Sneaky little people

Tater Tot woke up at the crack of dawn today. And by crack of dawn, I mean before dawn actually happened. Dr. J and I decided yesterday that we would start getting up early to do some yoga together before we went our separate ways for the day. It's healthy, it's bonding, it's grown-up time! Did I mention that we aren't morning people? A good morning for me starts at about one in the afternoon.

So, we woke up when the alarm went off, and at first I couldn't figure out why I was awake. Then the alarm went off again, and I remembered, "Oh yeah, I'm doing this on purpose." Hmm. At least I was coherent enough to have that thought. I started to roll over, but there was a short person in bed with me blocking my escape. It never ceases to amaze me how the kids can slither into our bed and take over a full one-half of it without waking either of us up. Spy academies should look into this technique. I did manage to roll out the other side without waking our sprawled, snoring seven-year old.

Our house is very small, so the Doctor and I tiptoed around trying to be totally silent so as not to wake anyone up. I thought we had been successful, turning on the program, unrolling our yoga mats, turning on one dim lamp. And then, without any warning whatsoever, a voice pipes up right behind me. "Hey! Oh, are we doing yoga? Can I do yoga? I'm good at yoga!" And as the perky little voice prattled on, she hopped over and grabbed a mat, unrolled it next to ours and looked up with a grin. How do they DO that?!

I tiptoe, mouth words silently, and move with exaggerated care so as not to make a sound, and I wake up the masses. The kids take no precautions at all and manage to sneak right up next to me. And I'm the one rumored to have eyes in the back of my head!

We made it all the way through the routine with every move enthusiastically narrated by our waist high companion. When we were done, she rolled up her mat and stowed it away before we had even made it up off the floor. And then she disappeared, only to reappear moments later to declare with all the dramatic flair of a stage actor, "You are SO glad I was born! I am five years old, and I can fix pipes!" And then she disappeared again.

I still don't know exactly what she meant by that. I have a feeling that there are some pipes somewhere in the house sporting Winnie the Pooh band-aids now. It's the end of the day now, and she is walking around with a mouse trap down the front of her leotard, the leotard she is wearing just in case someone happens to stop by with a gymnastics class in progress. When I ask her about the mousetrap, she tells me it's to help her skin breathe. So that it doesn't die. And, she likes the way it looks. And, its name is Daniel.

Maybe she's on to something. If you see me with a mousetrap on my person, just know it's the start of a new trend. Or it's helping keep my skin alive. Or it helps me wake up in the wee hours of the morning to be really good at yoga. And, its name is Charlotte.

A little summer montage...

The Summer of Science blog that the kids and I are doing has apparently taken up all my blog writing mojo. Therefore, so my Life From Scratch blog doesn't feel too left out, I am posting some summer photos of a few of the goings-on around the house and around the Northwest. Please to enjoy!


Our first get-away in over four years from the small people that live in our house. I spent five days sacked out in various exotic locations such as a camp chair, the car, our tent, and by a lake, probably catching bugs in my mouth as I dozed. The Doctor and the dog hiked an average of 12 miles every day in the lovely Moran state park on Orcas Island in the San Juans.












Fiber is good for you, and we're all supposed to have it daily, right?








Why yes, Mal and I did just try to sneak up behind you and ninja surprise attack you. We obviously need to work on our ninja stealth moves. And ninja dog Mal (would a ninja poodle be a noodle?) needs to stop slobbering all over your foot. That might have given us away.


Big Guy has decided he wants to become an engineer when he grows up. He's been getting a jump start on that goal with several robotics kits. His favorite is this Lego Robotics Discovery set. He has so far made a robot that catches and throws a ball, a room alarm system that detects intruders and launches darts (soft ones!) at the would-be robber, and a very cute robot bug that can perform all sorts of maneuvers. He's had the set for three days after purchasing it off Craigslist. Huge score and a big hit.


We have been working through several different science kits this summer (check out our Summer of Science blog!) and all of us are learning a lot, and having fun doing it. Tater Tot in particular seems to enjoy these experiments. Probably a combination of getting to make huge messes, do things that the big boys get to do, and make big messes.


If dogs think things other than scratching, licking, food!! and chase!!!, then I suspect Mal is thinking something along the lines of, "I am Malcolm, king of all that I see!" Or, maybe more along the lines of, "Tell me we don't have to hike all the way back down there now..." He did keep climbing onto my lap. Maybe he thought I'd carry him back down the mountain. All sixty pounds of him.


We had a little visit from Santa, who has apparently been aging backwards this summer. And he also seems to like the new movie, The Last Airbender. And he also bears a striking resemblance to someone I know.

Why is the soap dispenser totally empty again?


A little cheddar cauliflower straight out of our garden. It was devoured in about two minutes by the bottomless pit horde, so thankfully I snapped this pic before they descended. Cheddar cauliflower has a slightly sharper taste than regular "cloud" cauliflower, as it's referred to around here. And, it makes a great conversation piece at a party!

Go into the Light, but Go Carefully

I love our house. I can see the Cascades from our kitchen window. I can see mount Rainier from our dining and living room. We have seventy-five foot tall evergreen trees, a fig tree, and seven different apple trees in the yard, and I can see them all from the windows in the living room and dining room. My lovely next door neighbor took her fence down, so I can see into her beautifully landscaped yard, from her ancient, heirloom rose garden to her stunning native plants and bird sanctuary. I love it.

Sitting at my desk, I can see all these things, and it takes my breath away. Watching four Stellar jays try to out-posture each other over the bird feeder or seeing the clouds suddenly whisk away and magically reveal mountains where there was nothing moments ago, I sometimes feel tight in my chest and I realize it's because I have been holding my breath for fear of disturbing a fragile, beautiful moment.

But some days sitting at my desk, what I see has me holding my breath, and it has nothing to do with magic. I look around and I see a pile of laundry, both clean and dirty, mixed together and strewn all across the floor. I see wrappers from snacks, lunch, and candy everywhere but the trash. I see the shoes I asked everyone to put away, not put away at all, but set almost strategically around for me to trip over. I walk into the kitchen, and I don't know what happened there other than to say I know my daughter had a major role in it. I see all sorts of things that make me hold my breath, but I hold it so that I don't say something I will later regret.

It was the Fourth of July the other day. In some ways it's a favorite holiday of mine. Any day that involves lighting things on fire, and having those things then make loud exploding noises is a Big, Fun Deal in my book. Unfortunately, the town we now live in feels that it would be safer all around for people not to go around blowing things (and by things, I think they mean people) up. They decided it was best left to the professionals. They even offered to bring in professionals for our Fireworks Viewing Enjoyment. Imagine our rapture, well mine at least, when I discovered that we were going to have a front row seat right in our very own backyard! Perfect!

Except that everything was not perfect. Our house is pretty small, and it's been building up to being declared a national disaster site for at least a week now. In fact, I think we may be on the list for Superfund status quite soon. Sundays are always long days anyway, the kids were being squirrely, it was way past everyone's bedtime, and the fireworks weren't scheduled to start for another half-an-hour.

The kids decided to turn out all the lights and open up all the blinds so that we would be able to see the fireworks when they started. This means that the piles of shoes and laundry I told you about earlier were still on the floor, but now impossible to see in the back-out conditions the kids had just plunged us into. I'll skip over the following seven minutes leading up to the start of the big fireworks show, but suffice to say, it wasn't anything to earn me any Mom of the Year points. There might have been a little yelling, and I know for certain there were threats involved. Anyway, when the fireworks actually started, I shooed the kids out to the yard and turned to survey the apocalyptic mess. I'll just pick it all up, and then go out and watch the show, I decided. I needed to restore some order to my universe before I can enjoy it.

But as I walked past the window with an armload of laundry, I turned and saw something that made my breath catch. Something that transported me back to when I was a child. All three of my kiddos were racing around the yard, leaping and jumping, laughing and dancing, lit up by the fireworks exploding in the air overhead. It was lovely and beautiful.

I remember a time when I used to run so fast I felt as though my heart would fly right out of my chest, just for the sheer joy of it. There is something thrilling about racing around in the dark, arms outstretched. And to experience it with colorful, fiery explosions shaking in the air above you, and the grown-ups in your life standing off to one side, laughing at your antics, how could it not be a kind of magic?

I looked out the window, and then I looked down at my armload of smelly laundry. And I realized something vital; that I only needed to go be present in order to enjoy my little universe. Tidying up is overrated and Fourth of July only happens once a year. All that other stuff can wait, but moments like dancing in the dark and racing in the yard cannot. I could stay here in the dark by myself with my smelly laundry, or I could go out into the beautiful lights, and have a lovely evening.

So, I dropped that laundry in the middle of the floor, and I hightailed it out to the yard to be with my family, not wanting to miss another moment. Unfortunately, someone had shut the screen door. As I mentioned earlier, it was really, really dark. And I don't see so well in the dark. So instead of the happy reunion that I was hoping for, I regained consciousness several seconds later to the sight of my loving family rolling in the grass, hysterical from the sight of seeing me crashing through the screen. After they reassured themselves that yes, the screen was fine, they helped me up and we had a wonderful, amazing evening.

So go into the light, and enjoy life. Just open the screen first.

On the off chance...

Why is it that kids think that if they just keep asking I just might change my mind? It's always over the most absolutely ridiculous stuff, too. Things like, "Hey, mom, can I mix together every liquid in the kitchen and see what it tastes like? Oh! Can I see if I can get anyone else to try it?" This happened two days ago. I will say, in retrospect, that the fact that their dad actually let them do this may have reinforced their tenacity in making these outlandish requests.

The following is a regular tactic applied at our house that for some bizarre reason, my intelligent offspring seem to think I will fall for. Repeatedly.

They ask for something. They ask again. They ask again. Again. Wait, look away. Is that a squirrel in the yard? Point it out. Quick, ask her while she's looking at the squirrel! Ah, didn't work. Try asking again anyway. Scamper off, loop around and then attack her from behind in a surprise attack. Can't believe that didn't work! Find a sibling. Using a rare and short lived burst of filial cooperation try asking mom from two angles at the same time. She cannot say no! Hm. She said no. Launch self onto sibling and attack with much gusto in an attempt to force mom to consent out of sheer desperation. She walks off, having seen this tactic numerous times before and noting that no one is actually getting hurt. Both kids now sit up, and together begin plans for a fresh, two-pronged assault, this one involving the squirt guns... Oh look! Here comes dad! Let's ask him quick, before mom gets to him!

The boys ask for stuff, about stuff, and to do stuff unendingly, and with great zeal and gnashing of teeth. They fall prone on the floor. There was even that one occasion where there was rending of clothing, but we try not to talk about that. But honestly, it's my daughter who has become my own personal little Sisyphus of pestering requests. She never stops asking. The boys understand reason. Ok, not so much, really, but they can be bought off with the promise of a fun hiking trip with dad, or a trip to the library with dad, or some special time with dad. (Notice any consistencies?)

With my daughter, I am starting to think that if I did believe in past lives (which I don't) she would've been some sort of mutant wolverine, donkey, Shirley Temple, pit-bull mix. She gets something in her head and it just never leaves. These days she's decided she wants a guinea pig, a parrot, and a cat. And she wants them right now. She's willing to wait on the first two 'til her next birthday. The cat, she announces loudly and frequently to everyone within earshot, can wait till our dog dies. I can sort of be ok with the cat one, except that our dog only just turned one and has no plans to cross the rainbow bridge anytime soon if either he or I have anything to say about it. I have noticed the dog is starting to look at her funny when they cross paths, as though he knows that she is vocally and enthusiastically plotting his death. The fact is though, I will never allow any of those animals in this house and I have told her that. Repeatedly. And by repeatedly, I mean on the upside of 987,852,582 times. In the last week.

She has finally switched tactics from outright asking. Now she is sidling up to me, turning her biggest, most charmingest smile on me, and saying in her sweetest, nicest voice (the one we hear about three times a year), "Mommy (she never calls me Mommy unless she really wants something good), thank you for getting me a guinea pig and a parrot on my fifth birthday!" And then she runs off before I can say anything. At all. The rat. She's been doing this for almost a week now and I know I am going to screw up. One morning when she's pulling her scam before I've had my wake-up brew, she's going to say her spiel, gauge the timing right in that canny way my kids have, and she's going to linger just long enough for my to say, "You're welcome, baby." And then it will all be over.

Because these short people that live in my house are not only professional askers, they are also apparently part of a secret coalition of tiny lawyers that take up residence in unsuspecting people's homes. Maybe she has a little shark in her, too.