To avoid reliving the mortification I felt this morning when the boys and I arrived at the YMCA to swim, sans underwear for myself for the return trip, I will instead tell you what I learned about pirates during our lunchtime conversation. These are things I did not know about pirates but apparently my five and three year old did.
There you have it. The world of pirates according to Cody and Carter.
Did I happen to mention that in an effort to minimize the amount of time spent in the changing room, we all wore our swim suits under our clothes. Because of this I wore some pants that were a bit too baggy on me so that I would not look like I was sportin’ an adult diaper under there. Baggy pants with no underwear, carrying bags and wet towels while trying to direct two boys through the gym and out to the car. It was a stressful walk to say the least.
Now off for date night with Husband while we leave the children in the capable hands of our wonderful babysitter. Cheers!
Today I loaded up the boys for a nice jaunt to the park. It is summer in most parts of the country but here but it is 61° and cloudy. Again. But it was not raining so for us that counts as park weather. After a brief discussion, we decided on a small park near our house that has a slide, a couple random playground toys, and a baseball field. It is about a three minute drive from our house, if that, so I did not pack a snack. Since we are in the throes of potty training I did have with me the trusty ole’ red back pack containing several changes of clothes. And we travel with this too – quite handy in the back of our Subaru Outback.
We get to the park and the boys gleefully run off to play. I sit down on a bench thinking that I get a couple of minutes to myself to play with my new smart phone. Yes, I have discovered Angry Birds people, and I am not proud of it. Everyone is happy and then Carter tells me that he has to go poop. He has only told me this once before and successfully made it to the toilet. I shove my phone in my purse, grab his hand, holler at Cody to follow us, and we sprint the length of the baseball field in the direction of the car. Now a baseball field is not that long but it felt like a marathon. I swear that ball field was miles long.
Such. A. Long. Way.
We make it to the car and he sits on his little travel potty. Nothing. It is at this time that I realize that Cody is not with us. Now, no one else is at the park and our neighborhood is pretty safe, but I am one of those moms that get twitchy if I can’t see my kids when I am out in public. I can’t help myself. I position myself where I can see him, get his attention and wave him over. By the time he gets to the car, Carter is done sitting on the potty and is getting grumpy. Ok, false alarm. We all head back to the playground and the happy playing commences – for about three or four minutes. Once again Carter calls out that he has to go poop. Repeat the frantic sprint back to the car and the sitting and the nothing. Sigh.
You can take a horse to water but you can't make him drink. Something like that.
We go back to the playground for the third time. The boys run the bases and slide down the slide. Then Carter tells me that he has pooped in his pants. Crap. We go home. The entire trip to the park lasted about 25 minutes with maybe 10 of those minutes spend in happy play.
What can you do? Such is the way of things. The rest of the day was much better. I got all the bedding in the house washed, we took a stroll in our hood looking for daisies so that we could attempt this, we busted out the water table when the thermometer reached 70°, and I made some strawberry freezer jam from a $5 flat of strawberries Husband surprised me with yesterday.
Yeah, the boys picked out their own hats and glasses. Pretty rad if you ask me.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Last weekend we packed up the kids, picked up Grandma, and headed to the lavender festival in Sequim.
Dizzying view of lavender.
It was our sixth year going and the first time rain was in the forecast. In fact it rained the whole drive up, a heavy rather unwashingtonlike rain. None of the usual drizzle and drips we are accustomed to but a full on wipers-on-high kind of rain. The last four miles of our drive the rain slowed down and by the time we found parking it was just spitting at us. No rain. None. Not until we got back in the car at the end of the day and then it started up again. A frickin’ miracle.
We started at the street fair, checking out the local vendors and then ventured into Sequim’s open air produce market. We ate some delicious mini donuts and sampled various nuts, honey, jams and cheeses infused or incrusted with essence of lavender. We had lunch at the Sunshine Cafe and then heading out to tour a couple of farms.
Carter really enjoyed the chocolate covered peanuts his Grandma bought him.
Our first stop was Graymarsh Farms.
Even though the lavender was not fully in bloom, it was still breathtaking.
We were hoping to pick blueberries here and had come prepared with our u-pick buckets but alas the wet summer we have been experiencing has not been blueberry friendly. We still had a good time smelling their lavender and enjoying the view.
Cody wandering the fields at Graymarsh Farm.
Our next stop was a jem we had discovered the previous year. We loved it so much we took a picture of their sign so we would not forget the name of the farm in years to come. I wish they had a website I could link you to because my words and pictures will not do them justice. Fat Cat Farm is a small family owned farm. They are open year round and sell u-pick flower bouquets, honey, and fresh eggs.
Flowers, flowers, and more flowers!
The people who own it live there. They have an amazing garden. More than one, if I am to be fair.
I love the little lavender field with grass between the rows instead of dirt.
They have a couple vegetable gardens, a small raspberry patch, a mini lavender field, and some breathtaking flower gardens.
Vegetable treasures in the garden.
They have a small flock of chickens, some very friendly ducks, a couple of goats, a sheep, a lavender painted bee hive, and a koi pond.
Koi pond.
They were selling homemade strawberry rhubarb pie and lavender lemonade. I think we wandered and lingered for close to two hours. The boys fell in love with their white duck and are still talking about how he nibbled their fingers.
The white duck was very charming and we all (except maybe Husband) wanted to take him home.
It was a pretty fabulous day.
And one last picture just because I can. Carter playing peek-a-boo in the flower garden.
About a year ago on a random trip to New Orleans with my sister I fell in love. His name was Mojito. He was cool, refreshing, and knew how to have a good time. Here is a picture of him.
He's pretty cute don't you think?
I have never really been a mixed drink kind of girl. They are too sweet or taste too much like alcohol. But on this trip I wanted to like them. There is something sexy about sitting in a bar in a strange town sipping a drink from a tall, sweating glass. There is an essence of mystery or glamor attached to this image in my head. Maybe it is because it is not something I find myself doing and I wanted to try something, be something else. So I found myself ordering mojitos.
Like any good tourists we went for drinks on Bourbon St. It did not take us long to be less than enamored with the scene. And even worse it was pretty much impossible to get a good drink. Horrified by the nasty cheap beer and horrible mixed drinks, we wandered into a darkly lit bar that had a sign out claiming they had the best mojitos in town. The sign was right. The bar was Napoleon’s Itch. It had good music, cute bartenders, amazing drinks and a bit of class compared to what was just outside the front door. I learned that night that the perfect mojito is all about more mint and less simple sugar – keep it just a touch bitter. So I fell in love with a drink in New Orleans in a gay bar.
The problem with my new-found love is that he is expensive. I decided to take matters into my own hands and make them at home. One flaw with this plan was that by this time it was winter in the Pacific Northwest and you can’t easily grow mint in a frozen ground. Plus it was impossible to even find a mint plant at the local nurseries in the dead of winter.
Once spring arrived I not only had plans for a vegetable garden but had been dropping hints that I would like a mint plant for my birthday. I got two. The one on the left is an orange mint and the other is a plain ole’ mint.
My newly planted mojito garden.
They grew like, well, weeds. In less than two months they were almost overflowing their containers and screaming to be made into refreshing mint beverages. I found several recipes online to get me started and then just sort of created my own version. I had my mint leaves, fresh squeezed lime juice and homemade simple sugar solution in the bottom of the glasses when I realized I was missing something. I had no muddler. I ended up using the handle of my potato masher as well as the handle of my carrot peeler. Both were far from good. But the results were very tasty.
The Moroccan mint in July.
Yesterday in the mail I received my muddler. I am very excited to try it out and shall be heading to the grocery store today to pick up some limes. Keep your fingers crossed for sunny weather, for tonight Husband and I will be sipping on some super muddled mint mojitos. Cheers!
Here is the new addition to our home.
The Raspberry Man cometh. On our way to Carter’s speech therapy Monday we passed the familiar and much-anticipated sign. It is a white sandwich board with three or four large time-faded raspberries stenciled on the top. Below it the crucial detail – location. All the way to Carter’s appointment, we cheered and made up wonderfully rhyming simple songs about raspberries and the man who provides them.
“The Raspberry Man The Raspberry Man Growing raspberries like nobody can!”
We worried that he would not be there when we returned and I did consider making the therapist wait just so we could pick up some delicious goodness in a box. We were quite happy when we returned later that day and he was still there.
Perhaps I must explain.
I imagine most people have a special “something” they look forward to; Opening Day of baseball, Labor Day cook outs with family and friends, Christmas. I have several of these most treasured times scattered throughout my yearly calendar. One of them is the start of raspberry season. Ahh, my most favorite berry. The season is short and rather unpredictable here in the Pacific Northwest. They are a finicky berry that require a spring and summer that are not too hot or too dry or too wet; the last one being our problem. Since they are so soft they do not ship well and are susceptible to bruising, spoiling and all around general mushyness, their price tag in the grocery store is high. I have been sorely disappointed every time I break down and buy them in the store.
But the Raspberry Man never disappoints. His berries are picked fresh the morning you buy them. They are grown organically. They are fabulous! He charges $22 a flat and $11 something for half a flat. I don’t know the half flat price because I have never bought so few at a time. The thing about the Raspberry Man is his location. He sells his wares out of the back of his little green pickup truck. Four years ago, when I first discovered him, he was parked in an empty dirt lot by the side of the road a couple of miles from our house. He was there for two seasons until someone rudely purchased the lot and built an office building. He does not advertise other than putting out the sandwich boards by the side of the road near where he is selling his berries so it is a trick to find him. Last year he was in the parking lot of a garden nursery which had the nerve to go out of business and put a fence around the property. Last year we almost missed him. Three weeks time, give or take depending on the season and crop, is all you have to track him down and then *poof* he is gone.
This year we found him on the first day of the first week of the season. I have great hope of actually making something with the berries, jam, tarts, pies, something this year. I always have this hope but we instead we buy a flat, gorge ourselves, buy more, gorge ourselves and repeat. I will let you know if we break this cycle, but don’t hold your breath.
Does anyone else out there love raspberries as much as I, or is it just me?
The picture does not do them justice. This is only half a flat as by the time I thought to take a picture we had already eaten the other half.
I have known my friend Amy since Husband and I moved to this small town on the water seven years ago. When she moved here her son was one year old. Her husband was a stay at home dad and Amy and I worked for the same company. They are good people; people of the earth. They buy food from a Co-op. They fish and crab and go clamming. They grow much of their own veggies and are big into composting and recycling. I wish I could be a bit more like them; more self sufficient and earthy. Time passes. Her son is now eight and she has a job that requires lots of travel. I have since become a stay at home mom with two kids. We are busy and don’t see each other much.
Last Friday I was finally able to attend my first Woman’s Club. This is a great idea that Amy cooked up. They meet once a month on a Friday evening. They are all women who live in her neighborhood, except me. I live across town, all 20 minutes of it. As the name implies it is for Women only. No husbands and no kids. There is no goal or set purpose though I have heard that crafts were done at a previous meeting, beading if I remember correctly. They rotate whose house the meeting is held. People bring homemade things, Danish pastries, chocolate oatmeal drop cookies, yellow melon, hummus. There is wine. And champagne. Things just sort of flow.
The women of this club are old. The women of this club are young. Some have children and some don’t. Some are married and some are not. Some work and some stay home to raise their children, a type of work all unto itself. Some of them I sort of knew and others I was meeting for the first time. This meeting was held at Amy’s house in her backyard. Various camping chairs and a couple wooden adirondack chairs made a half circle around a fire pit, a beautiful fire already cracking and dancing. There was a feeling of timelessness – small groups of women meeting around an open fire. This has been done before, over and over throughout the ages. We took a brief tour of the gardens oohing and aahing over strawberries, garlic, chocolate mint, carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes.
We talked of many things; conversations humming like honey bees on a rhododendron in early Spring. It was strange, like I had known them for a long time. It was relaxing to chat or just listen. It was a pause from the busy normal of life. I am looking forward to the next one and already have a recipe picked out for a maple cake with brown sugar frosting to bring with me.
Say "hello" to my new kitchen timer.
Today is day two of serious potty training. For months now Carter has refused to wear “big boy underwear” and even went so far to get quite upset when anyone ever called him a big boy. He was a Little Big Boy.
Our little big boy.
He wore diapers and was happy with that. Yesterday after waking up dry he sat successfully on the toilet and did not say a word when the underwear was put on. It was like he had been wearing them his whole life. It was a rather uneventful day. We stayed home and I had mild to moderate heart palpitations every time he sat still for more than five seconds or did anything to make me think he had to go. He had one accident and it was outside. We did have some errands to run when Husband came home so I bended the “once in underwear, never a diaper in the day again” rule, popped him into a diaper and off we went. Our errands completed, we found this wonderful little neighborhood cafe and stayed for dinner. Wonderful.
When the boys were not looking Husband ordered a large chocolate chip cookie that we shared once the boys were tucked safely in bed.
I was feeling a bit cocky when I woke up this morning, day two and only one accident. We had a busy day ahead of us. Cody has physical therapy in the pool at our local YMCA every other Friday followed with more therapy at the clinic, a free session, called “Boys Club”. Today was one of those Fridays. We woke up a bit late and by the time breakfast was done we had 20 minutes to make it out the door. Oh, and we were all still in our pjs. These are the times when I don my superwoman cape and make things get done.
Fast forward to swimming in the pool. Things are going great until one of the lifeguards starts poking around in the pool with a net. I think that those of you with children know what that is all about. For the record the forced mass exodus of the pool was not due to either of my children, thank God!
And that is how my morning has played out. How has yours been? The rest of the day should be a breeze barring any unmentionable accidents. There will be some outdoor play and general dicking around in our 1 acres woods. We may hunt for the ever elusive Snipe who lives in our forest.
Yup, looks just like that!
We wait for Husband/Pappa to get home and for the clock to read 5. That is the magic time on Friday night when we settle down for our weekly tradition of Pizza and Movie Night. Hope you all have a wonderful night, whatever you decide to do.
Shoes On The Wrong Feet 