Aurora Borealis

It's ski week here in town, and even though we're not on a ski vacation, we're currently enjoying a slower-paced week off from school. That should be a good thing, right? Well, it's nothing like over at my friend Kari's house, where her two young girls regularly sleep in until 7:30 and then play quietly in their rooms until 8:00 am, which is when Kari and her husband usually get up. (WHAT?!?!) In our house someone is always up by 6:15, and if it's not a kid, it's one of the grownups getting up for a morning run. All household members are awake by 7:00 am, and the inter-sibling bickering has usually started by 7:05.

On Monday Suzi and Bill spent the day with Luke, which was great because it enabled me to have my regular special Monday with Zach. Since we were down south, we went to his favorite amusement park ("Special Other Legoland"), where he befuddled the mini-train operator because he kept trying to lean his head over to watch the train wheels roll on the tracks. Incidentally, I got Zach (pictured here) this mohawk sweat jacket because I thought it was funny, but I didn't necessarily think he would get the joke, so I told him it was a cat tail. Now he wears it all the time and meows. Am I cruel or kind?

On Wednesday I did another self-serving thing; I took Luke to the Santa Monica farmers' market so that we could research and explore bizarre and rarely-seen fruits and vegetables. I should give Luke some credit for being reasonably adventurous; he tried the watermelon radish and four varieties of carrots, and he even attempted to play baseball with a parsnip. But I was disappointed when, after picking out three beautiful multi-colored varieties of potatoes and some fresh oregano with which to roast them, he completely lost interest in actually eating them. Did he learn anything? Well, yes. He has now learned about homeless people and insisted on giving change to every one of them we saw ("so that they could save up to buy a house"). His heart is definitely in the right place.

Although our brains are usually reduced to slush by the end of the day due to a combination of kids and multiple work projects, Dave and I occasionally try to do something different. On Friday, for instance, we broke the mold a little bit by heading downtown to grab some dinner and see a cello soloist play with the L.A. Philharmonic. By the end of the night we had actually started to feel like grown humans.

The other night we went out to dinner at Dave's favorite place for hamburgers, which is sort of an upscale pub near his office. Everything on the menu is eco-friendly, locally sourced, etc. etc., and all of the beers come with extraordinary pedigrees and backstories. Although it was most unusual for me to do this on a Wednesday night, I ordered a beer, which happened to be called "Aurora Borealis." Now this seems like a weird thing to say about a beer, but there was literally so much going on in that glass it was hard for me to process all in one mouthful. It was a pale ale with hints of mint, lemon, anise...after the first gulp my first reaction was, "Wha...?" It was just so...interesting...and complex. Even by the last sip I still hadn't gotten used to it. There may be one or two lessons embedded in this experience. Could life have become so complicated that even drinking beer becomes something that I need to break down into multiple layers? Or does it just mean that I need to get out more?

Constellation

Yet another episode in "What I said/What I should have said":

The backstory: Last week I had to assemble and get both of the boys to sign valentines for two different classes, for a total of around 80 valentines. Then I had to remember to bring various things for the various parties. (All of this while planning a ladies' night to host at our house on Monday.) For Zach's school party on Tuesday, I was supposed to bring strawberries. All weekend long I made myself mental notes to remember to get the strawberries, which I did on Monday, and then I wrote on the white board, "Strawberries for Z" so we'd remember to bring them to school. Then on Tuesday morning as I was rushing to get out the door for work, I saw Dave making the kids their breakfast, which included two plates of neatly...sliced...strawberries. Aaaaagh!!!!

What I said: "Why did you go out of your way to open up the package and cut up the strawberries?!?! There are freshly washed grapes right in the front of the fridge!!!!!

What I should have said: "Thank you so much for making breakfast for the boys."

Yet another reason why I should be restricted to written communication alone; leave the speaking to other people.

Regarding the mom party; my brave friend who fought off lung cancer two years ago has it back again and she's preparing for another round of chemo and radiation. She has been through so many things that I would not wish on anyone, and yet somehow she always emerges gracefully, with her head held high. We have a little group of mom-friends who meet once a month or so; Sarah's impending treatment called for an emergency meeting of the group. As it turned out, Valentine's Day was the only day we could all swing some time together without needing babysitters or crazy childcare arrangements. So Dave and the other men willingly gave up their evenings and the ladies came over to our house, where we sat in the hot tub under the stars and tried to have as normal a time as possible. Dave was of course our knight in shining armor; staying up late to help with cleanup and dishes.

Speaking of Dave, he did one of his 20-mile runs on Sunday and then afterwards he had a ... nap? No, don't be silly. He had a choice of taking Luke to a birthday bowling party or hanging out with Zach. Perhaps it was no surprise that he decided to hang out with the Z-man rather than mix it up with 30 six- and seven-year-olds. So what did they do? You might have guessed soccer or beach time, but what he did was even cooler: He took Zach to the art supply store and bought black posterboard and glow-in-the-dark stars. Then he helped Zach make a nighttime constellation poster, which they hung up on the "ceiling" of Zach's bunk bed (i.e. the underneath of Luke's bed). And it really glows in the dark! And it really has a Big Dipper!

As previously discussed, Zach loves helping to get ready for a party, so he fully embraced the idea of me having a "mom party." All weekend long he was contemplating what to serve for the mom party, and somehow he latched on to the idea of a "whipped cream cake." The strange coincidence is that I had just been thinking of what to make my guys for Valentine's Day, and I had been thinking about making my mom's creme de menthe torte, which was my favorite dessert when I was a kid, and which involves quite a bit of whipping cream. So Zach was thoroughly excited to carry out the plan. He helped me pound the graham crackers to make the crust, melt the marshmallows, and then finally whip the cream. We wound up making two tortes, one for our family and one for the party - and then it turned out we had so much other food for the party that the moms never even got to it.  Needless to say, we have all been enjoying lots of nice minty, creamy dessert all week long.

I had a chance to volunteer in Luke's class this week for the harvest from the garden they had planted back in October. That morning as they were getting ready to head out to the garden, the teacher announced that they would be picking and sampling lettuce, snap peas, radishes, and carrots. Luke raised his hand and said, "Uh...I already had breakfast." To his credit, he did try a little of each thing, but it was nothing like a few of the other kids who asked for seconds. On salad. At 9:00 in the morning. Go figure.

For all of his various foibles, Luke is unquestionably good at at least one thing: reading. We just got a mid-year report back from the school, and it says that the goal for first graders at the mid-year point is to read 30 words (aloud) per minute with 95 percent accuracy. Then it showed Luke's test results: He reads 133 words per minute with 100 percent accuracy. I don't think I can even read 133 words per minute.

Now here comes the burden of having a kid who reads everything he can get his hands on: Luke was asking me about September 11 the other morning. Why? Because there was a reference to it in Doonesbury, and Luke had been reading Doonesbury as part of his Sunday morning comics ritual. It really caught me off guard, in the same way the "Kevlar boxer shorts" joke in Baby Blues did the other day. File that under: Not Ready For That Whole Talk.

Now where was I? Stars. Yes, stars. I am wishing on one for each of us, especially Sarah, tonight.

Dogged

No one should have to go through the process of raising kids without a good coach or mentor, and we are so lucky to have a great one. Teacher Lynn has been our parenting teacher for more than three years, and she is absolutely the kind of person you want to have around. Name any kind of parenting concern and she can come up with some creative and positive approach for solving it, or she knows which book to refer to in her impressive library.  Her kids are in their mid-20s and have moved out of the house, so she stays busy doing an amazing array of things: airline supervisor, parenting teacher, community activist, surfer, dog trainer... the list goes on. As we just learned last week, she has for years volunteered as a "catcher" at the L.A. Marathon - as in, she's one of the people who stands at the finish line and catches exhausted runners as they collapse. The volunteer coordinators know that they need to have at least one other person volunteering alongside Lynn because she tends to get so wrapped up in talking with her runners she doesn't have time to catch all of the ones who cross her path (I picture Lynn chit-chatting with her runner while a stack of other runners piles up around her.)

All of this is a long way of saying that we have been playing with her dog - well, one of her dogs. Scout is a 1-year-old golden lab who is exuberant about life, and loves nothing more than to catch balls. This is a great coincidence because we have at least two people in the house who love nothing more than to throw balls to a dog. Scout was supposed to have left for doggie police academy last month but Lynn and the trainers decided that Scout wasn't quite mature enough, or possibly didn't have the temperament. So until they decide what might be a good career path for him, he's staying with Lynn and is available for play dates.

Lynn brought him over on Saturday and we spent the better part of an hour tossing a dirty, grass-and-saliva-covered ball to him. Then Luke went to get him a bowl of water. Then Zach went and got him a cup of crushed ice. And for even just a short time, the boys were in dog heaven.

Are we going to get a dog? Uh... It would be great but it's a project that I'm not quite ready to take on. So if we can borrow a dog on the weekends, we've got a pretty good deal going.

Speaking of boys and dogs, Luke's friend Blake has a dog that looks just like the "Otis" dog in Zach's favorite movie, Milo and Otis. So when we were getting ready to pick up Luke from Blake's house last week, Zach packed up his toy cat and his train book, which he told me he wanted to "show him." Since Zach doesn't quite get the difference between "she" and "he," I assumed that he was planning to show his toy cat and book to Blake's little sister. But when we got there, Blake's sister took a grab for the cat and Zach howled in protest. He took the book and his cat and went off to find the "Otis" dog. Then I found him sitting in the corner with the dog, very quietly reading him the train book, just as he had planned.

Yesterday Dave had a meeting in downtown L.A. so Zach and I drove with him and Dave dropped us off at Union Station. There Zach and I checked out the trains and hopped on the Gold Line for a little joyride. He sat on the train absolutely transfixed for the entire 45-minute round trip. When I told him we were going to Olvera Street for lunch and maybe a treat, he decided that he was going to buy a train. So we walked up and down the narrow alley lined with all manner of Mexican toys and treats, but we didn't see a train. Then Zach spotted something that he wanted even more: a basket filled with tiny kittens. And for the rest of the time there was no other treat that had any ability to distract him. He named them Fluffy, Snowball, Otis, and Joyceandjoyf. Joyceandjoyf is Zach's mangled reference to the cat named "Joyce" in Milo and Otis. I can't explain it other than it's just one of those kid things that you say, "Oh - OK," and move on. Kind of like how you should react after you read this.

Nom nom nom

Even though our days can be as varied as going to the beach or stomping in the snow, one constant throughout every day is that we cook and we eat. This thought has been most prominent in my mind over the past six days because even though I have been reduced to misery by some kind of stomach virus I have still had to be in charge of all sorts of food coming and going through our kitchen. (Ick, I know, but I have been insanely fastidious about hand-washing with hot soapy water and wiping surfaces down with sterilizing wipes.) Kids gotta eat, you know.

Although Zach can be picky, he is definitely my food man. He went to town on the spinach pesto I made on Monday night (although for whatever reason he rejected it when it showed up in his lunch bag today) and tonight he downed two enormous pieces of gefilte fish. And if we go to In n Out Burger (like we did on Friday night), he has no desire for some namby-pamby kids' hamburger with just a bun and some meat. He wants the whole deal, lettuce, tomato, sauce, grilled onions, cheese, and all. Talk about a man after my own heart.

Oh, and have I mentioned his increasingly adorable desire to pack picnics? For the past two Mondays (my special day at home with him) we have gone to the beach (the first week I took him rollerblading and last week we just walked down on foot) and he has insisted on packing and setting up a special picnic for the two of us. Perhaps the sweetest part is seeing just how proud he is of his handiwork. This Monday he packed a bag and he handed it to me to carry while we walked down to the beach. I didn't realize until we were just out the door that he had put an open cup of water in there as our beverage - it hadn't spilled because it was so tightly packed in with all of the other food.

Luke is a little more of a puzzle. Dave and I have been at our wits' end trying to find some healthy protein that he will reliably consume. When I took him shopping the other day he agreed that perhaps he would eat ham for dinner; by the time we got home he realized that he really preferred Grandma Joan's honey-baked ham, not the thin-sliced ham from the deli counter. And tonight he decided he might like peanuts and sunflower seeds, but by the time they reached his plate, he decided that he really didn't care for sunflower seeds at all. You can see why this becomes exasperating. They say that you have to look at a kid's diet over a three- or four-day span to get a good sense of how well they are eating. In his case I think we'll have to look over three or four years to remember that he at one point ate like a reasonably normal person.

Today I was feeling better and I decided it was time to make something fun with the kids with no ulterior motive for the blog. We decided to bake snickerdoodles (all of that flour and cinnamon and sugar - the perfect thing to make in the kitchen just after the housekeepers have left! Not!!) and at some point we decided that since the cookies were the same color as a furry little groundhog we'd serve them as a special groundhog dessert, putting eyes on them and making them pop up out of some ice cream. So we did. And, sure, they were no homemade pasta or anything, but to a stomach that has only eaten plain bread since Friday, they tasted downright delicious.