hear no evil.

Once you go Mister, you'll never go back.

i hope she did it naturally.

From the backseat...
C: What that, Mama?
M: That's the hospital where you were born.
C: Oh. When Teddy was in my tummy we didn't go to the hospible. We used a midwife.

The big sister, herb-pushing hippie in training.

the family that paints together.

Last year, I stumbled upon this blog, a beautifully photographed account of a family. Makes you want to do crazy things like knit. And have four kids. And can your own food. Wild.

Last summer, I picked up Amanda Soule's book, The Creative Family. The book reads like her blog. It's a quick read, full of simple ideas to spark the creative juices in a family.

Several weeks ago I got together with friends to paint pottery. The finished projects sat in our kitchen waiting to be delivered to the kiln. Four bowls were left unpainted. One night after Everett went to sleep, they beckoned. Nate, Claire and I had a family pottery-painting night, which was just as messy and fun as you can imagine.



In her book, Soule suggests a family drawing night. I think we'll try that next.

rock man: now tastier than ever.

Rock Man, November, 2006

Rock Man, May 2009

hope in a jar.

Why do most of the women I know who stay at home with kids struggle with depression at least some of the time? Were our moms depressed too? Our grandmas? Did they have the luxury to think about such things when there were meals to make and diapers to wash? What if there were no Prozac?

After Claire was born it took me months to regain my footing. I cried. A lot. What pulled me out then was trips to the gym.

This time I was prepared. I talked with my midwives about the possibility of post-partum depression. I had a plan. I had a fancypants double stroller. It wasn't going to happen again. Only it did.

Exercise is great, but when you're exhausted, it's not particularly helpful advice. Also the logistics of lugging 2 kids to the gym alone seemed impossible. I saw a naturopath. I started taking a tincture. I started drinking a tea. In no time, I started wanting to get some exercise. I feel more like myself than I have in months.

I don't want to be the girl that needs my herbs to feel fine, but it seems that I am that girl. I have written about my nethers, I've posted photos of my pregnant self and this is the post that I didn't want to write. A small part of me wondered about a time when I am no longer at home with kids. What if those imaginary future people that I want to impress google me and find that in the spring of 2009, I saw a naturopath for depression?

But I feel so much better that I just can't keep quiet. I find myself turning into a herb-pushing hippie. At the playground the other day, my kid is one the who picks up a handful of barkchips and says, "Here's your herbs, Mama."

If I start to make my own deodorant, you have my permission to punch me in the face.

overheard.

It is Friday. She's running up and down the field, playing a game that vaguely resembles soccer. He's lounging happily on my back in the ergo. (I assume he's happy, there's no rearview on those things). She circles around us and runs away. He starts to flail and swat my back. Then he says his first word.

"Clur."

Of course.

the babies on the bus.

Claire and her buddies visited the fire station this week and played it cool for the firefighters. These kids go ballistic when a firetruck drives down our street, but in the presence of the actual trucks and hoses and POLE, they were miniature teenagers. I imagine if Elmo walked into the station they would've been all, "Hey Elmo's here. That's cool."

Unrelated: it was bound to happen. In this family the babies get on the bus. Then we snap some pictures.

blessed with 2.

There are so many moments that I don't capture on film now. Even though the camera is nicer than the one I had when she was a baby, my hands are fuller and there isn't always time.

Mother's Day started at 3 AM with an unhappy baby who refused to be comforted by anyone but me.

I grumbled, but he was unmoved. Doesn't he know it's Mother's Day?

Later, on the way home from delivering gifts to the grandmama, tired beyond tired, I catch them giggling, touching fingertips. And she says to him, "Holding hands together is the best, Ev." They giggle some more. It is sweet. We both wipe our eyes a bit in the front seat. I try to stealthy grab the camera, but the moment is gone.

spring cleaning with a three year old.

I've been cleaning. And purging. And while this spring cleaning thing I have been participating in suggests taking before and after pictures, I haven't stopped to document my progress. The highlights:

Day 2-dropping junk at the Goodwill with kids in the backseat. Asking the attendant to distract Claire so she wouldn't notice the ripped books and free-with-purchase items that she needs.

Day 3- Finding the perfect treasure chest style box to store her princess gear. Ripping my skinny pants performing backseat tetris with the box, 2 kids and the usual car mess.

Day 4- Nate discovers the give/sell box. He simply must have my calculator from college. Also wants to know why we're giving away a box of lasagna noodles.

Day 5- Postal food drive in our neighborhood tomorrow. Our mailman is going to score!

She likes to say bandanna. Likes to mop the floor. Does not like to part with a single thing. We're practicing with her out-grown clothes. She'll suggest giving a friend a certain pair of pajamas or shoes. For the really special things though, she'll say, "Let's put it in the attic for my sister." I remind her that we have a brother in this house. She is steadfast. "For my sister, Mama."

someone's got a case of the mondays.