...I've got laundry piled up.

...I haven't exercised today.

...I need to get ahead on some of my freelancing articles.

...weeds could engulf the entirety of my backyard at any moment.

...I've got half-a-dozen half-complete personal projects to work on (writing, quilting, repainting furniture, making a new header for my blog)


On the other hand...

...the weather is stunningly perfect.

...my neighbor kindly loaned me a mystery novel that looks highly entertaining.

...I'm kind of tired.

...all I really want to do is lie in the sunshine and read.


Decisions, decisions.

It's been a year. We had the party and everything. It's official.

My baby has turned one.

She's not quite walking, though she's pretty good at standing by herself.

She's climbing, though, like her sisters before her. Lord help me, she's climbing.







It seems like it was not very long ago that I was huge and pregnant and miserable...and then I was begging for (and not getting) an epidural...and then I was holding her in my arms...and now I blink and she's a year old already. Short years indeed.

Lucy: Mama, not right now! In just a minute!

Me: Lucy, what are you talking about? I didn't say anything to you.

Lucy: Oh, I have a pretend Mama.

Me: A pretend Mama? What is her name?

Lucy: Willsome.

Me: Wilson?

Lucy: No! Willsome!

Me: Oh. And what does your mama Willsome do?

Lucy: Oh, she collects berries. She puts them in her basket, and then puts them in cans for winter.

Me: I don't see your mama Willsome.

Lucy: That's because she is out picking berries!

Me: Oh, right.

Five minutes later.

Lucy: Willsome is here now!

Me: Oh. I don't see her.

Lucy: She is right here beside me... And she is going to poke you.

Me: What! Why is she going to poke me?

Lucy: She wants to get up on a tall shelf.

Me: Um, okay. And she thinks I won't let her?

Lucy: No. So she is going to poke you.

Beth rises from her chair and pokes the air next to Lucy. She giggles.

Lucy, screaming: No! No! Don't poke my mama Willsome!

Me: Beth, don't bug your sister.

Beth snickers and slyly extends her index finger toward Lucy's chair under the edge of the table.

Lucy, in tears: She's poking! She's poking Willsome!

Me: Beth, I said stop. Lucy, this is just pretend, so don't have a fit about it.

Beth goes back to her grilled cheese sandwich.

Lucy, sighing in relief and patting the seat next to her: You're OK, Willsome.

Perhaps Willsome is Norky's wife?

The following story was told to me today by Lucy:

Once there was a mama named Meg, and she and her girl went to pick some berries, and they were out of berries, and they loved berries, so they went to the berry store. And her daughter was named Jennifer Rouse.

"Jennifer Rouse was Meg's daughter?"

Jennifer Rouse was the big girl, and Meg was the mama, and there was Beth and Lucy and Evelyn. But you call her Evie, but I call her Evelyn. And then they went and looked at houses. But the big bad wolf came and ate their house! The whole house they looked at! And he was big and fat and he ate their daddy too!

"He ate their daddy! Oh no! I bet they were sad."

They were so sad. They cried and cried. But then they got a new daddy and his name was Norky.

"But what about their daddy named Eric?"

He got eated up. The wolf was so big and fat. He was a giant wolf.

And then Meg and her daughter named Jennifer Rouse went and got more berries.

The end.

This weekend my sweet husband built me the raised bed I've begging for for so long.



And then I got busy and did nothing for four days.

And then this morning the girls and I finally planted!








Tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, sugar snap peas, zucchini and yellow squash will soon be coming to our very own front yard! In theory, that is. I'll keep you posted on how our garden actually grows.

She howls in the bathroom when I insist that she go potty. "No! I can't! It's too hard!" She acts as though I am torturing her. "I don't want to! I won't! I won't!"
I already feel like an evil troll; the potty police. Yesterday when she had an "accident" at Nana's house, she begged my mom not to tell me. "She will be mean to me," she said.

But I'm really, really tired of cleaning up poo, and so the meanness continues.

She is my most sensitive child, my introverted one. The one who voluntarily and happily plays all by herself. When Eric asked her about Sunday School yesterday, she said proudly, "I talked to my teacher today!"

Sitting in the bathroom, she screams some more. She wants a snack, a treat, a story, someone to hold her hand. I promise her that she can have all of that, any of that, whatever she wants--after she goes on the potty.

Eventually, the deed is done. In the toilet. We rejoice, and my little snuggler comes up to me with a big smile. "You are a good mama," she tells me as we hug.

"Thanks, kiddo. You're a good daughter," I tell her.

Beth comes in and sees that her sister has been released from potty jail. She instantly sees a way to turn the situation in her favor.

"Did you go on the potty?" she asks. "That means you get to do anything you want to do! Mama said so."

"I want to play with you," Lucy says sweetly.

She is clearly not comprehending the situation.

"But you could do something mom doesn't usually let us do! Like play games on the computer," Beth says. Then she adds, graciously. "Anything YOU want to do."

"I want to play games on the computer," Lucy says, eyes wide.

"You may play games on the computer," I tell her.

"Toldya she would let us do whatever you want," Beth says, pulling one of the office chairs up to the computer.

As Lucy climbs into the other chair she gives me a kiss.

"Mom, you're not mean," she tells me.

"Thanks, sweetie. I'm glad you went on the potty. I knew you could do it," I say.

"Yep, I knew I could do it too," she says.

I just hope she remembers that tomorrow.

Beth: "OK, I am going to preach now. Sit down in the preaching room, everyone."

She stands in the living room, surveying the crowd, made up of her sisters and her Polly Pockets.

Beth: "OK, enough people here! I will stand up in front and preach. Have you all been practicing the Bible? And going to Sunday School? Raise your hands!"

Lucy, raising her hand: "I go to Sunday School! I go to Sunday School!"

Beth: "OK, great. It's over now!"

A pause.

Beth: "OK, I'm going to preach again. But I need different people." To Evie, who is crawling forward to pull on the edge of the preacher's jeans: "No, you can't come in. Different people!" To Lucy: "Were you here before?"

Lucy: "No, I'm different people."

Beth: "OK."

a pause, while she gathers her thoughts and attempts to come up with a sermon to top her previous effort.


Beth, shouting and jumping up and down: "I am preaching girl! I am preaching girl!"

End of church service.

So, I've been using this free online calorie counter that lets you enter in what you eat and also how many calories you burn. It helps keep me mindful of what I eat throughout the day, so that when it's time for my afternoon snack and I recall that there is ice cream in the freezer, I can turn my back on the ice cream and choose fruit instead.

But my ice cream (or lack thereof) is not what this post is about. What this post is about, is the random, random assortment of possible calorie-burning activities FitDay lists when you try to chart your activities for the day. Rather than list every single thing I do during the day, I had simply chosen the option of entering "Lifestyle: seated, some movement." That tells me how many calories I burn just by being me, supposedly.

Other people, however, are apparently not satisfied with such a vague activity log. They want to list every single thing they could possibly do during the day. Possible calorie-burning activities one can engage in include:

butchering animals (that's what I'm going to do next time I need some exercise! Where's my butchering knife?)

sitting, reading religious materials at home (do you burn more calories by reading religious materials than trashy secular materials?)

cooking Indian bread on an outside stove (how about French bread? On an inside stove?)

sitting on toilet (do I really want to enter in exactly how many minutes per day I do this activity?)

playing guitar, folk or classical OR playing guitar, rock and roll band (Yes, rock and roll burns more calories than folk.)

arts and crafts, standing, vigorous effort (what kinds of arts and crafts are these people doing that require vigorous effort??)

drawing, writing, or casino gambling while standing (because casino gambling just goes hand-in-hand with drawing and writing)

and, my favorite:

multiple household tasks all at once-- either light, moderate or vigorous effort (I kind of think I need to enter this one and say that it's what I do 24 hours a day: multiple household tasks, all at once)

Once again, the years are seeming very, very short. Here are just a few of the ways I'm noticing my own aging and that of those around me:

1. My husband is turning 29. You know what that means? It means I'm going to be 29 soon too. And it means we are both almost 30. That's OLD.

2. I thought I was above vanity, but it turns out I'm not. I'm so, so not. A couple months ago, when it became clear that I was going to have to stop plucking out my grey hairs every time I saw them, because I was no longer finding new ones every month but every DAY, I realized that I just couldn't handle grey hair yet. And I turned to Clairol Nice N' Easy. So much for being okay with myself just the way I am.

3. We registered Beth for kindergarten next week. KINDERGARTEN. At an actual elementary school, in a class that meets every day. EVERY DAY she will go away to a place where I won't see her for several hours, and be taught by a person I don't know, (a woman whom I suspect is younger than I am) and be influenced by all those mysterious other kids. We really feel like this is the best choice for her and our family (and paranoia is NOT a good reason to homeschool!) but still. I'm going to be very sad on the first day, I can tell already.

4. Evie turns 1 year old in just a couple of weeks! She's pulling herself up and scooting along the edges of all the furniture. She shouts "Mama!" constantly (for her, the word "mama" doesn't really seem to mean "person who gave birth to me;" but rather "Someone needs to attend to my needs! I don't care who it is. I want something, and I need someone to figure out what that is. Now." She also eats everything in sight, smiles with a huge mouthful of teeth, and follows her sisters around everywhere she can, crawling along behind them like a faithful little puppy.

5. My little student in the ways of the potty is making progress--good progress. But she's not quite Potty-Trained yet. She can hold it for quite awhile if she needs too--no accidents when we're at the store or in the car. She is generally very willing to sit on the potty. She's even managed No. 2 on numerous occasions. But at other times, and for reasons I cannot determine, she just goes in her pants. We give her positive consequences when she goes in the potty, negative ones when she goes in her pants...but we still haven't figured out the magical cocktail of desire and maturity and motivation that will make her fully Potty-Trained. Yet.

I ran the entire 13.1 miles of the Eugene Half-Marathon! And look, they gave me a medal! That means I won, right?

I was actually really pleased with my time: 2 hours, 4 minutes, 21 seconds. That's about 9 and a half minutes per mile.

There were times I was definitely tired; pretty much every time I got to a mile marker I thought, "Crap! We've only gone that far?"

I don't keep track of my pace times or mile splits or whatever those running terms are at all, relying instead simply on my own sense of whether I've got the energy to run faster or slower to guide how I run. I felt like I went slow at the beginning, then really hit my stride at maybe mile 4 or 5 and ran pretty fast for the middle section. Near South Eugene high school there were tons of people crowded around the course, cheering the runners and giving us high-fives, which was quite energizing.

I didn't stop at any of the aid stations with bathrooms, gatorade, and water along the way. I knew that if I slowed to a walk, the likelihood of me coming back to a run afterward was slim.

As we started up the long, gradual hill on 19th Street, it was getting hard. However, I realized that was getting close to the university again (which was where both the start and finish lines were) and I started getting excited, certain the end was near. And I don't even feel like I've gone 13 miles! I must be going pretty fast! I thought. And then I saw the mile marker--9 miles. Dang it! And the course took us right past the university and over the river.

What was in reality only a few minutes later, but felt like it had been an eternity since the 9 mile marker, I noticed that most the runners around me had green bib numbers, signifying they were full-marathoners, whereas I was the only yellow bibbed half-marathoner around.

Well, no wonder I'm so tired, I thought to myself. I must have missed the turn-off for the half marathon and I'm now on the full marathon course. I'm probably at mile 15! How will I ever get back to where I'm supposed to be?

And then I saw the mile marker. Mile 10. Dang it! Still a long ways to go. (And shortly after that, where the two courses diverged, the route was clearly marked. Very clearly. With signs and arrows and people standing in the roadway saying, "Half this way! Full that way!" There's no way you could make the wrong turn).

As I jogged back over the river on the final mile of the race, I found myself thinking, "I could NEVER run a full marathon. Those people are crazy! This is absolutely as far as I can go. I can't take another step."

Nevertheless, I made it around the final corner and to the finish line, where crowds of people were yelling and cheering. I managed to speed up a bit from the trudging pace I was going at that point, but I certainly didn't sprint across the finish line. Slowing down to a walk has never felt so good.

When I got home, my daughters were quite impressed with my shiny medal--the one they gave to all finishers. Beth asked me if I won, and I had to tell her that I didn't.

"But I ran the whole way--and it was far--so I am happy," I told her.

I've been talking about wanting to grow my own vegetables for ages, but so far all I've managed is some semi-successful herbs and tomatoes in pots.

Months ago, I saw a post on "how to build your own raised garden bed" and sent it to my husband, along with the note: "I want to do this!" And I meant it, I really did. I WANT to have a little garden. I'm just not sure I'm going to be any good at it, based on my past experience in keeping plants alive.

But it's too late to back down now! I looked out the window last night and saw my husband digging up a big chunk of our lawn. He did a whole long row along our fenceline, making the place for a narrow bed that will extend to the edge of our property instead of stopping halfway, as the current flowerbed does.

So. We've got the beginnings of a garden. Now what? Help me out, Internet people!

What can I grow in an approximately 2x16 foot space that is easy, healthy and delicious?

I'm looking for fool-proof vegetables. Vegetables that will not let me down. Vegetables that are very hard to kill.

What should I plant, and how do I go about planting it?

(Just in case there is anyone out there who really knows their gardening stuff, and wants to share their knowledge with me, and wants more info about my "garden": we live in the mid-Willamette Valley of Oregon, which looks like I'm a Zone 8 on the Plant Hardiness map. The bed runs north-south and gets direct sunlight from the south and east all through the morning and mid-day. Starting some time in the afternoon it is in the shade from our neighbor's huge fir tree.)