Virtual Holiday Letter

We didn't write our annual Christmas letter this year. Our card (this photo--spoiler alert) just lists our blogs, as we're not very coherant (this post will attest to that in every regard) right now. Thoughts are scattered. What's interesting to us is universally mundane. We chuckled a little bit about what we'd even say: "Um, we are humbled at every turn?" "We moved, foolishly thinking it would be easy and are still trying to catch our breaths?" "We gained ten pounds?" "We spend our free time re-catching Gus's surprisingly speedy snail collection?" 

The skinny is that things are good. Just plain good. And there's a lot of learning--tiny learnings--but good learnings, nonetheless. They may say it all (though not as cleverly as P's holiday letters):

• Gus snacks regularly on Char Siew Pau, rice noodles, mango lassis, and dried seaweed. He avoids vegetables of any cuisine, french fries, chicken nuggets, or potato chips.


• Two years in Prague were long enough to make some life-long, much-missed friends and permanent cultural connections. It's been a happy return to our former lives here, but we're sorely missing our recent lives there.


• We can survive a snake in the house. Barely.


• Gus is allergic to all brands and all forms of sunscreen (Thanks to reoccurring rashes, he now has a phobia to boot).


• An extra million people in a country the size of Whatcom County is noticeable.


• Bike paths DO exist and are getting better every day (good job, Singapore!).


• Gus digs the water. He swims. He dives. He repeats.


• If you want to sleep well at night, don't think about how much the cheese you just bought would cost in another country.


• One doesn't seem to get as many spontaneous airline upgrades with a toddler in tow.


• Carve your Halloween pumpkins on the 31st to ensure that they survive the humid evening.


• If you want your son to be outgoing and friendly, you cannot be the wallflower at every party (sighhhhh).


• The wild pig population appears to have doubled on the island. Beware on dark morning runs and rides.


• For now, trips to the beach rather than adventurous backpacking expeditions are refreshingly all right.


• Good libraries do a lot for this family's happiness factor. We heart you, SAS libraries.


• Driving on the left side of the road just comes right back to you. And after a few months of practicing, reciprocated patience, and several close calls, we CAN reverse the car into parking spots with ease.


• The world is small and grand folks abound on all continents.

Some of those grand folks on an adventure race in Krabi, Thailand. And one of the many reasons I was humbled this year (hoooooo boy...not quite up to pace with the old running crew)

A happy puddle-jumper.

My two best friends mid-MOvember. See P's FB page for a too-cute-for-my-blog shaving video. 

Our legacy of tragically awkward couple shots continues. We just don't have "act casual" in us. Soon after, the photograper gave up.

MERRY CHRISTMAS and happy, happy holidays. Wishing you and yours a wonderful new year with good people, good learnings, and good times. Please buy a big ol' block of cheddar cheese for us and savor that it's not a billion dollars. May joy abound.

Singapore Season

'Tis the season.

P is back from a week in Boston (he says we'll live there someday) with treats:

Grand treats.

When he is away, I don't sleep great, so I sometimes have midnight drawing bursts. And in the words of Gus, the Christmas cards are "Over!" A sneak peeK:

I attended a few holiday parties. Thankfully, I have good friends willing to be my dates at all of 'em. It looks like I'm particularly merry, but the truth is, I'm just relieved to not have to walk in that restaurant alone.

It's so good to have P back. The stockings are hung, the tree is trimmed, Gus requests the same Christmas book every night, and it's the second Saturday of Advent.

These pre-Christmas weekends are sacred. We slow down. We light our Advent candles. We take walks. It's a sweaty holiday season on the equator this year, but it almost makes it more special to have to fight against the external forces that try and tell you it's not Christmas. It is Christmas, indeed. And I'm so happy to have both boys home for our celebrating--even if we're hunting lizards rather than throwing snowballs.

 

 

Behaving and transcending

Oy. The guilt.

There was a recent no food/cold medicine/glass (okay, maybe two) of wine incident. We knew we shouldn't go to the party, as we were really sick. But we have these issues with morality and it seemed better to take the Sudafed and go to the wine tasting than to cancel on the nice people hosting it. We did not pick the best option and yes, I have fielded phone calls from folks laden with embarrassing recollections.

I learned, on the same day, at the doctor's office for said sickness, that I am infecting my family. He told me that I am a carrier of deep infection and that every time my husband and son get sick, it is all my fault. Actually, he said it twice, much more slowly the second time, to let the burden of this sink in. 

I believe that guilt is not from God. But I also believe in behaving. I don't know much about parenting, but from what I can tell from those around me, what I DO has a lot more power than what I SAY. This boy needs to see his mama loving unabashedly and seeking understanding. I had a dream today that I was in Nepal with super-smart Betsy and Rebecca (who I'm trying to woo into blogging with me). We were told we could not buy a rug we wanted unless we found a "transcendent guest house" (this was said to us by Sam Elliot in a Bhutanese goh...have I mentioned I'm on a lot of cold medicine?). We kept looking in guest houses and asking, "is this one transcendent?" Perhaps that will be my new message to myself as I make choices. Is what I'm doing trasnscendent? Rebecca often asks me to ask myself, "How is this helping right now?" It's a good barometer reading. When that second glass was poured, I might should've asked myself, "Now, just how is this helping? And specifically, how is it helping little Gus?" 

November is the month of gratitude. But for me, it may be the month of gratefully behaving. Starting tomorrow, I will floss twice daily, not eat so many salty pretzels, and be thankful for the folks that keep me on the straight and narrow. When Gus tells me that someone is a grouch (as he is prone to report--and with accuracy), I will not concur, I will instead ask questions that lead us to understand why someone might be grouchy. I will help us both transcend.

And I will stay home when medicated.

For your own transcendence, you might want to peek at this (how does a person pick which book is more amazing?). You could also read this, which is one of the sweetest little young adult novels I've read in a long, long time. Lastly, you could enjoy this:

Here's what matters about these leggy ladies. One of those girls finished a 50km running race lately. Two of them did a 60km adventure race a couple weeks ago in wicked-fast time. All of them are stellar and competitve athletes with enviable ab muscles. I don't know what they were thinking when they asked me to join their team, knowing I'm one kid and three years of training behind everyone. I couldn't do it. I was slow. I walked when I should have ran. I was winded and wincing and yet they committed themselves to doing every step of the race by my side. Even when one of the organizers swore at us and said, "Well, you're not dead--bleeping--last, but you're pretty-bleeping-close to it" as we came through a check point VERY late in the day, they kept laughing, holding my hand, and cheering me on. I asked one of the girls at the end, while gasping for breath, "Was it hard for you?" she looked up, pursed her lips and said, "Umm...I mean I kinda feel like I had a workout..." What she meant was, "Um, that was a fun little stroll through the woods with my grandma..."

I'm not even thinking about feeling guilty for their love (well...). Part of transcendence is accepting help. And being grateful. THANKS, ladies.

 

 

We Learn

We occasionally learn things around here.

We learn that carved pumpkins in the tropics have a shelf life of about 48 hours. Sorry, Gus!

We learn that sometimes you have to regress to go forward. And since we are in bleak creative times these days, we thought back to when time was endless and the juices were flowing. So, we decorated our study as if we were still in college:

We learn that the toddler will live, despite taking the cap off the Dimetapp Allergy medicine and helping himself to a swig.

We learn that after a six month hiatus, EVERY family member will heartily eat lentils again. And when all the other parents tell you to quit worrying and things change, they are RIGHT.

We learn that we are a family that needs naps and quiet and downtime. And that's probably why we haven't invited you over.

We learn that community takes many forms. It's a group of women waiting for Slow You on an adventure race they could have easily won. It's a neighbor letting you help with the weekend chauffeuring. It's nice friends of your husband talking books with you while you shape playdoh for a loud two-year-old at the kitchen table.

In this November month of thankfulness, we are grateful for our little learnings.

 

Taking sips

A friend reminded me a couple weeks ago about Teacup Theology. That's when you look at the cup of unknown tea you've been handed by your generous host and you decide if you're going to take a sip and savor it and let it do you the good you're intended or if you're going to dump it out and brew your own pot with your own leaves at your own strength. Okay, at it's essence, it's sort of pithy. I'm simple folk these days and needing simple truths; it's giving me pause. I've got a cup of tea that is brimming with tropical goodness: warm afternoons by the pool, long jungle runs, and blooming frangipani. This cup lets me work and travel and be a mama. This cup is filled with really great places and really great people. That's how I know I'm a little off kilter and that this too shall pass, as I'm sniffing the cup and dreaming of something with a bit more autumnal depth: spices and fall colors and hearty root vegetable soups. I'm ignoring that the second pot also comes with wintery burdens that even farmers' market pumpkins can't outweigh.

I've adjusted to an international move three times now, so I know that the awkward month comes. I'm in it. I'm missing the ladies in Prague that taught me to be a mother and loved my boy. I'm missing friends on other continents who used to be here. And I'm knowing that my sister is in her favorite season of all, marbling paper and knitting mittens and probably baking something outrageously good (of course, as I write this, she is hunkered down with extra gasoline and chocolate for what could be some scary days, thanks to nasty Sandy). October is the month for tea with neighbors, and I'm just not feeling it here.

I've been writing Neighbor B long emails and skyping with tough-as-nails LM. I've been making weepy lists of art projects that will just have to wait until holidays. I've been dreaming of learning this, and envying the talented gal that does this. When you're in the awkward month is seems that everyone and everything is being creative and productive and spinning all the plates in the most beautiful ways. And you're just a lady that hasn't even made time to get waxed. And that's a necessity when you're living a tropical cup of tea.

So. What do we do? We come home and take a nap. Because that's one of the perks of this tropical living. And we eat the best bowl of char siew soup anyone could hope for and marvel that our son is learning to use chopsticks. We laugh when he thanks us in Chinese and then clarifies, "That's Mandarin, mom". We read a lot of young adult novels, we dream of afternoons filled with drawing, and we take long walks amongst the mango and banana trees rather than the falling maple leaves. We're back from an island vacation and only four sleeps away from an adventure racing weekend with three outrageous ladies. It's okay. It's more than okay. It's just awkward October, and this too shall pass.

Usual awkward segue:

And because it really is okay, and I can't stay all that reflective for all that long, we're also relishing a delivery of a great tea chaser. Who says beer is expensive in Singapore? You just have to go to the source. And my source has Aventinus. 

And while the birthday girl that got this art doesn't partake in the Aventinus herself, she's another great reason to make it through the October melancholy. Living on the same island as Betsy for the second time is a dream come true. She keeps me laughing, thinking, reading, and drinking the occasional Pokka green tea. So happy to get to wish you a happy birthday in person this year, Betsy H.

Book club

Gus and I are taking a stab at literary criticism. We're loving it. I'm on a mock committee for a picture book award, and it's made for lively evenings at home. Each afternoon I lug home a stack of books, read them to Gus (three or four times minimum), and then let him select his favorite. I'm learning that he has soft spots for onomatopoeia, dinosaurs, and ice-cream cones. Authors and illustrators: take note.

My favorites usually incorporate quilts, woodcuts, and clever borders. Mooshka: A Quilt Story a is high on my list of favs (that Julie Paschkis is amazing) followed by Squid and Octopus: Friends for Always. I really love Extra Yarn for the gorgeous and clever illustrations and knitting related storyline, but I honestly was not smart enough for the ending. And Gus and I read it eight times.

These are our evenings: Small, wordy, artsy, and book-fueled. We're not complaining.

Help them, help them, help them

This weekend has been pretty horrible for many of our nearest and dearest. Our Skype line has been ringing, and our phones need charging. Things are rough. From my dear-hearts in Tunis to friends-that-are-family in the states, there are a lot of folks dealing with some of the worst that life has to throw at them. 

And then there's Gus. Gus, the great refiner, has a way of boiling life down to what is truly sacred. He's taken to spontaneous prayer these days, and while I'd like to say he learned it by example, I honestly think the kid just has it in him. He stops throughout the day and says, "I need to pray." The prayer is pretty simple: he's thankful for his friends, his relatives, and his household. They are hollered out in a list of names that end with an emphatic, "Amen!" This weekend, as I did my best to holler up my own lists of friends, it struck me how sincere that dude is. He really does love those folks that give him pause. He's truly thankful. He's in the midst of playing and he thinks on them and unabashedly shouts out his affection. I could learn a little bit from his joyful thanks and his frequent remembering.

So here's a shout out beloved Tunisian friends and dear Birch Bayers. I love you big, I'm thankful for you, I'm pleading for hope and happy answers to fill your days, and I'm offering up a "help them help them help them" in true Anne LaMott style on your behalfs whenever you cross my mind. And you cross my mind an awful lot. 

The spiritual leader not only supports prayer, but he also supports public fountain crashing.

Overdoing it

Sometimes, a lot of times, I overuse words. And I think the overused words of any given season are a sign of my mental state. Right now I have to work hard not to say, "billion", "tragic," and "spectacular". That's because I'm wired way high and everything feels big and out of proportion and BILLIONS of things are happening and some of them are SPECTACULAR and too many are also TRAGIC. But plenty of them are also mundane and dumb and truly no big deal. And maybe that's why it's been weeks since I was able to think about writing, or maybe it's because there's too much to write, or perhaps it's because the times-are-a-changin' and a new blog is brewing or new something is brewing or it's time to break up or whatever. 

So here's a few of the  random billion, spectacular and tragic things I know:

1. David Rakoff died this week. His writing and his voice impacted my life and made me laugh and think and want to grow as a writer. His passing is sad.

2. I've had 47 (billion) hilarious cultural encounters that remind me why I both adore Singapore and audibly groan so often. It's good. And tiring. Today, at 9:13am, I found myself in my bikini at the zoo shouting into my phone because the splash pad was 13 minutes late turning on. "Hello sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but the waterpark sign says it opens at 9:00, but it's not working." "What? You are working?" "No, sir, I'd like the splash pad to be working." "Who is working at the splash pad?" (17 more exchanges until my Singlish kicked in). "On the splash pad, can?" "Oh, sorry, ma'am! We'll send someone right over to on the splash pad."

3. Gus is fine. I go to work, and he's fine. Part of me would like to be a little more important and part of me is really relieved.

4. Our daily routines involve swimming pools, talking to the neighbor's cockatoo, chasing geckos, eating dried mango, and begging for more fried dumplings. Gus is friends with a dog named Cookie, devoted to a kindly uncle who manages the condo security office, smitten with his nanny, and entertained by about two dozen older kids in our condo. Singapore is grand when you are two.

5. I am fighting to keep my design brain churning. It's tough. My IQ has dropped pretty significantly since I last taught language arts, so I'm working right now to just make sure my students don't get any dumber. Once I master that, I'll think about art and writing and where I'm headed. For now, all I've produced is a Babushka fairy to grant me my every wish during this first week with a class full of kiddos:

6. I nearly alienated my family by being completely insane during my first two weeks of work. It was the first time I'd ever had a sniff of mother's guilt and woweeee! Powerful stuff! I drove Gus nuts with my list of (a billion) things to do when I came home every day. In a span of 90 minutes I'd have managed to drive us both to tears with alphabet time, number time, outdoor time, ball time, bike time, singing time, art time, etc. etc. etc. Yesterday I rushed home early to be with him and took note that as soon as he saw me he barricaded himself in his room and shouted through the closed door, "I'd just like a little time with my tractors!" Hm. When the two-year-old is able to articulate that you are smothering him, it's time to take stock. 

So. I'm missing my quiet Prague life and loving the buzz of Singapore. We're settling into our life of contrasts and working towards a balance that is neither spectacular nor tragic but is just right where we're supposed to be. We'll give that time and we'll heed Gus's wisdom to just slow down and relax and retreat to the things we love. 

Savoring 'til Tuesday

You know you're on the Green family ranch when you overhear your husband and his brother dreaming on future property purchases and they contemplate, "But can you legally drive a four-wheeler to mom and dad's house from there?" 

We are four-wheeling folks here. And fresh-picked apricot, cherry, and raspberry folks. Don't even talk to us about dessert. One day I ate Grandma Green's huckleberry cobbler for every meal. We are fruit-rich and savoring four more sleeps and our pick of three friends' swimming pools to beat the nearly 100 degree heat. Life is grand.

I don't think about the Tuesday morning fly-out. I think about Gus's sweet cousins (one just a week new) and the quail babies that have grown up since our arrival. I think about the mama deer at the top of the hill I hike every day, the Tour de France updates Grandpa gives me every morning, and the local Chardonnay in the refrigerator. This is a place where sitting and watching the mountain is mandatory and morning coffee on the deck can stretch into lunchtime (assuming the restless toddlers haven't hijacked the dog and gone lizard hunting by then).

(a typical morning on the job site)

(a farmboy, his dog, and both of their enormous feet)

It's understandable why being in four-wheeling range is so imporant. 

In-Between

Gus and I are celebrating one month in the loveliest of limbos today. We left Praha behind (and apparently this blog) for the mountain views, mud puddles, tractors, sprinklers, sandboxes, lakes, good dogs, small town parades, snakes, fresh picked raspberries, Mexican food, hikes, and overall amazingness of many good Grandmas and Grampas. If you are under the age of three, clothing is optional and you've probably added the phrase M & Ms to your vocabulary as well as an inch and or two to your height. Gus has had his first dental appointment (Success and smiles thanks to the best dentists on the planet), chicken nuggets, fish-catching, bear-sighting, and fire truck ride. Life is good in the Wenatchee Valley.

P arrived a few days ago, and the fun factor has only increased. We are tan and can't find our shoes. There are Northwest microbrews in the fridge and neighbors with warm swimming pools. Our family can't be beat, and baby M is one day away from being overdue. Goodness abounds.

It's not just little M that's on the horizon, it's Singapore too. I usually want time to slow down here at the ranch, but this year I'm torn. We've landed a condo we long coveted and that was long occupied by some of the very best folks we know, so good juju fills those walls and good living awaits. I am anxious to move my boys into it, to show Gus the geckos that will share our home, and to take him to all of our favorite haunts. There is so much for him to eat and see and so few days before I'm no longer a stay-at-home mom. I'm trying to savor here and ready myself for savoring there. It's an odd balance.

But it's been an odd balance from the start--leaving dear friends in Prague and settling in to a few weeks of dear friends and family in the states and moving on to dear friends and colleagues in Singapore. At the playground, moms I meet ask where I live, and the answer is so complicated their eyes just glaze over and they shuffle their kids over to the slide and away from the awkward lady. I can't blame them. 

I always wonder if we're doing the right thing during these times of transition, and this morning, at one of my less-awkward playground gatherings, a friend of P's quizzed us on overseas life. He and his family are teachers and contemplating a similar leap, and as we talked, P and I both got more animated and more excited. On the car ride home we enjoyed the buzz of knowing that whether in Singapore or Washington, we're doing what we love.

There is so much to love:

Lake Wenatchee. Sigh.

My attempt at Czech pickled hermelin.

Lucky, lucky boy.

 

Working through the last of Prague

There is more being doodled:

There are boxes being packed and refrigerators emptied. Dinners are lentil-heavy and lunches feature a lot of almond butter and brown rice cakes in the name of empyting the pantry. But this fiber is good (anyone need dried beans? come on by) because a recent goodbye-pub-crawl featured two kinds of outrageously stinky cheese, fried eggs on deep-fried toast, pickled camembert, steak tartare, and beef tongue. I really hope our cholesterol levels can hold on until our flight. 

I can't believe it!

If you visit me, here is what might happen: You will be jet-lagged and dehydrated. You will just want to rest and email and stare out the window at your new surroundings. But I will trap you in my living room and do a show and tell of all the odds and ends of fabric I've been saving. There will be a mountain at your feet: "This here is a tablecloth with a burn mark in it..." "This smelly thing we got at a market in a village somewhere, and we've never been able to get the stink out..." "This fragment that's disintegrating was a table runner that I really liked..." "You can't wash this due to the indigo, but man I love it..." I will heap piles at your feet. And then I will tell you, "And I'd like you to make me functional, washable, pocketed-skirts out of all of this nonsense. So instead of buying souvenirs, please fill your luggage with my garbage and mail it back to me later as something I can wear to work."

And if you are my kind and forgiving and gracious and wickedly talented sister, you will DO IT. 

She did it! I can't believe she didn't throw the pile back in my face. I can't believe she went to any effort at all. That amazing sister of mine made a wonder out of a piece of batik junk I bargained for in some back alley in Asia. And man, it's awesome. 

Last weeks thought salad

It's list city around here. (Which makes me pause and think on Loretta Lynn's "Fist City." It is thankfully, NOT Fist City) It's goodbye parties and last beergardens and why-is-it-three-degrees-in-May. Things are both ridiculously organized and tragically dicombobulated. Gus is a mess. We're all waking before alarms because we're too tired to keep sleeping. Do you know that waking? It only happens when things are on the edge. 

But, despite messy toddlers and loose ends and a fine balance of too-social and too-serious, we are getting things done. There is a lot of tossing and sorting and throwing away. As we do that, we're mindful of what to save. And it comes down to the people. And such people there are. I've made quick tributes this week to a gaggle of folks that really deserve a lot of hugging and that we truly hope will plan vacations in Southeast Asia:

There are so many good people here. I think on them as I clean lampshades and pack breakables and woo Gus from his tantrums. As messy as we are right now, we're leaving Prague so much richer in spirit---and it's all because of the folks that were quick to love us. 

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And with one foot in Prague and one foot in Singapore, I also play a little continental Twister and land a hand on the US. There are commissions to deliver during our short time there, and this one is for a sweet baby M:

More in my life

Prints are back from my uber-helpful print shop, and I'm playing with former images. I added black ink drawings to DRops' photo. It's on its way to you soon, D and T!

Today's theme

Things have seemed a bit gray. Not bad. Not glorious. Gus and I had a few too many nights of collective coughs. We went to IKEA (yechh). Our accomplishments of late are boring: criminal record checks, shipping insurance forms, and short-term medical insurance. And yesterday at 11:00am, the bank said the money hadn't arrived yet and I should come back tomorrow. It was reminiscent of when we stopped by Burger King on a student field trip while living in Singapore and they said, "Oh, sorry--we don't have any burgers." 

But today, after the wonder of a good-night's-rest (thank you Husband of the Year), Gus and I woke up to sun and color and choosing-joy. Some folks even decided to dress like it: 

Keeping with the theme, I started my next sketchbook project. This book's theme is "The little things in life".

There are lots of little things looking good today. The lilacs are blooming, Neighbor B made homemade peanut butter cups, I may or may not have ordered this Waylon Jennings necklace, and there's a painting project underway:

To add to the synchronicity, a friend sent a link to a bucket list for kids under twelve, and it's inspired me to think on our family bucket list. That's good fodder for dinner time conversation in a household of seasoned list-makers.

And finally, as I putter in my office and with my paints and listen to my podcasts on this happy-shiny Tuesday, I savor a BIG thing, which is my dear Father's (slightly belated) birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad!

(it seems rubber boots are a theme as well)

Roar!

March went out roaring. There was so much to do and clean. But it was all for very very good reasons:

A miniature raspberry pie was baked. From scratch.

And then put inside a cake to become the trendy and surprisingly tasty (but still sort of embarrassing) piecaken. A birthday girl was happy.

And there was a last minute weekend to Poland where I may or may not have purchased Polish pottery for my son (What does this mean? What would Werner Herzog say? Have I crossed the line of rational pottery thinking?).

Someone awfully special went from baby to boy and had to celebrate his birthday at school since his parents are too ridiculous (lazy? wise? terrified-of-other-toddlers?) to throw him a proper party.

Amazing folks flew all the way from the US to play legos and give thoughtful presents and take long, windy, cold walks through Praha. We are missing them already.

And, as we wait (change sheets, wash towels, bake gluten-free muffins, etc etc etc) for the second round of guests to arrive this weekend (yay Meehans!), we're thankful for this recent purchase. Yup. We gave into the Man. But--we got it third-hand, so it doesn't upset me as much as it should. That and the espresso it makes is absolutely delicious.

There's no time for art with all this goodness, but we're making memories!

 

Birthdays in Twos

I don't know how it happened, but that kid turned two. WE DID IT. We kept him going another year and he seems to actually still like us a little bit. We know this because he's pretty keen on labeling likes and dislikes right now as he tries his hand at excelling at all things toddler. Our outside doorbell? Dislike. Uncle Bob? Like. Mom's dancing moves? Dislike. Licking the slide at the playground? Like. Hugging, cuddling, and sharing? Dislike. Throwing, stomping, and wrestling? Like.

Gus enters his second year on his third continent, with eight roundtrip flights under his belt, and a big move in his future. He's a hearty dude that knows his alphabet (minus I and N), Glen Campbell songs, and all of the very best hiding spots for all of our very important items. He ensures our home is filled with laugher, humility, and completely amazing bodily function stories. Man, we love him. 

Happy Birthday sweet, hilarious, and fascinating OGG. You keep us striving to be better and longing for sleep. We cannot wait to see where this year takes us; we are soooooo grateful you're on our journey.

Gus's birthday art is a bit of a multi-purpose piece. Today is also amazing Aunt Shelly's birthday--Gus's secret twin. A few years ago that wise lady made this verse matter all the more to me. And so we tip our pen and hearts to her as we drop a print of this in the mail. Happy Day to you dear Shelly: May your year be rich in laughter, peace, and purpose and may all the stray cats and dogs in your neighborhood cease to make noise.

The final Babushka

She's done. And P and I think we'll keep her.

If she'd been around this afternoon she might have told little Gus to "slow down!" before his face collided with a railing. He's got quite the shiner, but he tells us he's okay. And since that railing prevented him from falling six feet into the river below, I'm okay that he's got it.

Babushka for you

Gus has inspired me to paint again. He prefers to watercolor his arm, but I'm finding paper works fine for me. 

I'm going to layer this with colored pencil and marker and see what happens. Lynda Barry tells us to doodle images of our past to unlock our creativity, and at some point in college I took comfort in doodling "Magic Babushka." She isn't afraid to say the hard things and never makes you feel bad about your sensible shoes. I'm having a Babushka revival living in near-Eastern Europe. She continues to know just what to tell me.

I wish I had a Magic Babushka to send my sister K right now. Her family's beloved Pete passed away this weekend, and these are sad times. Pete was a good kitty (and sometimes Facebook friend). He is missed. Babushka would be full of comforting things to say.

 

Balancing bikes and writing

All of Prague was in a good mood and too many layers today. The weather soared above 50 degrees, the horse stables put out their beer garden benches, and despite collective bronchitis we hit the trails with Gus on his Strider bike. Everyone in town had the same idea, and we all grinned like sun-bedazzled fools in a sea of dogs, horses, bikes, scooters, walkers, strollers, and shockingly white arms. 

The elation that taking off our coats brings us is only slightly above the elation this recipe brings us. It cleans out my fridge and allows for rampant substitutions. No sour cream? Try buttermilk or tvaroh or cream cheese. No basil? Cilantro, spinach, parsley, whatever. I grate in carrots, sweet potato, and zucchini. I double the broccoli and toss in pine nuts. I add whatever cheeses need finishing. I use spiral noodles and shells and whole wheat bow ties. It comes together in a jiffy and is one of the very few vegetable laden dishes that inspires Gus to praise.

As we sat at our little table in our little kitchen with our little man eating our mac and cheese today, we were awfully grateful for these little lives. It could be the delirium from seeing the sun for the first time in five months, but neither P or I knew that we were the kind of folks that would find joy and satisfaction in a long morning spent keeping a wild balance biker out of the river. We dig it. We dig it a lot. 

Our Prague time is winding up, and we'll soon both be employed on a new continent. I've been thinking on whether I will continue to capture these little goodnesses in this personal blog while balancing writing about my work and also balancing just working on my writing. I'm in balancing conundrum. This blog existed to help me find joy in the ordinary and to keep me artisitically productive here in a new life in Praha. It has served me well, but it was never really intended for an audience. There are other things I need to write. I teach writers and believe very strongly they need to see me actively producing. Yet, it alarms me to put all my time into a blog for their benefits and not into the writing I hope may someday turn into a something. I'm just not sure how a teacher balances modeling writing while protecting his or her own writing space. One could wear themselves a little thin with too many blogs or too many articles or too many whatevers spread out in all directions for all audiences (and really...let's be honest...how many folks really want to read what's being said?). Neighbor B was kind enough to listen to me process earlier this week and she assured me I'm not the first teacher to ask these questions, but I cannot think of what to type into Google to find the answers: "How can I write and publish things I don't want to show my student communities and yet have the energy to professionally blog and offer writing samples that my students can read and also still feel like I have artistic direction and maybe maintain a personal blog..." Hmm. Thoughts, teacher friends? This will sort itself out. For now, I don't know what will be being typed next Spring, but for today, we are happy in our record of the littles. 

Digital coloring of the last post's drawing. I think I prefer it.

Soon

Itchy for spring around here.

End results

The friendly designers at Tiny Tales added words and layouts to my illustrations and came up with these cheerful cards.

I'm happy to see what came of this process and happier yet that it ended in something they could use. The TT folks were very patient with not-knowing-anything-me. 

A literary pause

Recent flurries of organization and sorting and discarding in this house have led to humorous incidents. These incidents have led to bad poetry (as suggested by Neighbor B):

 

Donation Regrets

One of the risks of leaving things by the dumpster

is that you might see your former bra in the middle of the road.

Four blocks away.

 

And you will have to wrestle with wondering if you are

an unsuspecting litterer

or an accomplice in the unsavory.

Tunis comes to us this time

Lauren of North Africa is here! (Hey, L.O.N.A. is not a bad acronym for someone that Gus calls Aunt Lola. It just might stick!) Her arrival brings many things:

To begin, she got us out of the house in the afternoon. I can't remember the last time I saw the 4:30pm skies. Normally at 4:38 dinner prep has reached a delicate point and Gus is snacking on playdough and delivery men are buzzing and people are texting and I am running to the window to see if my backpack-wearing husband is on the corner and twenty seven seconds away. Once he's home, I don't like to mess with a good thing and we stay put. And today, after leaving Gus's play date because "if you are not going to treat your friends nicely we are going", I wasn't feeling too spunky. But Lauren brought revival and got us walking (or rather, we drug her on an errand in an effort to be fun and hip Prague-sters). The result was beyond our fathoming----a new and better beer store. And by beer, I mean Aventinus (Tap 6! Tap 6!) from Munich and Delirium Tremens from Belgium and gigantic Kocour bottles that we all carried home in floral shopping bags with glee.

She also brought this:

How can you not befriend someone that juxtaposes French champagne, canned mechouia, and halvah? It's not a complete photo. There was fierce and lively textured art created by one (or both?) of her talented young men. There was also a bag of macarons from a French bakery that Gus and I frequented last week near her Tunisian seaside home. And then there's her. Lauren is all goodness and real conversation and things familiar and deeply loved. She is family, that wicked-smart L, and we are happy to host her in the evenings while she visits Patrick's school during the daytimes to get even smarter.

Lastly, she brought a little organization. I spent Friday's naptime not napping and instead cleaned up a bit and made meals and snacks (I was all about leeks and spinach, so it's Rebar cookbook's Apple, blue cheese, spinach tart and SmittenKitchen baked potato--with leek and added spinach--soup). It's good to have weekend foods and someone with whom we can share them. Lona got me planning ahead, so Monday's sketchbook deadline is met, and we've nothing but free evenings (and possibly a few brews) to savor. Yippee!

 

Today kicks off a month of clean livin'

P and I are list makers: Books we want to read, trails to hike, future travels, future lists, before-we-dies, things to organize, things to throw away, things to teach Gus to ensure he is a genius. We like our lists. We also like challenges: Feats of strength. Feats of patience. Raising a toddler.

The Lenten season is upon us, and a few podcasts, blogs, and TedTalks have brought inspiration. Because we're not up to THAT big of a challenge, we're taking Lent in 30, and we're attempting what we're calling, "30 days of clean livin'". We made lists of the things we want to avoid and the things we want to add and the things we want to alter to be the best us-s we can be. Our plans aren't identical, but in general you'll find us flossing and yoga-ing and gargling salt water and keeping gratitude journals and taking our vitamins. There's no Facebook and no gossip and no refined sugars and no meat. It's not all austerity. There are allotted units of caffiene and alcohol. There is cheese. There are things to look forward to like family Sundays and mandatory naps. But there's absolutely no peeking at PopSugar, no matter how much you want to see what someone wore to the Oscars.

I share our folly not to boast but because we're weak, weak people. We're not sure we'll do it if we don't tell. And to keep us as honest as possible, we've traded lists and risked some cash. If I break a rule, P gets all my March fun-money (and if you know how strictly we budget these days, you'll know that these are some special pennies). I just know he's going to spend it on INXS CDs or some sort of WWF t-shirt, and that will slay me. I cannot cave!

And when the days are up and success is achieved, our reward is enlightenment. Ha! Whatever. Our reward is probably a pork knuckle at the local pub. But at least we'll be able to reflect on what we missed and what we didn't. And analyze energy levels and moods and have a baseline for moving forward. Being somewhat "older" parents of a crazy toddler has made us think a bit (desperately) on health and energy and keeping up with a tiny. So, here's hoping this helps.

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As a final meaty meal, we savored something glorious. Chef Ruth, who also once lived in Singapore, voluntarily came over and cooked us (shlepped a rice cooker, chickens, and more across town...that Ruth is amazing)--cooked us in our very own kitchen--a Hainanese Chicken Rice lunch (who does that?). It was gorgeous. The chili sauce was her own and garlic and ginger were used in abundance. To top it off, there was rojak with homemade yu tiao. Every bite of every thing was beautiful and fragrant and demanded seconds. She used the chicken rice recipe in the link, and it was spot on. Thank you, Ruth.

So nice to be here

We are so very glad to be in Carthage.

There have been risotto and lamb dinners. Artichokes. Preserved lemon pastas. Halvah, dates, and lots and lots and lots of olive oil. We are smitten by the blood orange trees (and resulting fresh juice), our hosts' espresso machine, and the gorgeous blue trimmed windows. Carthage is a beauty, and our friends are amazing. We have feasted and laughed and storied. 

We've had outings to the beach:

And we've learned to throw things:

We've sampled the local fare:

Enjoyed family evenings:

And created quite a bond with some great boys: Will be tough to leave such good dudes (who are so good to my little dude):

There's a few days left and good weather in the forecast. We've Roman ruins to cimb and more shwarma to eat. Woo hoo! 

Tunisia bound

We're getting out of here! And it's supposed to rain the whole time! And we all have colds! And the flight times are horrendous! And you're not invited! (Roz Chast readers, the last line is for you)

Colds and rain and lack of sleep are not getting in the way of our fun. We're off to see some of our best people---two of which are some of our favorite bloggers. Rain showers aside, there will be significantly warmer weather and olives and new sights and grand conversations. We are excited.

Perhaps not quite as excited as the puppy dog dancer in the background. But almost.

I've loved you more

P and I don't have an official song, but we do cook up some fine, off-key duets. Our best is Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler singing 'This is Us.' (it seems that they get the lyrics about as right as we do in this version) Although we are big Emmylou and Mark fans, at our hearts, at our hearts we are Johnny Cash people. We holler a good, 'Jackson', but you'd get raised eyebrows if you called that your song. And I'd feel awkward since P has a mean crush on June Carter. So, when choosing a tune for my P this Valentine's Day, I turn to a favorite Cash album: American IV: The Man Comes Around. He's singing solo on this one, and he does a beautiful cover of the Beatles'  'In My Life.' (are these links legal?) (It's powerful enough to make me consider abandoning my go-to karaoke classic, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. Almost.)

P and I are terrible at celebrating holidays that institute forced love (and awfully good at making fun of them), but I'm feeling especially soft for that good egg this year. I think there will be sincere heart-shaped pancakes at breakfast and a little Johnny on the stereo.

"There is no one compares with you."

Photo credit to the amazing dRops. He captured this image on the John Lennon Wall in Prague earlier this fall, and he also sang in public with tone-deaf me. That's mighty good friendship when you're musically talented and willing to harmonize with the musically inept. Thanks, Dave and Tracy!

What lies ahead

A friend shared a blog article today, and it was talking about how situations that drive us to go within---often end up limiting us. I don't think I agree with the article's greater point, but I did think about how the city of Prague---or my ability to survive in the city of Prague given my limitations, fears, and idiosyncrasies---drives me within. I work to limit my interactions with others, and I try to hide from what is uniquely and wonderfully Praha. (all self-imposed, mind you! No fault of Prague's!) But---and this is absolutely not a comparison of cultures or a weigh-in on whether one is better than the other, it's simply the result of my dreadful shortcomings interacting with the aspects of a culture---in Southeast Asia, the cultures I explored and lived in were ones that complemented my weaknesses and pushed me to be braver and to seek out interactions with others. (Again, all self-imposed choices and actions!) I could lose myself outside of myself-----and I really really miss that. I haven't been able to articulate what has been so hard about living here for me, and I think this is the crux. 

I appreciate where I am so much and am so very grateful for these two years. Given the choice, I'd live them over again. And I could return. But for now, in this phase of my life with a toddler in tow and a tentative spirit, I'm very much looking forward to the change that lies ahead.

Speaking of what lies ahead, it's already February!