Tour de France, Here He Comes

I'll just come right out and admit that I didn't learn how to ride a bike until I was about seven, so I'm not one to judge here. I was perfectly happy with my Dukes of Hazzard Big Wheel, thankyouverymuch. Jackson made a brief attempt at learning to ride last summer, culminating in him riding a good twenty feet on his own before declaring that he was done, that he would NEVER be able to ride a bike, that it was too hard. I tried using an analogy, that learning to ride a bike is like climbing a mountain, and he was just on the verge of reaching that summit before things got easier on the descent. I gave him the standard parent lecture about how learning new things is not always easy, that everyone goes through this, that once you learn you will never forget how to do it, blah blah don't you want to feel the wind in your hair blah blah. Then winter came and we figured by the time summer 2009 rolled around, he'd be itchin' to get back on the bike and show it who's boss.

Jackson started first grade on Monday, so I guess summer is over, and no progress was made on the bike front. I know Jackson well enough to not push things if he's not interested. So I used Mom Tactic #217 (make an activity seem top-secret, like a spy mission, and they will automatically want to be involved) and casually but conspiratorily mentioned to Jackson this morning that since he only has a half day of school on Fridays, I thought maybe it would be fun to pick him up with his bike in the car and head straight to this great park where there was a hill famous for teaching kids to ride--gentle slope for momentum's sake, wide grassy expanse for knees' and elbows' sake...and that we would just keep this to ourselves and practice until we ready for the big unveiling to Daddy. Did that sound cool?

This afternoon, we headed to Congress Park, I popped a helmet on his head, and off he went.
Run #1: ten feet, and then a mildly painful fall. No big deal...
Run #2: fifteen feet, and then a mildly painful fall. Um, he's starting to look discouraged.
Run #3: fifteen feet, and a hard fall with some bike part leaving a 6" nasty scrape on his inner thigh. He's done, he says...he'll never learn how to ride, it's too hard. I swiftly break out seldom-used Mom Tactic #422. I don't use this one very often because I don't want it expected, but it has its purposes. "Jackson, we've done 3 runs. If you give me 20 runs, we're going out for ice cream." He eyed me warily, squinting. "When?" "Today, before picking up your brothers. Just you and me." Aha...a glimmer in his eye.

Runs 4-5 make progress, and Run 6 is stellar, going down the hill and a good distance into the soccer field. I tell him he has made it to the top of the mountain and is starting to jog down the other side. Runs 7-19 go smoothly, with no major scrapes and some good skill building with steering and braking. I tell him that Run #20 should be on the sidewalk, and he says he's not ready. Run #20 is done and he is telling me that he thinks mint chocolate chip sounds good. I can't resist, and dangle one last carrot--"Hey, if you go on the sidewalk for Bonus Run #21, I'll let you have sprinkles on your ice cream." That was easy, and he did great.

We drove a few short blocks to Lik's, and bubble gum ice cream with chocolate sprinkles was the well-deserved reward.

This evening, Jackson felt confident enough to surprise his dad with his newfound skills.


In light of this and the two top teeth he is currently missing, I am doing my best to sloooowwww down time. Universe, help me out here, because for some reason my kids are growing up way too fast. It would be a great help if I didn't have to do things like work, or stain kitchen door trim. Let me savor this time while my boys are young.

The Bassmaster

We've taken Jackson and Alex fishing a few times, but up until this summer they had never even got so much as a nibble. I've already posted about our Maine trip, but I felt the fishing experience deserved a separate post.

At times, and like many 6-year old boys I'd imagine, Jackson can have grandiose expectations but lacks the patience or willingness to put forth the effort to achieve something. We headed out to the docks the first morning after we arrived in Maine, bathed liberally in mosquito repellent but thankful for the slight breeze which kept the swarms at bay. Jackson had no interest in having me actually show him how to use this particular rod, and thus was having a difficult time. About 37 seconds into the experience, he decided he was done and ran off to watch his older cousin Dylan fish and hear stories about catching a 'big bass'. Alex patiently casted and sat happily, daydreaming. He is an accomplished daydreamer and can turn on a daydream at a moment's notice, usually a moment after I have asked him to put on his shoes, or get undressed for a bath, or wash his hands for dinner, or clean up an activity, or....I digress. Back to the docks--Alex promptly caught a couple of sunfish and had a ball doing it.

The following day, Jackson had a larger capacity for patience and he had a near miss with something big--the line snapped as he was reeling a fish in, but that was enough to get him hooked. Later, Jackson went back to the docks with Sam, Uncle Bodi, and his cousin Holden, where the following ensued...

The week turned into one of those programs that you see on a B-grade sports channel on Sunday afternoons--fishing, fishing, and more fishing. We all had a blast, though, and kept our eye out for one of a few massive snapping turtles that hang around the docks. Alex had his own patented method for snapping turtle repellent:


There was a fishing derby that weekend for kids aged 5-13. Jackson ended up rallying against the older kids and won third prize for biggest fish! His prize was a new lure, and his grin was fantastic.

The last night in Maine, Jackson and I headed to the docks for one last dose of fishing for the summer, this time with his newly-won lure. With three children, it is always a special treat to spend one-on-one time with any of them, and as I watched Jackson that night I tried to etch that image in my mind, of his 6-year old self. He caught another good-sized fish, which we took home with us. Papa cleaned it, and Nana cooked it the next day and put it in a fish sandwich for lunch. I have never seen Jackson so excited to eat a fish sandwich.


Alex will be old enough for the fishing derby next year, so Jackson will have some stiff competition...

Seven

Seven years. First house (in the 'hood). One dog. First son. One law degree. Second son. Loss of one parent. Second house. Loss of one dog. Third son. Three-quarters of a renovated kitchen (more on that in another post). There have been many numbers in our first seven years of marriage, interspersed with love, laughter, tears, and so, so much joy. I never fathomed life could be so rich and full, yet I find myself here, living this life, and I feel so lucky to be where I'm at.

This year, we didn't hire a babysitter to go out and catch a small glimpse of life before kids. Instead, Sam and I celebrated the close of our seventh year of marriage over a lovely sushi dinner with the three people that mean everything to us--Jackson, Alex, and Kenyon (and it wasn't because we couldn't find a babysitter, I swear!). While we held the kids captive in the car on the way to the restaurant, we told them story of the day we got married.

Jackson is our sushi pro, boldly eating piece upon piece of nigiri sushi. We started him young--as a baby he'd go out with us for sushi, get some miso soup in a sippy cup and a bowl of steamed rice and he'd be good to go. When he started talking, we'd ask him what his favorite dinner was and he'd say, "Misosoupsushirice". Alex goes for the seaweed salad, miso soup, and rice but doesn't partake in actual sushi ingestion. Kenyon stuck with the miso soup and rice, and as always, just liked being included in whatever was going on.

Here's to many more years just like these, Sam. We make a good team, and I'm glad we're in this together.

Aaahhhh, Maine

Jackson and Alex during last year's Maine vacation
As a child, I spent many summers at my grandparents' house in Maine--swimming in Moose Pond, catching bass, perch, and sunfish with my grandfather on his boat (he would lean over and mark the water with an X when we found a good spot, to save it for next time), eating my grandmother's half moon cookies, catching frogs, jumping off the dock. This house itself holds a special place in my heart; I have so many fond memories of sleeping in the bunk bed room with my brother, playing with the night lights built into the wall by the beds long after our bedtimes. We would roll the orange vinyl hassocks in a race across the room, banging into the walls decorated with my great-grandfather's artistic renderings of a tree and the Hebrew word for 'shalom' made with beans and my uncle's 1960's string art.

My grandparents are no longer with us, but thankfully the house remains in our family. My parents, brother's family, and I go up once a year in the summertime, and to see my children engage in the exact same activities my brother and I did as a kid means so much to me. Sadly, the orange vinyl hassocks are no longer around (but the bean art and the string art are!). The bed sheets for the bunk bed room are also original--loud floral prints in oranges and browns, the same ones I fell asleep in after long days at the lake.

look closely--bean art seen in the background above Alex's head!
The first couple of days we had 14 people in the modest house--8 of them children under the age of 9. Jackson spends the entire year looking forward to seeing my cousin's son Dylan (3 years older), so it is always heartwarming to see them together. The kids all got along wonderfully, and I was sad to see them go. This year, Sam's brother and family rented a house right down the street, and it was great to have both sides of the family come together for a vacation.

Jackson fishing with Uncle Matt and cousins Ty and Lexie

Kenyon at Moose Pond

early morning reading with Lexie, Kenyon, Madison, and Ty

Jackson showing a frog he caught, with cousin Ty

I look forward to many summers here, enjoying another generation of traditions. I think I'll find Nan's recipe for half moon cookies to make for next summer.

Who Needs a Kitchen?

I am beginning to embrace this whole no kitchen-thing, probably because it will be relatively short-lived (I hope). Last night's dinner was quite tasty and colorful, if I do say so myself.
Grilled chicken breasts paired with honeydew salsa, and a side of corn on the cob. On a paper plate, of course. Everything--prep, cooking, table setting, cleaning up--takes longer than usual, and we are producing an appalling amount of trash what with all paper plates/cups/utensils. I'm sorry, Earth--but soapstone countertops and inset cabinets were worth it; I'm sure you will agree. I will do penance (I am a former school spelling bee champion and I actually had to look up the spelling of this word, which definitely says something about me) by composting more regularly come August.

The cabinets arrive tomorrow--I hope tonight won't be as bad as Christmas Eve, where each year I find myself wide awake pre-dawn, silently screaming for the rest of my family to WAKE UP ALREADY, DON'T YOU KNOW THERE ARE SPECIAL THINGS DOWNSTAIRS?? Somehow my children pick Christmas morning to sleep in; it's maddening (to me). Sam has already informed me that he will sleep just fine tonight. Bah humbug. I'm going to revel in my excitement for now, and I hope the cabinet delivery man sets his alarm, because he doesn't want to go up against a mother of three without a kitchen who is determined to keep this project running on schedule.

Remodeling Opinion Needed, Round Two

Before I present my latest kitchen decision dilemma, I have to confess that I am not listening to many people's bathroom tile advice requested in Round One. I just love the marble hex tile (the pictures didn't do it justice, I promise). A number of people have warned me about the upkeep of marble, but a) there won't lots of water as there would be if it was a full bath, b) people won't be doing their hair/makeup in there, so it won't be subjected to products spilling/residue buildup, and c) isn't the Taj Mahal (and many other public landmarks) made of marble? They all get way more traffic in a day than this powder room will see in a year.

I am a lucky woman for many reasons, but one is that I have not cleaned a bathroom since I have been sharing a house with my husband. I swear; nothing more than a quick wipedown of the sink. Sam is the designated down on hands and knees toilet scrubber, floor mopper, etc. But--since he is not in love with the idea of having a bathroom on the main floor, this one is mine. I will let you know if my love affair with marble is still going strong next year some time.

Time for Round Two--I truly want opinions about what backsplash would be best for our countertops. I am very excited that we are putting in soapstone, a material that has widely been used in chemistry lab counters because of imperviousness to acids/chemicals. It looks great in older homes especially, and I love the softer feel and natural look.

If you are not familiar with soapstone, one cool thing about it is that it darkens, or patinas, over time. Many people speed up this process and make it more uniform by oiling it, which brings out the veining and darkens the softer grey tone to a blacker tone. I thought we would go with a quieter, simple slab, but this one just begged to go home with us and be part of our family:
In the above picture you can see the top middle portion and lower left portion that was oiled when I was there. It doesn't look particularly striking, but when oiled all over it looks like this:
Here's a closeup of one of the veins.

There are greens, blacks, and whites, and since this is a fairly busy counter, I want to keep it simple with the backsplash without being too plain. We also don't want to have something dark, since the cabinets are mid-range wood, the floors are lighter wood, and the counters and sink are dark. A common backsplash choice for the type of kitchen I am looking at is subway tile, but I think white may be too stark here. We are thinking that maybe a light green subway tile would be good, giving a period feel while being more updated as well.

I have seen pictures of other kitchens that have soapstone counters with marble subway backsplash, and they look nice. This would basically be white but not as stark as ceramic tile.

Any thoughts? Other ideas? I'm all ears.

Plantation 2009, and Come Home Sam!

Disclaimer--I am writing this on Day 4 of Single Momhood with No Kitchen while Sam is backpacking with his brother and friends in northern California for an early 40th birthday present. Yes, my mom is here so I'm technically not alone, and one thing is certain--there's no way my sanity would be preserved if she was not here helping. But, still...I miss Sam, and the boys do, too. Life runs more smoothly when the team is intact. I wrote about my dislike for waking with Kenyon before the 7 o'clock hour in an earlier post, and it is taking its toll. I am now in the throes of perfecting my dislike for living without a kitchen, but I hope this will be a faint, distant dislike very soon. More on that later; I am only mustering up the energy to write about our California trip tonight, although the other camera will undoubtedly have pictures that I will want to share once Sam brings it home. So probably more on this later, too.

We spent a glorious week at Plantation Tree Farm, Sam's dad's property, in northern California. Plantation is my favorite place to be; what could be bad about beautiful swaying redwoods, abundant plants and wildlife, and fantastic people, all nestled amongst the ocean and vineyards? Now that the boys are older (funny how I say that with a 16 month old), we all camped out at High Trees Camp so the adults could more easily enjoy adult beverages together in the evenings.

I put Kenyon to sleep in a pack and play in one of the cabins, and he was so tired each night that he would simply clutch his stuffed bear, turn over and let out a sigh of relief that I was finally going to let him rest. I got to enjoy plenty of time by the campfire with friends, and I plucked him and took him to my tent when I was ready for bed. He did great in the tent as well--never waking up in the night, although I woke up a number of times to make sure he was warm enough, didn't slide off his little pallet I made for him, etc. Then, each morning, at some ungodly hour I groggily opened one eye to see a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed adorable little toddler grinning and saying 'yeah? yeah? yeah?' before hurling his round body onto mine. And then standing to do it again. And again. I know...how is a baby supposed to sleep while the almighty sun is telling him to wake up? Well, here's an idea for all you outdoor products manufacturers reading this blog--make a tent with blackout shades! Sam was in the other tent with the boys, where sleep was more readily available.

Every trip to Plantation is a boyfest; somehow between the Denver Tunheims, the California Tunheims and all of Sam's friends, that crafty Y chromosome managed to sneak its way in during *almost* every conception. On this trip, eight children (aged 6, 5, 5, 4, 18 months, 16 months, 14 months, and 12 months) were feeding chickens and koi; camping in tents; catching snakes, newts, and banana slugs; making s'mores; identifying scat; making water bottle rockets...seven boys, and my just-turned one-year old niece, Celeste.

Jackson holding a snake, with Alex and Sammy feeding the koi with Grandpa Ed

Poor Celeste. Or lucky Celeste. We are all wondering if she will deal with the cloud of testosterone surrounding her by being the ultimate tomboy, or the ultimate princess. Time will tell.

More later...sleep is a precious commodity.