for next year. And, we’d have to give up the Japanese, or find an after school tutor which puts us back in the very long days, again.

I’ve pushed for our local public school. While it is flawed, I think it is on the right track. I also have an idealistic vision that if everyone in a community supports their public school with their time and money with the same passion that they support their exclusive, private schools, our public schools would be amazing. But I don’t like that she wouldn’t have recess, nor a regular gym period and the nutritional value of their school lunches are abysmal. I’m appalled at how frequently these kids get candy at school functions, from friend’s lunch boxes or as incentive from teachers. It is no wonder there are kids bouncing off the walls and the teachers are totally frazzled. She’d have no foreign language. On the hand, the school day is shorter, and it is a five-minute walk from home. She’d play with kids from the neighborhood and we’d have more time for extra-curricular activities. George really, really doesn’t support that plan, and I hate to push it without his support. The friction in our home wouldn’t be worth it.

I signed up and paid my deposit for another year at Chloe’s current school with great sadness. George’s mother was in town and lamented at the little amount of time I get to spend with my own child. I know, I feel the loss everyday.

It was at the Printer’s Row Book Fair this last weekend that I found a comfortable alternative. First it was the lady working the Kohl McCormick Story Bus that put a bug in my ear. Through her work with the bus, she has visited almost all the public and private schools in and around Chicago. That one that was most impressive to her was a homeschool organization from Hyde Park. From follow up research and conversations with other homeschoolers, she is determined to do the same for her new daughter. I’ve always thought homeschoolers were insane, Christian-Conservative-Right-Wing-Republicans who didn’t want their kids to learn real science or history. And what mother in her right mind wouldn’t want a few hours to herself each day while the kids are safe at school?

Disclaimer: I’m exaggerating here, if you are reading this and you are a Christian-Conservative-Right-Wing-Republican who teaches Intelligent Design to your kids, I’m okay with that. They’re your kids, and the joy of parenting should include teaching your kids your values and myths, just as long as your kids don’t grow up to bomb abortion clinics or legislate against gay marriage. I mean, heck, my in-laws still believe in Creationism over evolution and that every story in the Bible is literal. Literally - in spite of the fact that there is no real possibility that there is enough water on Earth that could cover the entire planet at the same time. (Their answer to that is God rerouted extra water from space just for the purpose of teaching those damn people a lesson.) And in spite of all those kooky ideas, I still love, LOVE to spend time with them and they continue to be a positive influence to my daughter. Believe what you may, Grandparents, if you’re sober (literally), do good works and respect others, you are always welcome in my home.

Then I ran into a friend who introduced me to her friend who is a former public school teacher, has three kids and is a part time homeschooler. What? You can do this part time. Oh yes. The kids go to a full-immersion language school for three hours a day. She teaches them the rest of what they should know – or I should say, directs and encourages their curiosity. They belong to a homeschool organization that has regular planned activities. They share curriculum ideas and her kids socialize with other kids. They go to the Chicago Historical Society to study history, the Planetarium to study the universe, the Botanical Garden to study botany, the Cultural Center to study dance, jazz, art, and so on and so on. I have a secret for you, if you live in Chicago and don’t think you can afford to take your kids to all the great museums here, you can go free, any time. All you need is membership to the Chicago Public Library and you can check out museum passes the same way you would check out a book.

I couldn’t wait to tell George. And for once, he was interested. Very interested. So, I’ve got some work to do this summer. I’ve been poking around the Internet for homeschool resources – what a crazy, infinite wealth of information. My first job is to spend some time with some of these local groups to hopefully narrow the spectrum down a bit. And then I have the important task to convince Chloe’s current school to allow her to attend part time only for the Japanese portion of the day. While I’d still have to drive her to school every day, that would certainly solve my traffic dilemma and bring my commute back down to a comfortable 15 minute route. Just goes to show, if you continue to ponder a problem, it will eventually be solved.

Happy Birthday, Chloe

2006-06-05T19:39:00.000-05:00

Her birthday was actually several weeks ago (and no, of course, I didn't forget it). It was just one of many things that kept me from my computer.

This year it coincided with Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre's visit to Chicago. Which meant that we had a very special friend stay with us over the week. I'm terrible at party planning, so what started as just one friend join us at a performance, turned into the best birthday party I've ever not planned. Chloe and six of her friends (and parents) who were willing to skip school at the last minute went to a show intended for Chicago Public Schools, and returned home for Thai food and birthday cake. We had friends over all day until dinner time. This was one of those golden moments when I looked around at the intelligent and creative women seated at my table while our children played joyfully and I felt so full. What a good life.

And my daughter - my amazing, smart, passionate girl - has turned six. Happy birthday, sweet girl.

PS: While I didn't win a prize for my photos, the top one below was included as part of the exhibit.

Contest

2006-05-13T13:01:00.000-05:00

Today was the deadline to submit photos for the South Loop Neighbors Living History photo contest. I had won this contest two years ago, the first time I participated. At that time I thought of myself as an accidental photographer. The image was one of those taken because I was at the right place at the right time with a camera. It was unintentional.

Now, I suffer from a level of seriousness that inhibits me tremendously. I think I enjoyed taking photos better when I didn't want to be a good photographer. Instead of submitting mediocrity, I was going to skip out on the contest this year. But yesterday Roy, our friendly bank manager, shouted at us from his car for me to get my photos in.

Okay, so playing doesn't always have to be to win, right? Here goes... This is what I submitted:

I burnt out this image while playing with the levels and accidentally overwrote the original - oops.

The photos should document life in this neighborhood, and it's a plus if they can include any historic buildings or elements. Both include a fountain in the area that we play around frequently. I take many photos of this fountain, hoping that over time I will have a series that include seasonal changes, changes in the neighborhood (hopefully not too many), and changes as my daughter ages.

Self Critique

2006-05-13T12:55:00.000-05:00

These are the photos that I didn't submit:

This was taken at a pet adoption event. I love that the girls are pressed to the window looking at the kitten and the kitten looking back at them. It is the emotion of longing of both the child and the animal that I wanted to portray, but I'm not sure that without an explanation, just anyone would pick that up.

I like the juxtaposition of the playgound equipment with the historic clocktower but the image quality was poor and looked grainy when printed. Also the image of the child was unremarkable (except that she is my own) and playing with the highlights and shadows just further reduced the image quality.

A fun image, but doesn't show any of the children's faces. That's good in one way because none of them are recognizable and so no parent can really protest. But on the other hand, without facial expressions, much of the delight is absent.

Anniversary

2006-05-08T23:35:00.000-05:00

My sporadic, crappy Internet connection has turned me off to blogging. Well, not totally, because here I am with four bars to my wireless connection - wahoo.

I didn't think that it would be a very good weekend. It started with a hangover that I haven't experienced since my early twenties (I first typed twinkies). That should say something for my marriage... that we celebrated ten years together by getting blotto over some exceedingly expensive vino. Once buzzed, it could be two-buck chuck and I'd be happy - but, shhhhh, don't tell George. At least I managed to get home with my clothes still in tact which means that I've managed to hold my liquor just slightly better over the years.

The next day George stayed home to work, and I escaped to the farm with child in tow. I have an ongoing battle over whether my farm home is worth the work. With two houses to maintain, there are two bills to pay for everything - two homes to keep up, to change the sheets, the towels, the lightbulbs, more floors to sweep and wash, rooms to furnish and paint and organize and pick, more cupboards, refridgerators, freezers to stock, more neighbors to know, etc, etc.

Then I arrive, hear the birds, smell the air, and sit back and sigh. Yes, it is worth it. The trees fill my soul. With my stomach churning with the poisens from the night before, I pulled the weeds out of my little plot of dirt. My fingers rake the unwanted roots from the soil. Bugs scattered, startled by the sun. I read the seed packets word for word searching for explicit instructions. My rows are a little too close, the seeds hardly even spaced. I gave up on perfection too easily as I became seduced by the earth.