Four children, two adults, one cow train ride, three hay bale towers, tons of pumpkins, six lunches, two other sets of twins spotted, two toddlers asleep within five minutes of getting in the car to go home.
One fun day.
This weekend Chris and I took the kids to a memorial for our friend Pat. Pat lived across the country and was about ten years our senior. We met him through our college, as alums. He was a committed alumnus who served as alumni board president and enthusiastically volunteered on behalf of the college for many years.
We did not see Pat often. For a while we lived relatively close to one another. More recently we saw him on occasion and talked some by email. He came to town once a year or so, but had a lot of friends here. He had a lot of friends in general. I knew this, but at the memorial and by reading his facebook page I am realizing just how enmeshed he was with his friends. He remained close with a number of his classmates, but he also made friends with people like me and Chris, people who did not overlap with him in school but who he nevertheless sought out for friendship of varying levels of closeness.
Over the past two years Pat was in touch, calling or emailing to say he was thinking of us, that he was reading the blog and was happy to see the kids, that he hoped we were doing alright. Sometimes I responded, but not always. I was busy, tired, overtaxed emotionally and did not have time for what felt like another thing to put on my to-do list. When I learned Pat had died I felt terrible, both for the loss of a friend but also because it called out my own failings as a friend. My failure to consider that his calls might be reaching out because he needed something. Or worse, that I knew he needed something but didn't want to reach back to give it to him.
Talking to his friends on Saturday I understood that he reached out a lot in a way, but that many people were similarly unaware that he was in such bad shape.
A group of us met on campus to make weathergrams from Pat's sayings, song lyrics he loved and other things that reminded us of him. Traditionally a weathergram is a very short poem about nature's beauty. I love using weathergrams in a memorial. The slip of paper hanging from a tree draws you in, it is ephemeral, it is beautiful.
The weathergrams for Pat said, among other things: "I love my sons," "hee hee" and "Reagan is a dickhead." They also quoted Jimi Hendrix and included notes of care and concern from friends across the country.
I wasn't sure how it would work to take the kids to this memorial, but both Chris and I wanted to go and this was the only way to make it happen. Chris and I biked the kids across town to the college, which felt like a treat for them and for us. As people gathered, talked and made weathergrams, Ian and Mira ran around laughing and crying and eating. Ada made two weathergrams in a made up language. She whined some and asked why we were sitting around, but overall it worked out. I saw some people I had not seen in a long time. I found out more about Pat's last months. I teared up a little, more than I wanted to but less than I thought I might.
As the sun started to go down, Chris took Ian and Mira home while Ada and I joined the others on a walk across campus, placing weathergrams as we went. Ada took the "hee hee" paper, and chose a low tree on which to hang it. We got to the main entrance to campus, where a young garry oak sat in a hole ready to be filled with dirt and Pat's ashes. We took turns spreading the ashes and shoveling the dirt. I explained to Ada what was going on (including a vague explanation of the ashes as what remained of Pat after he died) and she did pretty well with it. Remembrances were read and Pat's memory invoked. We agreed that he would love to be remembered with a tree that stands guard on campus, greeting visitors and new students.
After the ceremony Ada and I walked back across campus, examining some of the weathergrams and even explaining to a couple of students why the papers were there. It felt good to be able to tell strangers that we'd hung the papers in a friend's memory, how much he'd loved the school, that I was sad he was gone. The young men asked what his name was, which seemed right. Pat would have enjoyed making a connection with these young men.
Ada and I rode home in the dark. It was late, and she still hadn't eaten dinner. We stopped to get hamburgers and fries. It seems tangential to mention this, but Pat loved his sons so much and his memorial made me want to hold my children close. I wanted to extend this time with Ada, wanted to ride through the night with her for hours. One day too soon she won't want to do this with me any more.
My weathergram for Pat read "distance is nothing among friends" but maybe it should have been "love now." I would like to think he would have agreed with that sentiment.
Work continues to take a lot out of me, but in a good "this is exciting even if it is a lot of work" way. Apparently it isn't just me feeling this way. The Washington Post had an article last week saying that state employees are feeling the stress of implementing the federal health care reform law.
Taking advantage of the good weather on Saturday, we took the kids (including Ada's pal Lila) to the pumpkin patch. I'd show you photos but Flickr is acting up. Maybe tomorrow.
I managed to make a crumble out of the quinces that grew on my mystery fruit tree. I am not sure it is good enough to make me want to keep the tree, but it tasted reasonably good.
We celebrated my pal Susie's birthday with a fancy dinner on Saturday night. The food was good but the company was excellent. I had so much fun and laughed more than I have in a while. It was so great that it made the next morning worthwhile (I was on duty with Ian and Mira from 6am on).
What is keeping you busy these days?
This past weekend Ada, Chris and I went to the woods with our pal Juniper. We were going to camp, but then it rained a lot (especially at night). We were staying near Juniper's dad's cabin, so we ditched our tent in favor of a little trailer her dad built (and lived in for a few years as a younger man).
On Thursday I drove to Bend for work. The meeting itself was maybe not worth the trip across the mountains, but definitely worth it was my visit with Jennifer. She was kind enough to give me a call when she was in Portland at the start of the summer, and meeting her confirmed what I believed from reading her blog - that she is someone I would enjoy knowing.
I had originally suggested we meet up after my meeting, but after a busy day of work, a several hour drive and an evening community meeting I was a little toasty. Luckily Jennifer agreed to meet me on Friday. We drove to a trail just outside of town for a walk by the river. It really is gorgeous there, and it smells so good. Whenever I am in drier climes I remember how much I love the smell.
We walked quickly and talked non-stop. We talked about children, food, defensively lefty acquaintances, writing, lava, parenting, american history, travel, how our experiences in the outdoors have changed us, and of course blogging and bloggers.
When I come to a new place I tend to think about if and how I could fit in there. I instinctively conduct a mini-scan, as if I were preparing to settle there. I have momentarily fallen in love with a lot of places, from Seattle to Montpelier. Bend is beautiful and it was fun to enjoy it with Jennifer, who clearly loves living in Bend and having such easy access to the outdoors. It made me feel so warm about Bend that I was sorry to be leaving town after such a short visit. I am not moving to Bend, or anywhere, anytime soon, but I am so glad to have gotten to visit.
At a light, waiting to turn onto the freeway onramp:
Ian: Cah! Cah!
Me: Yes! So many cars! And look, a train!
Ian and Mira: (rapt attention to train passing)
Me: What could be better than a train?
Mira: Cat!
What I tell her, versus what I do when she is not around:
I tell her: Dessert is not every day. It is a special treat.
I do: Almost daily indulge my desire for something sweet.
I tell her: We don't eat in the living room.
I do: Eat in the living room.
I tell her: No more snacks, it is almost dinner time.
I do: Snack while making dinner. (then again, I still eat dinner)
I tell her: We are eating, so let's put away the toy/book/piece of junk holding your attention.
I do: Read/work/text while eating.
I tell her: Go to sleep so you'll be rested for tomorrow.
I do: Stay up too late fiddling around at nothing.
What do you tell your children and then turn around and contradict through your actions?
On Sunday afternoon I was changing Mira's diaper. I saw Ian walk into the kitchen, and then it was quiet. Too quiet for my taste. As I finished up with Mira, Ian came in. I saw this:
One day I will have stuff to say, maybe after I drop Ada off at kindergarten on Friday (YES, school does not start for Portland kindergarteners until FRIDAY. Pathetic.) In the mean time, some shots from our wanderings this weekend (park, nature preserve, park). I am just sad I don't get any photos of the amazing al fresco Japanese feast Ellen made for us on Monday night. Happily, I did take pictures at the lovely impromptu Labor Day bbq lunch we enjoyed at Mike and Steven's (grilled pineapple!). Both of which make me love my friends and neighbors and want to cry that we are near the end of the summer (as evidenced by the torrential rain that coincided with veggie pick up on Tuesday).
Oh, guess I did have some things to say.
On to photos:
My stay-at-home parent friends have my undying respect. Included in that group is my husband, who this week concludes his summer-long sojourn into the stay-at-home world. This is not to say that he'll never be home with the kids again, but this week he returns to work after being our children's main caretaker over the past several months.
I have a sense of what Chris dealt with while I was at the office, enjoying the comfortable chairs and the witty banter of colleagues. I am home with our children one "work" day a week. I am all the more awed by Chris' equanimity in the face of everything that goes on at our house, having lived through the chaos of one recent day at home:
5:50 am - wake up with Ian, who for some reason wakes up 30-60 minutes ahead of schedule when I am getting up with the babies.
6:30 - Mira wakes up, Ian pitches a fit when I give Mira her morning bottle. When offered his own (pretty much empty) bottle, Ian responds by screaming harder and grabbing for Mira's milk. I get Ian some more milk and calm is restored.
7:00 Ada and her friend emerge from her room. Ian sees them and goes crazy with joy. This causes the older kids to laugh and run back upstairs. I corral the kids and tell them to come down stairs so they don't wake up Chris (or at least so that he might be able to fall back asleep).
7:10 - Ada and her friend want to play with playdoh; I negotiate that they can take over the kitchen for this activity after we all have breakfast.
7:15 - Make eggs for breakfast. Respond to special order for "flat eggs" from friend because he asked so politely, everyone else gets patented "cheesy eggs."
7:30 - Help Ada and friend set up playdoh activity in kitchen. Convince the friend that we do not need to use every one of the 24 colors Aunt Karen sent Ada for her birthday. Shut gate to kitchen so that babies don't disturb older kids' Very Important Work.
8:30 - Ian is crabby crabby crabby, so Chris and I put the babies to bed before Chris leaves for work.
8:45-9:20 - Listen to Ian and/or Mira cry, talk, sing, etc instead of sleep. Once Ian finally quiets down, Mira starts chattering for a while. Consider but eventually reject idea of complaining to Chris about this by email. Instead text visiting out-of-town friend about timing of park date. Text other friend about joining us. Call parents of Ada's play date to organize pick up, thank them profusely for doing the shlepping.
9:30 - It is finally quiet. Scrape a zillion small globs of playdoh off the kitchen floor. Clean up residual Ian/Mira messes from the morning. Get text from woman scheduled to pick up kid friend for swim lesson - her keys are locked in her car, can I drop kid off at her house?
9:40-10:00 - Participate in Ada/friend's collaborative lego play. Extricate myself from this activity to clean up a little more. Text with friends about adjusted park timing.
10:00 - Someone is awake upstairs. Ignore noise with the hope that the kid will go back to sleep.
10:15 - Noise now includes shaking that indicates kid standing and rattling crib. Knowing it is futile to expect more nap, I go upstairs, grab the two kids and take them into the bathroom so I can put my contact in. Listen to Mira complain loudly when I put her down.
10:20-10:40 - Come downstairs as Ada's friend and her father arrive to pick her up. Say goodbye to Ada, get Ian and Mira ready to go (change diapers, put on shoes and socks) and walk sleepover friend to his next engagement.
11:10 - Return home and decide to feed babies before heading to the park. Ian refuses to eat more than a single morsel, but spends his time squishing cherry tomatoes so that no one else (including his omnivorous sister) will want them either.
11:35 - Prepare to leave the house. Change diapers, put on sunscreen, collect snacks and sippy cups, check bag for other supplies, attach trailer to bike, find and dust off bike helmets, strap kids into bike, put on helmets.
11:45 - Finally leave the house. Arrive at the park as friend is leaving me a message saying "I'm here, where are you?" Play at the park with two friends I have not seen in a long time. Chase children, dole out snacks, chase children, talk to friends, chase children...
1:40 - Sense that Ian is near a melt-down and head home. At home, prepare for naps by diapering, doling out milk, putting kids in bed. Listen to chatter while I make a sandwich.
2:00 - Ian and Mira are quiet. Sit on porch playing with new software. Sign up for BTA's September Bike to Work Challenge.
3:05 - Go inside as sun is broiling the back of my neck.
3:10 - Hear kids wake up from nap. Sigh and roll eyes that nap was so short.
3:16 - Finally go upstairs after listening to kids chatter to one another on the monitor. Hope that there are no poops to deal with.
4:30 - Take Ian and Mira to pick up Ada at her friend's house. Lug the kids into the house, convince Ada to leave, and lug everyone back into the car.
5:20 - Allow Ada to visit the neighbor's house to play and remind her to tell you if she wants to go anywhere else. Start cooking dinner, while running between the kitchen and dining room in order to: (1) repeatedly tell Ian not to stand on the chair; (2) stop Ian from repeatedly climbing onto the dining room table; (3) taking the blackberry away from Ian when he climbs on the table to get it. Wonder how Ian will survive toddlerhood. Consider saying "why can't you be more like your sister?" about five thousand times.
6:15 - Put dinner on the table and gather everyone to eat. Give up trying to soothe Ian, who dissolves into a puddle of (very loud) sadness when Chris arrives home and tries to do anything other than immediately pick up Ian.
7:00 - Put babies to bed, and begin the process of helping Ada with her bedtime.
8:30 - Collapse on the couch, all children now safely in bed. Remember that there are toys all over the floor and join husband in daily maintenance cleaning/toy pick up.
It was a small moment, but I was so charmed by Ada this morning:
Ada (holding plate of jam-slathered buttermilk biscuits): can I have some water to go with my biscuits?
Me: Are you sure you don't want some milk?
Ada: Which would be better with biscuits?
Me: Well...milk goes very well with biscuits and jam.
Ada: Okay!
We got back from the beach to a mostly clean house. Except. In the kitchen we found a weird mess of dust bunnies and plastic lids. The windows were closed, so it wasn't the wind. The rest of the house was fine, so we just shrugged and cleaned up the mess.
On Monday Chris emailed me.
Subject: Mystery Solved
T'was a rat. :(
He'd seen the rat that morning, as it scurried from under the hoosier, across the dining room and into a gap by the pocket doors. (not that you asked what a hoosier or pocket door is, but I am helpful like that)
That night we heard some scratching in our wall and were mesmerized as we listened to the on again, off again noise.
The next night Chris set traps, and while we watched Mad Men we heard one of the traps slap closed. Ugh. I refused to look, but from Chris's face I am sure it wasn't pleasant. I feel a little conflicted about using a killing trap, but not enough to have taken steps to handle it another way. I was so much more squicked by the reality of a rat in my house than I'd imagined I would be. I felt much better once the rat was gone.
Except that not more than 10 minutes later, we heard the scritch scritch scritch sound again. We probably should have known that there would be more than one. Luckily, we'd gotten more than one trap. We left the traps out and went to bed.
The next morning I got up with the babies. I dutifully went around picking up the traps before the babies discovered them. First the two glue traps, and then the spring loaded trap. Leaning over, I noticed that it had been sprung. Huh, that's weird, it's sprung but there is no rat in it, I thought. That's when I noticed the dead rat a few inches away, under a chair. I was so shocked I did that involuntary full body wiggle of ewww! I didn't quite jump on a chair, but I was too much of a wimp to deal with the dead rat myself. I made Chris come get it so that the babies would not get a chance to go after it.
The next night involved no rat sounds, thankfully. However, at 3am I woke up to Chris walking out of the room. He briefly went downstairs and upon returning said that he'd heard something. He got back into bed, but we both lay, heads cocked, listening to some kind of weird scratching noise. At first I thought it was in our room, but then Chris realized it was coming from outside our window. He peeked out the window and saw a dark shape moving from the neighbor's vertical rain pipe onto their second floor porch. It was a racoon, climbing the drain pipe, he said. Eventually we relaxed and fell back asleep.
The following day I took Ada and Lila on a bike ride to the ice cream store. When I got home, Chris had news: Last night? It wasn't a raccoon. It was our neighbor. Apparently Sam found himself locked out, his cell phone was dead or not with him, and he could not wake his house mates by knocking on the door. He decided that the best way in was through the second floor balcony, so at 3 am he'd scaled the rain pipe to get into the house. And now we know that our neighbor looks and sounds a lot like a really creative raccoon.



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