Snow Fun

Anyone heard about all the snow getting dumped in the eastern part of the country? Anyone want to to hear more about it? Oh good, because I just happen to live in the eastern part of the country and HOLY HELL is there a lot of snow out there. Over a foot, as a matter of fact. Plus, it's incredibly cold and, as of today, windy. This means that all the snow is blowing around and creating drifts. 

Today when I took Cubby to preschool, his teacher was diligently shoveling out the path from the street to the door. It's a long path that makes a couple of turns and at this point has so much snow on either side that Charlie refers to it as the tunnel. The sides of the tunnel are about even with Charlie's head, so that's three feet of snow piled up on either side. The path itself is only a couple of feet wide. This means that only one person at a time can get through the tunnel, leading to many instances of other parents politely waiting in the frigid temperatures as I try to hurry my children through the tunnel to the car.

When Charlie, Jack, and I went back to the preschool at noon to pick Cubby up, we found that the wind blowing off the lake had drifted snow over the path so that it was up to Charlie's knees in some places. The poor kid was valiantly trying to plow through the snow, but he kept falling, thus ending up in the drifts on either side and resulting in almost complete snow coverage of his person. 

Meanwhile, I was hauling Jack in the car seat and trying really hard not to whack one of the snow banks, thereby sending a shower of snow on top of the unfortunate baby.

It was way fun.

We're supposed to get another 6-12 inches this weekend, which means the fun will only get more fun. Right? Right.

I might be ready for spring.

Confused Snowbirds

Anyone from the warmer states knows what snowbirds are--retired people who spend the summer in their frigid home states, but relocate to the warmer states to escape nasty winter weather.

My parents got it backwards.

They arrived from Arizona yesterday for a short visit, just in time for temperatures below zero and about a foot of snow. Basically the weather that every retired person ever tries to avoid by moving to Arizona.

At this very moment, they are hiking up the gully with A. and the older boys in search of a dead black cherry tree covered in burls that A. is going to cut down so my dad the carpenter extraordinaire can have the burls to make bowls and things. The storm that is supposed to bring us the foot of snow has begun and it's snowing pretty hard right now.

I suppose all visitors to Blackrock are aware that they're not in for a typical vacation. But at least there are no animal carcasses. Or manure. Maybe seven degrees below zero isn't so bad after all.

Mmm, Salty Fish Toothpaste

Remember when I said I was drying sage to mix with baking soda and make a kind of toothpaste? I made it. I've been using it for about a month now, so I thought you might like to know what it's like.

It's like brushing my teeth with powdered salt cod.

I don't know if you ever noticed this, but sage actually has a weirdly fishy flavor. I'm not a huge fan of sage, and this might be why, because I'm not a huge fan of fish. This flavor is not too pronounced in, say, a pork sauce that incorporates sage, but if you dry the sage and powder it up? That's pretty concentrated sage flavor, and then it tastes like fish.

Combine that with baking soda, and you have salty fish powder. For brushing teeth.

Then why, you may ask, are you still using it? I don't know. Because I made it and it's up there and I'm too lazy to bring the jar all the way downstairs to refill it with plain baking soda? Maybe.

I definitely don't want to start using commercial toothpaste again, though. It's kind of gaggingly sweet after getting used to the salty taste of the baking soda. I don't think the sage had any great beneficial effect, however, so after this mixture is gone, I'll just use straight baking soda.

Also from that same book that recommended sage we got a method for making soap. In the blender. Uh huh. There are all of two ingredients--olive oil and lye--both of which we always have on hand, and whizzing it all up in a blender is a lot more appealing than standing over a boiling cauldron of lye.

So we made soap. In the blender. Well, actually A. mostly did it because I'm kind of intimidated by lye. Basically, you blend the two ingredients, pour it into a cut-off orange juice carton to set, cut it into bars, and dry it for a month. And dammit all if it doesn't actually make soap.

We didn't add any essential oils or whatever for fragrance, so it smells like, well, oil when you're using it, but it doesn't leave any scent when it's washed off. And you know how I feel about fragrance in soap.

So I guess we'll be making our own soap from now on. Next we're going to try the recipe for coconut oil soap they recommend as the base for homemade laundry detergent. Which we already make, so we might as well make the base ingredient ourselves as well, right?

Right. We just get crazier all the time . . .

A.P.D.--The "F" Moments Edition

"F" could stand for fed up. Those moments when just one last irritating thing has happened to push you over the edge. Probably not a big thing; just a small thing, but a small thing on top of all those other small things that all add up to an "F" moment.

"F" could stand for fed up. But what it really stands for is another "F" word that I try not to say around my kids, but definitely think in these moments.

I had one of those moments this morning. We were getting in the car to go to preschool. I had already nagged the older children through going to the bathroom* putting on boots and mittens and hats and not hitting each other and actually getting out the damn door already.

So this was my admittedly negative state of mind when we emerged into seven degrees and six inches of snow on the ground. The older kids wanted to play in the snow. I made them get in the van. I got the baby in on his side, then trudged through the snow around to the other side to buckle Charlie in. Cubby refused to even try to buckle his own seatbelt, on the grounds that his gloves were too puffy and it was too hard. Probably true, but still kind of annoying, as I then had to trudge back around in the snow to buckle him in and shut his door.

And then, just as I was about to shut his door, about a cup of snow fell off the roof of the van and directly into my open purse.

I shut Cubby's door and had my "F" moment as I attempted to scoop out some of the snow without losing any of the contents of my purse in the snow on the ground. They didn't hear the word, but I said it. And it wasn't "fed," either.

Have you had any moments like this lately?

* We have two out of three out of diapers now! Hooray! And don't ask me how pathetic and cliched it makes me feel to devote so much thought and effort to other people's bathroom habits.

Countdown to the Cage Fight

Several months ago, my parents--at my suggestion--gave Cubby one of those spiffy light-up clocks that you can set to change color at a certain time in the morning. The idea is that kids who can't tell time yet will just check the light to see if it's time to get up. Ideally, this eliminates the child wandering around at four in the morning, because he's awake and thinks it's time to get up.

It is never time to get up at four in the morning. The clock tells them this.

We stopped using it for awhile because Cubby was sleeping in so late (7 a.m.! practically a college kid!) and then Charlie was in there with him and we were just trying to get Charlie used to sleeping in the room. But a couple of weeks ago, we decided to start using the clock again, in an attempt to keep Charlie from bouncing out of bed at 5:15 a.m. and waking up his brother.

It worked. Charlie stays in his bed until the clock turns yellow. The clock is set for 6 a.m. This means that at 5:58 a.m., I start the countdown to detonation.

Detonation of peace, that is. Because at 6 a.m., I hear the door to their room being flung open, pounding feet in the hallway, the crash of our bedroom door as they burst through it, and then Charlie's little voice proclaiming, "The clock is yellow. I want to go downstairs."

And then, because A. is the only parent currently sleeping in our room (I'm temporarily located in the small adjoining room with the baby), I hear him mumble dazedly, "Okay, go downstairs. I'll be right there."

It's a very nice way to ease into the morning, as you might imagine. And then, when we do get downstairs, we usually find them both sitting on the heating vent in the living room, fighting over the precious warm air coming from the furnace. Then they demand breakfast.

And so begins another day of the "enjoy it, it goes so fast" stage of parenting.

Independence, Blackrock-style

Apparently, almost-five is the age at which I can start getting some use out of these freeloading children of mine. 

Specifically . . .

Any kid that will fill the wood carrier inside for me is a keeper. 

When Cubby first announced that he would take care of bringing the wood in, A. was all, "Yeah, sure, you go ahead and do that," all the while expecting to go outside and get the wood when Cubby inevitably came inside complaining of how heavy the wood is and how high the side of the outside woodbox is, and how he couldn't do it.

Instead, Cubby went out, scaled the side of the woodbox, tossed out a piece of wood, picked it up, opened the door, carried it inside, and dropped it into the wood carrier next to the stove. Then he did it again and again, until there was enough wood inside.

Well then. I guess we underestimated the boy.

Maybe I can teach him to do all the vacuuming next . . .

A.P.D.--The True Love Edition

This morning at 1:30, as I was sitting up in bed feeding the beast, I started thinking about some things that I really love. I am not talking here about the obvious and serious things, like my family. No, I'm talking more along the lines of "these are a few of my favorite things" kind of things. Small things that make me happy. Which I will now present to you in a very original list form:

-Coffee with chicory

-Showering

-The sunset over the lake in the winter

-The sight of my clean refrigerator whenever I open the door*

-Spaghetti and meatballs

-Sleeping

-Quiet rooms with no electronic noise

-Chocolate chip bar cookies (way better than regular cookies, I have decided)

-Clean sheets

Small things, without doubt, but they add up to happiness.

And now for your turn, my lovelies! What are the little but not inconsequential things that you love?

* About a week ago, I decided a thorough, pull-apart-the-shelves scrubbing was in order. So I did it at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning with all three children taking turns crying and demanding attention during the hour it took me. Totally worth it.