Between sneezes

Holiday bird sketches doodled during cold #7.

Birds on a wire

More bird studies. And colored pencil studies. And colorless blending studies. And avoiding Czech language studies.

Stop reading right now if you do not have children or you will throw up

Things that are devastatingly sad in our house today:

 

1. Not being allowed to take your toast into the living room.

2. Having to wear clothes.

3. Knowing that your favorite pacifier is in your bedroom and that you can't have it until bedtime.

4. Any sort of restraining straps: the stroller, the high chair, the back pack

5. Gloves

6. People not making your breakfast, snacks, or lunch fast enough

7. Naps

8. Not being allowed to hold your own glass cup 

9. The Big Heads (thank you, Anne LaMott) in your family not picking up all the things you drop on the floor during meals

10. People trying to fool you into thinking your wooden cell phone is as cool as everyone else's

11. Getting out of the bathtub

12. All diaper changes, clothing changes, and attempts at putting on shoes

13. Independent play time

14. Limitations on the amount of toilet paper you can eat

15. Limitations on the number of pages you can rip out of a book

16. Limitations on how many Q-tips you can have in your mouth at one time

17. Limitations on how hard you can head butt your mother

18. The inability to walk more than seven steps without falling

19. People singing you Tom T. Hall songs to cheer you up

20. Having to spit out the earplug you are storing in your mouth

When no one else understands, bear cares.

 

Questions

When I taught middle school writing we would keep track of authentic questions. The kids kept lists and then when I had to teach a research concept, we'd consult our records and find an answer to something on which we truly cared. It sure beat animal research papers. I miss my question lists. They were little household histories. And I really miss their lists. I learned so much about popular culture and bodily functions back then.

For my former eight graders--questions asked in this household as of late:

Who, in a nutshell, is Gore Vidal?

What ingredient in the toothpaste is causing my face to freak out?

How much baby Zyrtec does an adult have to drink for it to be effective?

What would be the perfect recipe to go with these dried mushrooms?

Why is melon and parma ham so good?

Why do some mangoes cause an allergic reaction in this family and others do not?

What's the word for those English words that you find in other languages?

Why is salt iodized? If I don't eat iodized salt, what will happen to me?

Do you think our baby is particularly advanced and brilliant for his age?

What percent of the population can run a mile? Five miles? A half marathon?

What is the effect on us from all the soda pop we drank as kids? Why did our parents buy so much soda pop? Why do our friends say "soda" and we say "pop?"

Who pays Camille Paglia?

Are there less chances of feeling bloated from unpasteurized beer?

Is there really cream of tartar in baking powder or is it the other way around?

Why does everyone in this town think that if we go outside without a hat on, we'll get sick? Is it true? Do people get sick from being cold?

If I just wash the mold off this yellow pepper, will it still be safe to eat?

Why are those ninjas in that Bonnie Tyler video? How come all 80's videos tell awesome (or nonsensical) stories?

Why is Judas Priest called Judas Priest?

How much toilet paper do you think that baby can eat before we should start to worry?

One can tell a lot about their household by these lists. We, apparently, are fond of eating, the baby, and the concert posters around town. We are also rather alarmist and hive prone.

 

 

 

 

 

Sketching feathers

Bird studies. Bird studies that turned into a little birdie card for a generous friend. 

Acceptance

I'm out of step. Yesterday, I ate the mango-applesauce that gave Gus hives and was cluttering up the fridge, and of course it gave me hives--right before bookclub. At bookclub everyone remembered the names of the book's characters. Imagine that. And that made me internally start listing the things I cannot recall. Perhaps the Guardian is right and this is just a post-baby issue. I sure hope so. And I can't get in the runs I want and that makes the obsessive kilometer-counter in my head start burning up and recalling the pre-baby days of training. And then I feel vain and silly and try to be grateful for the runs we squeeze in and for all the walking and for P joining me in the 100 push up challenge (even though I do really want to refer to him as my cell-mate, since I think mostly only prisoners probably do obsessive push-upping like this). 

 

But really. If that's out of step, then life is pretty darn good. There are freshly baked cookies on the counter and a baby sleeping and a neighbor called to ASK if she could take Oscar for two hours today (can you believe it?) so I could work on my Art Project, which is a dreamy art commission. There is also baked potato soup in the fridge and a clean desk-top and several unlistened-to podcasts to enjoy while Gus naps and my pencil scribbles. I have a stack of books to savor on the shelf--including ones from Neighbor B, so they have to be good. And tonight--tonight is date night. Babysitter G comes to teach the baby Spanish so that P and I can sip our pints slowly. And that P. He's been working overtime to keep this family pampered. Last night he did all sorts of dishes and baby corralling and this morning he let me sleep. While rushing to get ready for work he also toted around an energetic-early-rising-Gus. That guy. Shucks.

Let the hives spread and the memory wane. And instead of a run today, there will be a stuffed animal parade on the couch. I think my acceptance of that is a sign of some sort of growth...or some sort of deterioration. Either way, the misstepping is all right.

 

My store bought cookie roots

The LCRI gave today's cookies a big ol' stamp of hassle and disappointment. As the dough from the Martha Stewart Recipe (Too much cinnamon. I used almonds, not hazelnuts) was chilling, I began to do the math. I can fit six hearts on one tiny Prague-oven-sized-cookie tray. Six hearts equals three cookies. At ten minutes a tray, this was a task for someone without children or hobbies. Because I'd come that far (and Neighbor B is trading me marscarpone brownies--delish!), I did make two trays of hearts and then went to plan B (tiny sandwich cookies). The cookies taste (to quote Z), "Mehhh." Back to the bakery for the LCRI.

He likes it!

With a fever of 103, Gus has not found life particularly amusing lately. I hadn't seen a smile in over 24 hours and was growing worried. Until---Aunt K sent the most amazing hedgehog hat his way. Only once before in his babyhood have we heard him erupt into belly laughs without us coaxing them out through ridiculous antics. When Gus saw his new winter headwear, he roared. 

Saturday: lowbrow music, highbrow hotcakes

Husband P got up at 5:30 with hollering Gus, and I snoozed all the way to naptime. That allowed me opportunity to fill my brain with repetitive Homer Simpson and Usher lyrics (I know; it's old news). At breakfast, we couldn't help ourselves and sang annoying refrains: "Gus wants his pancakes-now, now now. Put him the high chair--pow, pow, pow." We've since blasted Bob Dylan as an antidote.

The pancakes. I've been tweaking an already wonderful Rebar Wholewheat Hotcake recipe. Today's version topped 'em all. Usually I only make 1/2 a batch for P and I, but this morning I made the full. It was a good thing given Gus's appetite and our love for ricotta.

Wholewheat Ricotta Pancakes

The Wet:

½ cup ricotta

1 ½ cups buttermilk

1 tablespoon (or whatever you slice off the butter dish) melted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 eggs (here in Praha, we have pretty small eggs. In the US—an extra large will do you fine)

 

The Dry:

½ cup whole wheat flour

½ cup white flour

4 tablespoons wheat germ

1 teaspoon baking powder

¾ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

Mix the wet. Separately, mix the dry. Gently fold the two together. (don’t stir!) Let sit about 10 minutes. Heat up a frying pan with a  little butter and a little oil at medium heat. Fry ‘em up! I find that ricotta pancakes look done before the middles really are—they need just a minute longer beyond when I think I should take them off the pan.

We’re fond of substituting—or adding—a cup or so of grated apple to the mix. This morning was sans apple.

Gus loves his pancakes--wow wow wow! Gonna have another--chow chow chow!

 

SK groupie

Today we sing the praises of the Smitten Kitchen baked potato soup. Mine was not a lovely cream shade like Deb's; it was butterscotch brown due to some potent veggie broth. But oh man, was it good. We topped it with bacon. And sour cream. And grated gruyere. And minced shallots...because someone in this family has a green onion/scallion phobia (It's true. It's also true that Gus ate as much as I did).  

Unor, I thought you'd never get here

We lived through January! Lows of colds and flus and culture shock and homesickness and overall blue dispositions. February is a bucketful of goodness: language lessons, weekly babysitter for Gus (date night! date night!), regular tennis evenings for P, half marathon training, visit from the Singapore (soon to be Tunis) D's, interesting art endeavor (stay tuned), ski week (to be spent at home with P, G, and colored pencils), and an added music group for G---since he demonstrates such promise in both the maraca and rainbow colored xylophone. Maybe the renewal we hope to experience in February will raise our adventure expectations. The chalk board had a grim undertone last month: