Do you have small children at home? Have you ever read The Runaway Bunny? If you have, then you have my permission to skip the next three paragraphs.

Now, some background for you people who have no clue what I'm talking about.

Maragaret Wise Brown was a children's author from 1940s who wrote a ton of old children's books that are now considered classics, including the one she's most well-known for, "Goodnight Moon." Have you ever noticed that on the wall of that famous Great Green Room where the little bunny is going to bed, there is a very strange painting of a large white rabbit, standing in a stream, fly-fishing? Except that she's fly-fishing not for trout, but for another rabbit?



That, my friends, is actually an illustration from "The Runaway Bunny," which the author/illustrator team cleverly included in this other book collaboration. (The Goodnight Moon bunny and great green room make an appearance in the illustrations of The Runaway Bunny as well.)


So OK. The Runaway Bunny. It's not as well known as Goodnight Moon. In fact, I had never heard of it or seen it in my life until one day when I was largely pregnant and shopping at the Book Bin (back when they had an Albany location) for kids' books to stock my still-in-utero firstborn child's room.

Specifically, I was looking for bunny books, because I was going with a bunny theme for the nursery. I picked up this little board book with a white bunny on the front, and started reading, and instantly fell in love with it.

It's a story about a little bunny who tells his mother that he wants to run away. And as he describes all the situations in which he would run away, each time she describes a way that she would seek him out and find him, no matter where he goes.

"I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you," he says.
"If you become a rock on the mountain high above me, I will be a mountain climber, and I will climb to where you are," she tells him.




"I will become a bird and fly away from you," he says.
"If you become a bird and fly away from me, I will be a tree that you come home to," she tells him.



Something about this book just hit me right in my pregnant brain. I was crying, right there in the book store. Blame it on the hormones, my aging, my increasing sappiness, I don't know. I just know that to me, it seemed like the perfect description of mother-love. She loves him no matter what, no matter where he goes, no matter how far away he is--her love never stops. I bought it and I took it home and I determined that it would be the first book I ever read to my new child. And it was. I loved it that much.

The whole "I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you" line never disturbed me a bit, not even with the creepy picture and the underlying promise of cannibalism it seems to entail.

And then somehow, somewhere, in my wanderings on the Internet, I read some post where someone pointed out just how WEIRD The Runaway Bunny is. It turns out, lots of people think this book is seriously messed up. It's even ranked up with "I'll Love You Forever" among the world's most-hated children's books.

And once you start to look at it at that way, Mama Bunny does start to seem a little...off. She follows her son through life, denying him any freedom? He desperately tries to escape, and she thwarts him at every turn? The mother's promises start to sound not reassuring, but controlling: I will catch you, I will find you, I will blow you where I want you to go.

You can almost see the knife (or maybe the fish hook) coming down the day this mama's boy ever dares to move out of the tree and start cooking his own carrots.

So, now I've almost gotten to the point where I can't enjoy The Runaway Bunny anymore. This makes me sad. I want to go back to the days where I just loved it and read it and cuddled my children without being all lit-crit about it.

Now, readers, it's your turn. Is The Runaway Bunny a twisted tale of a mother's obsession? Or a gentle story of a parent's unconditional love? Can someone please convince me that I'm reading too much into it? Or is it too late for me to go back to the days of sweet oblivion about the disturbing subtexts of my children's bedtime stories?

In parenting, you don't usually get to see the results of what you're doing right away. All these lovely life lessons you're constantly imparting--everything from "brush your teeth" to "be kind to others"--you're hoping they'll sink in now, but what you're really banking on is some kind of competent adult emerging from your household someday. You pretty much resign yourself to the fact that you're not going to see the fruits of your effort for another 10, 15, 20 years.

That's why it's so gratifying when you have one of those days where you DO see some of your parenting mojo actually working. Allow me to brag a little bit here, because I need to document these good moments to build myself up for later, when I'm seeing nothing but screaming and whining and wailing out of my kids.

Beth is starting to get reading homework a few times a week now. Usually it consists of an inane little story made up of the handful of words she has practiced reading with her teacher. "Look, Sue. I see a seed. Do you see seeds? Or do you see weeds?"

But the homework paper she brought home to do over Thanksgiving weekend had a section titled, "Words you can sound out." That is, words she had never seen before but just ought to be able to figure out by now.

She read five out of the six sound-out words admirably. But one of them tripped her up. "Nnnnuh...aaaaa...tuh. Nnnnuh...aaa....tuh," she said. She looked up at me. "I don't know this one."

"I know, sweetie, but keep trying. You can do it," I told her. She didn't look convinced. "It's a name," I told her, trying to help. "Like, a boy's name. Except...I don't think you actually know anybody named this name." Maybe I'm not really very helpful.

"Nnnnuh...aaaa...tuh," she said.

"Look at the last part of the word," I told her. "See the letters? Can you think of other words with those letters?"

And she could. She came up with a whole list of them. Cat, hat, bat, sat, rat. "So this is just like those words, only with 'Nnnnnn' in the front," I said.

"Nnnnuh...a....tuh." She was getting tearful now. "I can't do it! It's too hard for me!" she said.

I knew--not just imagined, but KNEW--exactly how she felt. It absolutely kills me when I fail at something. Especially something I'm usually really good at, like schoolwork. Especially when other people are watching. Especially when they are telling me I ought to be able to do it. It's embarrassing, and it's frustrating, and I hate knowing that I'm not performing up to what people are expecting out of me, and I start to cry. I don't know how many times I've played out this scene before, except that it used to always be me sitting there teary-eyed looking up at a frustrated parent or teacher. It was bizarre, being the one on the other side of the table.

I don't really want my kids to grow up to be like me. I want my kids to grow up to be BETTER than me.

And so I told her that I was sorry she was frustrated, but that she was not allowed to say it was too hard for her.

The crying turned into sobbing. What am I doing? I asked myself. This is kindergarten. It's one word. Am I crazy to be making a big deal about kindergarten homework?

So I sent her to her room to get control of herself. I came in and hugged her. And I told her that she could take a break if she wanted, that she didn't have to finish it right now, but that she did have to finish it eventually, no matter what.

"You can ask for help as much as you want. You can try as many times as you need to. But you're not allowed to quit and you're not allowed to say you can't do it," I told her. "I know you can do it."

She sighed shakily. "I want to finish it," she said.

"No," I said. "I think you're too upset right now. Why don't you take a little break?"

"No," she said. "I want to do it now."

So we went back out to the table.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh," she said.

"Good. Just try it as many times as you need to. Try put all those sounds together and say it smoothly," I told her.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh."

Evie was fussing and wanting to be held. Lucy was asking for a drink. I picked both of them up and held them, one on each knee, trying to get them to be quiet, only halfway listening to Beth.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nat. Nat! NAT!"

"Yes!" I leaped up from the table. "Nat! That is it! Perfect!"

We high-fived. We did a little dance. I triumphantly initialed her homework paper while she watched. And then we went on with our night.

I would have put it behind me as just one more of those daily challenges motherhood brings, if it weren't for what she said at bedtime. We have about a half-a-dozen little rituals we do every single night at bedtime, and one of them is talking about our favorite parts of the day. Lucy's favorite part of the day was eating a cookie after dinner. My favorite part of the day was getting to go to MOPS and visit with my friends. And Beth's? Beth knew hers right away.

"My favorite part of the day was reading a new word. NAT. Because it was hard but I didn't quit and I read it anyway," she said.

And that's when I knew that for once, something had sunk in. I actually taught her something about not giving up when faced with a challenge. And that was my REAL favorite part of the day.

I used to be really scared of spiders.

Those of you who know me in real life might be laughing right now. My mother will recall how I would stomp on a spider with a shoe, then take the shoe off and leave it where it was on the floor--for days, if no one else moved it--rather than pick it up and have to set eyes on the yucky (squished) arachnid underneath. My college roommate will recall how I had actual nightmares about bugs, so bad that I carefully placed three plastic glow-in-the-dark tree frogs on the posts of my bed in hopes that they would catch (and eat) the spiders that haunted my dreams. My husband will remember all the many, many times I have fetched him to kill a spider for me--even getting him up out of bed, if necessary--rather than deal with it himself.

And so, bearing all that in mind, I'll forgive you if you don't quite believe that first sentence of my post. That I used to be really scared of spiders. Which implies that I am not scared of spiders anymore.

And, OK, I won't be rushing out to throw a spider-lovers' party anytime soon, but I am here to tell you that I deal with those disgusting things SO MUCH better than I did in the past.

The reason? Motherhood.

It does funny things to you, having three little people looking to you for strength, protection and guidance all day long. I mean, Daddy isn't here during the daytime. What am I supposed to do when one of my kiddos shrieks that a spider is climbing up the wall next to her bed at naptime? Tell her to just lie still and ignore it until Daddy comes home? No, it's up to me to save the day.

And, speaking of childish shrieks, that's another reason--a major reason--that I summon all the courage I have when it comes to dispatching rogue insects. I really, really don't want to pass on my irrational fear of spiders to my children. I don't want them to get the idea--from watching me freak out about spiders--that spiders are something to be freaked out about.

If I want them to grow up to be brave, I'm going to have to show them what bravery looks like.

So I do my best to play it cool when I see a spider in the house. Do I ignore it? No. Do I tenderly capture it and set it free outside? No. Do I occasionally jump and go "Eww!" if it's a particularly big one? Yes. But in general, I think I do a good job of telling them, "Don't worry guys, it's just a spider," and then calmly (but hurriedly) squishing it with a shoe or a Kleenex.

And you know what? I think it's actually working.

The other day, I heard Lucy call, "Mom! There's a spider!"

"Okay, sweetie, I'm coming," I answered. But I was across the house from her. By the time I got to her bedroom, she was standing there calmly, and the spider was nowhere in sight.

"Where is it?" I asked, my wad of Kleenex ready for the death blow.

"Don't worry, mom," she told me. "I just squished it with my finger."

And she held out her hand. Indeed, there on the end of her finger was a very small, very dead spider.

"Wow, what a brave girl," I told her, suppressing my gag reflex and using the Kleenex to wipe bug guts off her hand.

"Yep, I know," she said, and skipped back off to play with Barbies and princesses.

What do you know. My spider-killing apprentices have actually moved on to dispatching arachnids with their bare hands.

I may somewhat less of a weeny when it comes to spiders than I used to be. But I don't think I'm ever going to be as hard-core as my 3-year-old.

1. Last night I read the first chapter of what I think is going to be a truly excellent book: "Gift From the Sea," by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (thanks to Diana for the recommendation). Bearing in mind that the book was written in 1955, I was completely struck by this quote:

"For today life in America is based on the premise of ever-widening circles of contact and communication. It involves not only family demands, but community demands, national demands, international demands on the good citizen, through social and cultural pressures, through newspapers, magazines, radio programs, political drives, charitable appeals, and so on. My mind reels with it."

Ever-widening circles of contact and communication, huh? You know what I penciled in to the margin next to that line? "Blogs and Facebook!"

Those two internet delights of the modern age have definitely widened my circles of contact and communication. Here are a few examples:

2. I've been obsessively checking Facebook all day for updates on my friend from Maryland who is giving birth even as we speak (current update from her sister, which was posted 9 minutes ago as of this writing, is that she's at four centimeters. Go Amy!)

Even two years ago, I'd have had to wait for an e-mail or phone call after it was all over; maybe even a few weeks, until I'd get a baby announcement in the mail. Now I can follow the whole thing in nearly real-time, from all the way across the country.

3. Evie has a favorite blankie. She is deeply, deeply attached to Blankie. When she is crying, all she needs is a few minutes of burying her face in Blankie for a nuzzle with its softness and a big whiff of whatever magical sedative aroma apparently resides within its fibers. You know how she got this blankie? Because I won a blog contest and the blogger made this blanket especially for her and shipped it to her all the way from New Zealand. That's right. My kid's favorite blanket is from a woman I have never met who lives in New Zealand! The magic of the blog.

4. Another blog friend just moved to Germany. And immediately I left a comment on her blog telling her about my cousin who used to live in Germany, and was mentally listing all the other connections I have to Germany; my sister who just visited there, and her brother-in-law who lives there, and some more cousins who just spent the summer in Germany, and all the things I've heard about the best places to visit...and then I was like, "Holy cow! I've never been to Germany! How is it that I know this much about Germany?"

5. And while we're talking international, let's not forget that Eric and I traveled almost all the way to the equator last year for a visit with our dear friend Meg, who was at the time going to college in Grenada. Because of our connection of spending our college years together at Linfield, Eric and I got to take a totally sweet vacation in the Caribbean. And--small world even smaller--Meg is now going to school at OSU and living on our street. Amazing.

6. And speaking of Eric, through the power of the Internet and cell phones, when he is away on a trip I can take pictures of the kids on my cell phone and send them to him so he can see what we're doing during the day, even as it occurs; we can text or IM each other whenever we have a free minute; and at night the whole family can gather around the computer and talk to him, face-to-face (or, okay, video image to video image) with the built-in webcam on our computer. My kids just accept this. Oh, look, there's Daddy's face on the computer, let's talk to him now; without marveling at it even a bit. Children of the 21st century, to be sure.

7. I have lived my whole life in Oregon. Though I've been privileged to travel a little bit, I've never actually resided more than two hours from the town where I was born. I am deeply connected to this little patch of the Willamette Valley. Here on our one-block-long street, I not only know the names of my neighbors, I know the names of all their cats. As I walk my daughter to school, I can identify the familiar cars, coats, and umbrellas that we spot every day and tell you who each of them belongs to. When my daughters ran up ahead of me today, tired of matching their pace to their 1-year-old sister's toddling steps, a fellow kindergarten parent paused on his way home and stood there in the rain waiting until Evie and I caught up. "I'm keeping an eye on 'em for you," he said.

I am connected here.

And yet I also have connections in a spattering of spots around the world. I live a life both immediate and international; my world is both near and far. Finding a balance between maintaining faraway friendships without ignoring the tangible world, the near-and-dear people in my own family and community? That's a work in progress.


More quick takes here.

Time for another round of real-life conversations. All are transcribed exactly as they occurred, I promise.

Really, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Beth, to her sisters, as she sets the table for an imaginary meal: Hey guys, time to come! Dinner's almost ready! My magic's making it!

(why doesn't magic work when it's MY turn to make dinner?)

Lucy, in character as an extremely ferocious unicorn: We are setting a trap now, guys! We are setting a trap to catch the humans!

Beth, to me: Mom, does "not right now" actually mean "No?" Because I asked you if I could play computer games a long time ago and you said "Not right now," and you still haven't let me play computer games.

Lucy, to Beth: Please, Beth, can I be your husband?
Beth, to Lucy: No.
Lucy: Please???
Beth: Ohhhh, okaaay...but most of the time I make my husband stay outside.

Ever since Beth started school, I have felt as though those two-and-a-half hours a day when she's apart from me were a big, mysterious blank.

Oh, sure, she tells us strange details from time to time. For instance, shortly after school began she informed us that there is a girl who sits at her table who could "snap like a piece of uncooked spaghetti." (Genetic disorder? Exotic disease? I don't know.) One time she said they sang a song and it was in an African language but she doesn't remember it anymore. Or that they played a game and it was SO much fun and she had to draw a circle on the board and she WON! But as far as any kind of coherent narrative of what her typical day is like, not so much. Hearing about kindergarten from Beth is like watching a movie 10 seconds at a time, with a blanket over the screen. Kind of frustrating if you're a nosy mom like me.

So I was ecstatic to be able to go assist with the Halloween party in Beth's classroom a couple weeks ago and experience kindergarten for myself. (Thanks to my friend Jessica for watching the little sisters so I could be there).

My main jobs at the party consisted of putting candy corn on the children's plates, helping them open their CapriSuns, and handing out pumpkins to take home at the end. The rest of the time the other moms (and one dad) just stood off to the side and chatted.



I can't say that my assistance with this party was crucial to the success of Beth's educational career. And, of course, assisting at a party did nothing toward relieving my curiosity about what kindergarten is like, because the party is nothing like a regular school day. But it was fun to watch her giggle with all her little friends, to actually hear in person the "Goodbye Song" that they sing every day, to reassure myself that she really is enjoying her school.

And what made it completely worthwhile was the way Beth's face lit up when I came into the room. I felt a tiny bit like a celebrity as she began whispering to all the other children at her table, "That lady? The one in the brown sweater? That's my MOM!" I know this isn't going to last forever. That she isn't always going to be thrilled when her mom shows up at her school. But right now, at this age, I am such an important person in her life that me being there made the party better for her. Witnessing her pure and simple happiness at seeing her mama in her classroom was enough to fill my own heart with happiness too.

Hey, somebody's got to hand out those candy corns. I am glad that this year, for this kindergarten class, that privilege was all mine.

Candy corn photo by willc2, found on wikipedia.

Fellow Albanites, I have an imperative for you: Check out the BamBoo Diner.

This is a new Asian restaurant on First Avenue downtown. It's actually been open for awhile now, but last week was their grand opening, which meant two-for-one dinner specials, and Eric scored take-out on the way home from work.

Now, take-out is good anytime. Even though I love cooking, a dinner that I don't actually have to cook is such a treat. But when it's yummy, fresh, spicy, tangy Asian food that you could never replicate in your own kitchen? Even better.

This restaurant is owned by Matt and Janel Bennett, Albany's own restaurant moguls. They own Sybaris, Clemenza's, Boccherini's (They bought it and re-opened it after it closed!), and now Bamboo Diner. If they own the restaurant, you know it will be good. I've never been disappointed at one of their eateries.

Now, a word of explanation. This is not your typical American Chinese place. No orange chicken or sweet-and-sour-pork or beef-and-broccoli. I love those things, but that's not what you'll find at the Bamboo Diner. It's a "pan-Asian" restaurant. More reminiscent of Thai food than Chinese, in my opinion. We're talking chicken with peanut sauce, coconut sticky rice steamed in a banana leaf, bowls of spicy-sweet curry. The prices are I think slightly higher than you'd find at other Chinese places in town, but not unreasonable. Their dinner entrees range from $11-15 and include a main dish and some kind of starch. And it's not just a side of rice with each one--there's different selection to complement each different entree though. Everything from fried rice to curried mashed potatoes to pan-fried noodles. The portion I got was big enough to fill me up for one dinner and have a slightly smaller amount left for lunch the next day.

So next time you're in Albany and you want to try someplace just a touch exotic for dinner (and dining options in Albany tend to be sorely lacking in the "exotic" department), go to the Bamboo Diner. If you're looking for something fresh and different, you won't be disappointed.

1. More news in the world of throw-back fashion:

Yesterday I saw this girl at Beth's school. She was older, like maybe a high school student volunteering at the school, or an older sister/youngish aunt picking up a kid. But this girl. She was wearing neon-colored socks with little black Keds. And not just any neon-colored socks. She had one hot-pink sock with her black Ked on her left foot, and one neon-green sock with her black Ked on her right foot.

This is exactly the kind of thing I would have worn in fourth grade. I LOVED neon green and pink, and I loved to coordinate my socks and my Keds with my outfit.

How can this possibly be cool again?

2. Evie is feeling much better. Giggling and running about the house and eating and generally being adorable. Thank goodness! I couldn't have taken much more of the whining.

3. However, I'm trying not to get too happy about her return to health. Mainly because I am just crossing my fingers and hoping against hope that whatever she had is not now silently incubating in our bodies, ready to make its slow, stealthy way from family member to family member, sickening each of us in turn, giving me not just one week of sick and whininess, but three or four weeks of sick and whininess. Because sicknesses are like that. They're dirty sneaky little guys with no respect whatsoever for a mother's sanity.

4. I just read Farm City, a book about an urban farmer who grows a giant garden and raises chickens, ducks, bees, turkeys and pigs in the middle of the Oakland ghetto.

So, I'm definitely not planning to move to the ghetto, and raising pigs/slaughtering turkeys does not sound at all appealing to me. But chickens? For eggs? The idea is kind of growing on me. Though I don't think our lot size is big enough to legally keep them here in Albany. But maybe...someday...

5. Beth is saying she wants to grow her bangs out. Which I'm cool with, if that's what she wants. It is her hair, after all, and it's not like she's asking to dye it neon pink (actually she would like to do that, but I'm saying no to that one for now). But I'm dreading the growing-out stage, because her hair is SO fine and thin and flyaway that no hair clip or barrette I've ever found has been able to stay in her hair very securely. How am I going to keep her hair out of her eyes for the several months it will take to get it long enough to tuck behind her ears and pull back in ponytails?

6. Two gardening questions, in case some random gardener happens to read my blog and wants to come to my rescue. First: I think my clematis is dying. Its leaves are gradually turning brown and falling off, starting with the oldest ones closest to the vine, but now spreading to the newest growth as well. I'm no master gardener, but this doesn't seem good to me. What do I do?

Second: I have a big lilac bush that doesn't bloom. The first spring we were here, I think it bloomed a little. I don't remember. The second year, a few blooms. Last year, nothing. Not a single bloom. What is wrong with it? If it doesn't bloom this year, I'm ripping it out and planting something else there. I love lilacs, but what I love about them is the flowers! If it doesn't bloom, it means nothing to me. Yep, I'm heartless like that.

7. I never know what movies are out anymore. I never go to the movie anymore. We don't have cable or satellite or anything so I never see any previews or anything anymore. BUT: my husband has a trip out of town coming up and I'm looking for a good girly movie or two to watch while he's gone. What's come out recently? I feel like there are probably movies that I have wanted to see, that I didn't actually get to see, that would be on DVD now, but I can't think of any. Recommendations, anyone?


More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

Yesterday Evie was sick with a fever.

Not so sick that I was seriously concerned about her, but feeling rotten enough that she was whiny and clingy and crying at the drop of a hat. And wanting Mama to hold her nonstop...something that gets difficult at times. Finally, I just had to put her down to help Lucy get dressed. I couldn't do it one-handed. So I deposited Evie onto the couch. She had her blankie, her pacifier, her cup, and a book. But Mama was not holding her, and therefore she was crying. And crying. And crying.

My thoughts, as I hurriedly pulled Lucy's shirt over her head, went something like this: I really wish she would stop. Does she not know how annoying that unending wailing is? How it makes me want to pull my ears right off my head? I'm going to have to miss my MOPS meeting today, and probably my church small group tonight too. All my favorite chances for adult interaction, gone because of this stupid fever and this unendingly fussy child.

I ignored her cries for a another moment while I helped Lucy zip her sweatshirt, then I sighed and said to the girls, "Well, I guess I better go get crankypants."

And there was Beth, as usual, to set me straight.

"Not crankypants, Mama. SICKpants. You know she doesn't feel good, and that is probably why she is crying."

I didn't really know what to say. She was right. Evie wasn't crying just to ruin my day. She was crying because she felt really awful. And so I tucked my tail between my legs and headed out to the living room to cuddle my poor sick baby. And that's pretty much all I did the rest of the day.

Good thing Beth is learning compassion from someone. If only it were from me.

Today's post is my first attempt in participating at Perfectly Poetical Tuesdays, a blog idea I became acquainted with through This Heavenly Life. Every month Stephanie of The Little Stuff of Life posts a new poetry form or idea for brave blog poets like myself to try out. It's a bit like good old Poetry Thursday, that I was part of in '06 and '07. Except it's once a month, instead of once a week, which (let's be honest) is a lot more in line with my poetry-writing frequency.

This month's prompt was to write a cinquain. I've never written one before, but the constraints make it a haiku-like type of poem.

My results, inspired by today's weather, are below.





Sunlight
November-pale
a summer illusion
fool's gold; it dazzles but cannot
warm me.


More poems await you.

Sipping chai tea.

Watching wind trouble the pine trees and rain stream down the window pane.

Warm air from the heating vent wafting down onto me.

Kids playing in their bedrooms.

Book on my lap.

Need I say more?

Photo above is by Pixelant and is licensced through Flickr's Creative Commons.

1. Last Saturday, Eric got up in the morning and took a shower. Prior to showering, he took his glasses off and set them on the bathroom counter. He got out of the shower, dressed and went to the other bathroom to put his contacts in.

None of us thought about the glasses again until the next morning, when he got out of bed and looked for his glasses. And I looked for his glasses. And we ordered the girls to look for his glasses. We looked everywhere we could possibly think of. I looked in every drawer and cupboard in the bathroom.



Evie can now climb up and get things off the counter, and enjoys depositing said things in strange places that apparently make sense to her. Just today I found a sippy cup in my boot and a baby doll in the laundry hamper. Because of this, I considered no place off limits in the glasses search. I searched the trash to make sure she hadn't tossed them in there. I was beginning to say to myself: she couldn't have flushed them down the toilet...could she? And also: Gosh, the kitchen sink hasn't been draining well this week...she couldn't have put them down the garbage disposal...could she?

And this morning I was fixing my hair and I opened up the drawer and picked up the hair dryer and there in the bottom of the drawer were the glasses.

Now, I KNOW I looked in that drawer on Sunday morning. And I have blow-dryed my hair every single day this week. If they were there all along, how could I have missed them?

She couldn't have put them somewhere else, found them again, and put them innocently back in the drawer just to mess with my mind....could she?


2. If you have ever seen the movie Cars, you should read this post. If you like to put way too much thought into the existential questions raised by childrens' entertainment, you should read it. If you like funny things, you should read it.



3. I bought fresh Parmesan cheese the other day to use in a recipe, when previously I have always used the canned stuff. Oh my goodness. It is more expensive, but wow. I didn't know what I was missing.


4. I haven't really talked about how babies get made with my kids yet, although I think the time might be approaching to give my oldest a tad bit of information. She's in school now and who knows what other kids might tell her. She does have some questions. This post has a review of a book that sounds like a really good resource in case other mommies are trying to figure out what to say, and how to say it, as well.

5. I was interviewing someone for a story yesterday. It has a holiday theme and is the kind of thing that is frequently run at this time of year. And the source actually laughed at me mid-interview and said she hates these kind of stories because we run them every year. And then proceeded to be very great and cooperative and give me what I needed for the story. But...ouch. She was right. It sucked.

6. Do you ever feel a mingled sense of pride and sadness at your children growing up? So do I. So does every mother. If you'd like to wallow in it a little bit, go read this post.

7. In the book Ramona the Pest, which we recently read and enjoyed, Mrs. Quimby and her neighbor Mrs. Kemp walk their two kindgerteners to school for the first month or so. Then they let the kids walk to school by themselves. One day, Mrs. Quimby even leaves Ramona at home by herself for 10 minutes and trusts her to see herself off to school. I read this lots of times as a kid and never thought anything of it, but now that I have a kindergartener of my own I just thought: Wow. That would never happen today.



Even though the school yard is right around the corner from our house, I still wouldn't let Beth go by herself. In a few years, maybe. But not at kindergarten. Plus, the school won't even LET kindergarteners walk themselves home. An approved adult must pick each child up at the door. I'd like to think myself as more "free-range parent" than "helicopter parent," but I'm afraid I just can't go with Mrs. Quimby on this one. Thoughts? Am I paranoid? Has the world changed so much since the book was written in 1968?

More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

A friend of mine had the first line of this poem as his Facebook status a few days ago. I knew I'd read it before, but couldn't recall the rest, so I had to look it up. (I knew Facebook was good for something!)

I was glad I did. I like both the uncoventional imagery (comparing the sky to a cow!) and the sentiment: celebrating the beauty of "all things original, counter, spare, strange" as opposed to traditional notions of beauty being only what is pure, light, and unspotted.

Because life isn't just a vast meadow of sunshine and flowers. Light mixes with the darkness to create a world of things both dazzling and dim. Sometimes it's that patchwork pattern that's the most beautiful of all.



Pied Beauty GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

I've decided that my hat was the best purchase I've made in a long time. Really, it's not just a hat. It's more like a magical disguise. Like Clark Kent's glasses. Put them on, and he's a mild-mannered reporter. Take them off, and he's Superman!



Except with the hat, it's the reverse. We start with one tired mommy. The kids woke up way too early. She didn't get her run in this morning. If she's going to exercise later in the morning, she's not going to bother to shower before school time. And yet...she has to make herself somewhat presentable. What to do, what to do...

*cue trumpet flare*

The hat! Hat to the rescue. Put it on! Instantly the unwashed hair is covered. Pull it down a little further on the forehead, and the brim camouflages the tired eyes and un-make-upped face. Swap sweatpants for jeans and slippers for sneakers, and in less than two minutes tired mommy is transformed. She is now.....




Tired mommy who is wearing a cute hat!

It doesn't make me fly, but at least it makes me feel better on that morning walk to school.

(If anyone knows of any accessories that would make me super-strong and capable of flight, feel free to share your secrets. They're safe with me.)

And everything that goes with it.

Pumpkins:



Story about the pumpkins: my sister grew these in her garden and gave them to us about two weeks before Halloween. The girls were so eager to carve them that we did so within days of receiving them. And...they rotted well before the big day. We got a second round of pumpkins from my friend Rebekah and carved them in the morning before trick-or-treating. They're still looking good.

Dressing up for Halloween:



We have here a lion, a unicorn and a fairy princess.




Did you know that it's just about impossible to get three little girls who are VERY excited about costumes and candy to all look at the camera at the same time? These pictures are the best we've got. Take my word for it, they were cute.

And playing in the park before winter takes Oregon in its clutches and traps us indoors for days on end:


And, finally, it's time for another round of Guess the Baby. Same family, same park, similar pose...but which of these was taken yesterday and shows Evie, and which was taken almost exactly two years ago and shows Lucy? Leave your votes in the comments.