1. Lately I've noticed myself making really stupid typing errors. Not just writing "teh" instead of "the." Like, GRAMMATICAL typing errors. As in, just a moment ago I left a comment on someone's blog and noticed (after the fact) that I had written "want's" instead of "wants." A completely unnecessary apostrophe, when unnecessary apostrophes are one of the things I hate most in life! And half the time they are on Facebook posts or blog comments or things. Places where they are going to be publicly available for viewing. With my name signed to them. Fingers, what is wrong with you? Brain, why aren't you catching these things? I feel like I'm not myself anymore. Like I'm turning into some clumsily-typing zombie with poor grammar skills.

I may have to turn in my copy of "Eats, Shoots & Leaves."

2. Way in which Evie is growing up too fast #1: She now refuses to sit on a booster seat, or even a pillow. She just sits in a big-person chair like the rest of us, and her chin barely comes over the top of the table, but she's happy.

3. Way in which Evie is growing up too fast #2: She's also refusing sippy cups now. And not doing too bad a job with the lidless variety.

4. Way in which Evie is not growing up fast enough #1: I tried putting her in underwear for the first time today. She was very excited. I was very excited. The Dora panties looked very sweet on her little bum. And then she wet through two pairs within an hour--even though within that same hour, she also went on the potty two times, which kind of defies logic. How much pee can one 2-year-old bladder hold?

5. Way in which Evie is not growing up fast enough #2: Today we were out working in the yard, taking advantage of a brief moment of non-rainy weather to plant tomatoes, and Evie took the opportunity to dig UP my one little flourishing zucchini plant and rip it to shreds.

6. So because of state budget shortfalls, Beth's school has all these furlough days where the staff are all just forced to take unpaid time off. They've had about half a dozen of them, scattered throughout the school year, and today is one of them. But then they also have a school year that lasts until June 15. I want to know why in the world they wouldn't just lop an entire week off the end of the school year and have everyone get out early? Wouldn't everyone really prefer that? I know I would.

7. I don't really have anything else to say, so I'll just leave you with a photo to make you smile. (You were wondering when we were getting to the mustache part, weren't you?)




Purple shirt, bow in hair, big black mustache. It's a nice look, don't you think?

More Quick Takes here.

Jen, what's aggravating you today?

Well, Internet, my kids are kind of driving me crazy at the moment. I mean, I realize that's nothing new, but today they were actually crying over spilled milk. It was a new level of whiny.

Hmmm. That IS irritating. What are you doing to cope?

Thanks for asking. I broke into this stash of candy in the cupboard--the one left over from the pinata? Oh, and besides pinata candy, it also has all these little fun-size baggies of M&Ms. My dear grandmother brought them over the other day for "the girls." But I'm one of "the girls," right?

Well, that sounds like a good start. Anything else?

Yes! I'm also listening to a CD I got at the library: "Far" by Regina Spektor. She reminds me of a girl version of Ben Folds. I like it.

Candy and chick-folk-piano. Sounds good. But now, let's turn to something serious. Is it true that today you got up and went to the gym and got on the treadmill and it was only after you'd been there for half an hour already that you realized you had your shirt on backwards?

Yes. And I considered slinking away to the locker room and switching it around, but then I figured, what the heck? It's early in the morning, we're all just here to get sweaty anyway--like I really look in the mirror before I go to the gym. This just proves how un-self-conscious I am. Plus, probably no one even noticed.

Except doesn't it have a really big logo on the front? And then just little small words on the back? So it was probably really, really, obviously backward?

Well, yes. So OK, probably everybody who saw me noticed. I still don't care.

That's a refreshing perspective, Jen. What's in store for you next?

I need to write this article about agri-tourism. And I need to fold one metric ton of laundry. BUT if I get those things done, AND if I can get the kids to leave me alone, I have two good books to read. I am almost done with "The Tangible Kingdom," which is written by this guy who is really into the "missional" church movement. It's given me a lot of food for thought about the nature of the Christian church today--what it is, what it could be, what it should be. Oh, and this blog post about the nature of the gospel made me think too. And once I get that last chapter read, then I get to start "The Adoration of Jenna Fox." My friend Diana says it's good, and it's a young adult novel and it sounds kind of science-y and kind of futuristic distopian, and in general just sounds like it's going to be a killer read.

Sounds like an exciting afternoon!

I know. What can I say? This is just the kind of life I lead.

Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to talk to us.

You're welcome, Internet.

We've been listening to the "Little House on the Prairie" audiobooks in the car with the girls lately, and holy cow are they good!

Bear in mind that this comes from someone was mildly obsessed with the Little House books as a kid; who still owns the original yellow-packaged box set she was given at age 6 or so; who used to re-read the entire series about once a year (I also did this with the Narnia books and the Anne books).

But. It has been awhile since I read the Little House books. And now, actually listening to them for the first time, I am bowled over by Wilder's storytelling. Her simple, methodical, careful words draw you in, bit by bit, and you keep you wrapped up in her world. Whether it's a description of how Pa smokes venison and Ma churns butter and Mary sits outside a gopher hole for hours and hours, or how a fire races over the prairie and threatens to consume their house and Laura thinks they're all going to die...that is to say, the boring minutiae of life or truly adventuresome brush-with-death stuff...either way, the words keep you hooked. Everyone from my just-turned-4-year-old to my slightly-ADD-husband has been drawn in to these stories while we're going places in the car.

Side notes:

• With the exception of the lyrics to one really terrible song Pa plays on the fiddle about a "darky," the racial issues in these books are not too bad, considering they're set 150 years ago in the era of Manifest Destiny. The settler/Indian/white/native/colonization stuff in Little House on the Prairie is definitely there, but I felt it opened up a gateway for some good conversations with Beth, more than anything else.
• Pa is the embodiment of the original American dream. He's like a perfect libertarian poster boy--self-reliant, brave, skilled to survive anywhere he happens to be, unwilling to take hand-outs, cheerful, and a good dad.
• Farmer Boy is all about food. It's just descriptions of pie and doughnuts and ham and gravy, over and over again. Sure, there's a little bit of a plot in there, but it's also about food. A lot. Is that all Almanzo remembered about his childhood? Food and horses? It's a big contrast to the Ingalls' experience, where they were living for months at a time on wild game and cornmeal, whereas Almanzo sat down to huge and varied feasts three times a day. And if he got hungry in between he could always stuff his mouth full of doughnuts from the doughnut jar in the kitchen. (Eric, to me: "Why don't WE have a doughnut jar in the kitchen?") I'm wondering if there was a bit of nostalgia/romanticizing of the childhood in play when it came to the writing of this book--doesn't everything always seem better when you're an adult looking back? Like, the pecan praline ice cream cone my mom bought me after swimming lessons that summer when I was 8 or so were SO good. The best ice cream ever. And pecan praline ice cream now really doesn't do it for me. My other theory about the food in Farmer Boy is that it was written during the Great Depression--published in 1933--so both the author and the audience probably had a huge desire for these lavish, loving descriptions of yummy, yummy food.
• OK, final side note: these books exacerbate what Eric calls my prairie-hippie-muffin tendencies. They make me want to churn my own butter! And learn to spin wool! And eat carrots raw from the garden and contemplate how good and sweet and crunchy they are. We are having Fried Apples and Onions for dinner tonight. And maybe later Eric will let me pop a bunch of popcorn and see if it will fit into a glass of milk.

The giant pink unicorn was beaten down...



...and ultimately vanquished.




I made a Barbie doll cake again...



...and again I had issues with it, and I had to resort to pinning broken pieces of cake around her hips in order to cover up those ridiculously long legs. And then covering it all up with frosting and marshmallows. Oh, Barbie, how you love to make birthday cakes difficult.

The puppy dog cake was easier.




It's nice when kids can't really talk well enough to voice strong opinions and you can manipulate their choices.

I now have a 4-year-old!




She has a bike of her very own, and it is her pride and joy. Her Daddy picked it out for her. Is that not the girliest bike ever? With the little basket and the ribbons? Even I kind of wish I had a bike that pretty.

And I have a 2-year-old!



This is the one that gets me the most. I do not wish to go back and start having babies again. I don't! I'm glad to be moving out of the baby phase. But sometimes when I pick her up and feel her weight pressed against me...when I see how adorably chubby her legs are...watch as she puts on her own clothes, counts to 5, plays games of pretend with her sisters...I realize that my baby isn't a baby anymore, not at all, even though we kiss her and squeeze her and call her "baby" all the time. We're just pretending. She's growing up, and every single day she is as little as she's ever going to be, ever again. She's just going to be bigger tomorrow. Time only moves one way, forward and forward and forward, and we just get to move along with it, and celebrate as we go.



Happy birthday, girls.

1. It's amazing what kind of energy you can find in the pockets of a nice pair of jeans, the heels of some snazzy boots...the bottom of your second cup of coffee. I woke up this morning feeling stuffed up and tired and just plain yucky. Prospects were not good. So, in an effort to save the rest of my day, I dressed in my new favorite jeans, and cute shoes, and pretty much made every effort to look as though I WAS going to do something worthwhile today. And you know what? I'm so simple-minded that the influence of my outfit was powerful enough to trick me into acting as though today mattered after all. I got a ton of stuff done this morning and I'm really feeling a lot better.

The boat-load of coffee I drank probably helped with that too.

2. Although she has not reached the actual day of her birth yet, Evie has started telling people she is two. And rather then illustrating this with the conventional gesture of holding up her index finger and middle finger (like a peace sign), she folds down her last three fingers, then points her thumb up and her index finger out, straight at the person inquiring about her age (like a pretend gun). While, in theory, she is still showing you two digits, it looks less like an "I'm this many" gesture and more like an "I'm going to shoot you now" gesture.

What can I say? She's odd.

3. For weeks now I've been asking Evie what kind of cake she wanted for her birthday, and I got one of two answers: "Pink" or "Baby." That seems clear enough. She wants a cake shaped like a pink baby. And there are, in fact, pictures of baby-shaped cakes on the Internet, but when it came down to it, I just didn't want to do it. The thought of cutting up--and then EATING--a baby-shaped cake grossed me out. So I cheated. I sat her on my lap, fired up the browser and showed her a couple of web pages of alternate options, knowing that 2-year-olds are easily distracted. And, sure enough, when we saw a cute dog-shaped cake, Evie cheered and clapped her hands. "Puppy dog cake! Yay!" Eating a puppy-shaped cake does not disturb me in the least, for whatever reason, so we're going with that. Next on the agenda for the afternoon: make puppy cake.

4. And also Barbie Princess cake. Lucy loved Beth's cake from last year, so we are doing that whole doll-dress-cake thing again. This time with a non-ballerina Barbie, and a caked baked in a taller bowl, so hopefully this year Barbie's skirt will be long enough to cover her rear.

5. I cleaned out four bags full of old clothes and books and toys today and gave them all to Goodwill. I can't tell you how wonderful it feels to just get rid of clothes when Evie outgrows them, instead of washing them and folding them and saving boxes and boxes and boxes of them in the attic for the potential next baby. Now we're just free! It feels nice.

6. At the store today, Evie got to spend a $5 gift certificate because it was her birthday. Her choice? A tiny plastic potty for her baby doll. Yep, I really think this kid is ready.

7. Despite the wretched weather, the calendar is telling me that it's the end of May, and that means I'm ready for summer to be here already. Does Beth really need to attend the last three weeks of kindergarten? I'm kind of tired of the whole going and back and forth to school every day thing. Let's just skip it.

We are now the proud possessors of the biggest, brightest, ugliest pinata ever created.

You see, Lucy has been saying for months that she wants a pinata at her birthday, even though they've never been a part of our birthday party routine before. But we said sure, she could have a pinata. And, at a friend's recent party, there was a pinata, and we got to watch Lucy take a wallop at one for the first time.

It was intense. She took ahold of that bat and whacked the poor, defenseless pinata as though she was going to beat the very life out of it. Each of the kids was only allowed three hits, but I think Lucy would have just kept on going if she hadn't been forced to hand the bat over to someone else.

Sweet, snuggly, little Lucy. Who would have thought? Four years old and already she's apparently got some suppressed rage issues to work out.

So we went to the store today, and walked up and down the aisle with the pinatas, craning our necks up to see them up there. There were flowers and race cars and sombreros and a rainbow one that I thought was really cute, but no. Lucy knew exactly which one she wanted. It's a great big frickin hideous unicorn.



It is as tall as Evie is. It is vividly, violently, pink. And, I'm sorry, but it just looks mean. Look at those eyes. It's evil. I think it may be the paper-mache incarnation of one of those flesh-eating unicorns my girls are always pretending to be. I have it stored in my bedroom, so as to prevent any pre-birthday pinata ruination, but now every time I walk in there it's sitting on my dresser glaring at me.

I'm kind of looking forward to watching Lucy take this sucker down.

I really, really love Oregon. I've lived here all my life and I've never really been tempted to consider moving elsewhere. I think it's stunningly beautiful and got everything you could want in the way of variety--cities and forests, beaches and mountains, deserts and valleys. And normally, I do not mind the frequently-rainy weather at all.

Except when it interferes with my plans.

You see, I've got two little girls with birthdays very soon, and we've been planning a big joint birthday bash. In three days. At their favorite park. Yep, park. Outside. With only one small covered shelter.

Right now, I'm looking out the window at my rosebushes being whipped to bits by heaving winds. Raindrops coat the windows. I can hear the droplets pounding the roof and the water gushing out the downspout.

Oregon, Oregon, why do you do this to me? Why are you so unpredictable? Why, weather, why can't you cooperate with me? Two years ago, when I was massively pregnant with Evie, we decided to have Lucy's birthday a little early so as to avoid me going into labor at the party. So we had it in May that year, and it was so freakishly hot that we were all miserable and the ice cream melted instantaneously. It was over 100 degrees.

And now this year we're again celebrating in May, and apparently we're going to get a hurricane. Well, actually the current forecast for Saturday says: "Occasional showers possible." I'm trying to focus in on those first and last words. Occasional showers. Possible. Not: it is definitely going to rain on your little girls' party.

Now, we can of course transfer the party to an indoor location if the weather looks wretched. But I know the girls will be sad to miss out on the big park shindig they had planned on. And I hate to make my girls sad.

I don't generally believe that God arranges the weather to suit our particular convenience. As my friend Jennifer said, I don't believe in the God of parking spaces. But...if the weather did happen to improve in time for the weekend...I just might be giving thanks for a small miracle.

P.S. Before I even got around to hitting "publish post" on this thing, the rain had stopped and sunshine and blue sky were breaking through. See what I mean? Unpredictable.

You ever feel like you've got so many things going on that you're not really sure which one to turn to first? I'm not even talking about the actual work and parenting and cooking and laundry that fills my days. I'm just talking about all these things that I keep thinking I'm going to get around to.

Don't you wish you had the time to perfect all kinds of amazing skills? I would really love to be a best-selling novelist, a published poet, a master gardener, an artisan chef, and a great photographer. I would also like to travel all over the world, and learn to speak a couple foreign languages well. Oh, and re-learn to play the piano.

I totally don't get those people who say that if they win the lottery they're just going to keep going to their day job so that nothing changes about their life. Or that they can't imagine being retired because they think they'd be bored.

Are you kidding? I think I'd like to retire now. Or else, live the life of a noblewoman in Jane Austen-era England, when a young lady's focus was expected to be on her "accomplishments:" reading, studying foreign languages, painting, playing the piano. No actual work, just hobbies. Except minus the whole part where you're not allowed to vote or speak your mind or have a life apart from that of your husband.

One of these days, I think I'll get to spend all my time the things that actually sound fun to me. One of these days.

Today I found myself on my hands and knees in a parking lot, searching desperately for a tiny pink rubber seahorse.

It was Evie's seahorse, and she'd just received it as a prize for her good behavior at the dentist's office. She isn't a formal patient of the dentist yet, but she's so good at charming the staff there that they give her prizes right along with her older sisters.

Oh, but she was overjoyed with that seahorse. She whinnied at an earsplitting pitch, bouncing it up and down in her hand. "Horse! horse! horse!" she chanted, grinning from ear to ear.

And then we went out to the car, and she climbed into her seat all by herself, seahorse in hand. And then she held it out to show it to me one more time, and then it slipped right out of her sticky little fingers, and I tried to grab it, but it was no use. It fell out of the open car door, hit the pavement, bounced once, and disappeared.

She gasped. I gasped. We looked at each other. Her lower lip was already pushing out, and her chin was wobbling. I could have just said, "Oops! Too bad! All gone!" and headed home. But as I stared into those big blue eyes, I just couldn't do that to her. It was her horsie prize, and losing it made her sad. So I'm a sucker. So what.

No, I immediately hit the ground and started crawling around, ignoring whatever stares I was getting from the other people in the parking lot, scouring the uneven surface of the parking lot for the little rubber animal.

I spotted it--there!--it had bounced and rolled way, way under the car. And so I flattened myself down even further, and stuck my arm out as far as it would go, and with my cheek smashed against the pavement, I felt around with my fingertips for the pink seahorse. And then I found it.

And I handed it back to her, and she smiled up at me and whinnied cheerfully, and all was right with the world again.

Thirty years ago, he was born.



(And apparently could have been the winner in a Biggest-Eyed Baby Ever Contest)

Twenty years ago, he was the most adorable baseball player in all of Canada.



(Don't you agree?)

Ten years ago, he swept me off my feet with his amazing sense of style.



(How could I NOT fall for him?)

Every day, he makes me laugh, adores our girls, and makes me feel loved.



(Happy birthday.)

Today's edition of Quick Takes is going to be entirely devoted to things that have been making me happy this week. Because it's a sunny Friday, because I like sharing recommendations, because why not?

1. Restyle Resale. This is a new women's consignment store in the North Albany shopping center. I like buying things second-hand, because I am cheap. But a lot of thrift stores are smelly and crowded and you have to sort through racks and racks of denim jumpers and polyester pants to find anything decent. This place, however, is devoted to fashionable women's clothing in like-new condition. The prices aren't Goodwill-cheap, but for the quality of the clothes they carry, they're very reasonable. Also, the shop is new and bright and clean and gorgeous. It's a lot like Second Glance in Corvallis. If you're a local, definitely check it out.

2. I saw this chicken sandwich recipe on PW Cooks this week, and knew immediately that I must try it. Chicken. Good bread. Dijon/apricot sauce. Spinach leaves. Yum. I made this on a day when my husband was out of town. And I fed my kids hot dogs, because they wouldn't have liked or appreciated it anyway. And I relished every bit of the sandwich and didn't have to share a bit with anybody. And it was so good I wished I'd made two.

The only changes I made were using whole wheat artisan bread instead of sourdough, and melting a slice of Romano cheese over the chicken breast. Because I like cheese. Oh, and I didn't have apricot preserves so I used marmalade. Still--delicious. Definitely a keeper.

3. This apron from Buy Olympia, a site I like that sells quirky little gifts and art and stuff.


How cute is that? I love it.

4. Oh, and this shirt too!



It cracks me up. (Question: Would I look totally ego-centric if I wore a shirt with "Hotness" across the front?)

5. Talent show! Beth made it in with her comedy act. Seriously, this kid is funny. If you want to hear a fabulous selection of knock-knock jokes and cheesy riddles, she's your girl.

6. Wings of Wonder. OK, slightly corny name, but cool place. It's a butterfly museum/garden place that I went to on a field trip with Beth's kindergarten class. You get to walk around in a big beautiful greenhouse with gorgeous butterflies swooping all around you. It's really cool.



7. Hmmmm....apparently I only have six good things to share with you. Time to pull out the cheater's way of coming up with a number seven: asking for reader response! Readers--what fun things have you stumbled upon this week? Recipes, funny videos, good books, whatever. Please share. YOU can be a part of making this post even more awesome than it already is.

For more quick takes, click here.

All I've done today are the basics.

I cooked breakfast. I cleaned up breakfast. I ran the dishwasher.
I got myself and the kiddos dressed and clean and took Beth to school. I made my bed and put some laundry away and then folded some more laundry and put more laundry away and put new laundry in and ran it through and folded some more.
I unloaded the dishwasher.
We went and got Beth. We all came home and had lunch. I cleaned up lunch, got the dishwasher half-way full again.
I swept the floor.
I took out the trash and emptied my kitchen scraps into the compost bin and turned the compost with a shovel.

I also found time to check my e-mail, catch up on my friends' Facebook posts and read some blogs. I sent funny and/or interesting things to my husband on e-mail, and read some that he had sent me. I checked our bank accounts online.

I read several stories and played a game of Cariboo and picked up all the puppets up off the floor and then watched while the kids dumped them out again and performed a puppet show. I changed diapers.

I put another load of laundry in. I made a grocery list.

That brings me up to about now. That took up half my waking hours, and all I did was the bare minimum that's required to keep a household running. And not even running super-efficiently, as I'm sure you'd agree if you walked into my office and observed the stacks of papers on my desk, the toys all over the floor, the overflowing recycle container. I ran no errands, did not a scrap of work on either my freelancing or my personal writing projects, didn't do any fun projects with the kids or any of the deep-cleaning and organizing that I'm sure my house could really use. I didn't do anything except all the little chores that have to be done every day, that other people come home and do AFTER they have worked all day at a full-time job.

So what's my point, here? Point...point...um, do I have a point?

Not really. Just that keeping a household going takes up a ridiculous amount of time. I can't believe how much time I spend on it. Also, all this doing-nothing makes me tired. Time for an afternoon cup of tea! I've got tons more nothing to do.

The unicorns are on the hunt again.

I could hear them this morning, roaming the house in a pack, fierce carnivores in search of prey. I picture them with snow-white skin, flowing manes and tails, and blood dripping from their golden horns.

After all, you should hear the things these unicorns say to each other.

"OK, there's a daddy bear," says the chief unicorn. "You have to help me get him." The other members of the pack whinny their assent, and the next thing he knows, the poor fat bear, who was just lumbering along through the forest in search of berries, is surrounded.

"Get him! Bite, kick, stab!" the leader directs her crew. Soon their prey lies lifeless beneath their hooves. As one, they neigh their triumph to the sky.

Next it's the second-in-command's turn to strike out on her own. Standing in the bathroom, I pause in my morning routine to hear my sweet, sweet, second-born shriek out her blood-thirsty unicorn cries.

"There's a wolf! Let's kill the beast! I will stab him--there! STAB!" She whinnies loudly. "A-HA! Now he's MEAT!"

And the unicorn herd rides off into the sunset to hunt another day, leaving an imaginary trail of bloody carcasses scattered around my living room.

Beth was in tears. She was not getting her way about something and she didn't like it. I was trying to be gentle, but I was insisting that she accept the answer without throwing a fit.

"But I can't help it, Mama! When you say no it makes me s-s-s-sooo sad," she hiccuped. "And a little mad. And that just makes me feel....really fussy!"

I wrapped my arms around her and tried not to giggle out loud.

Sad, mad, and really fussy....that's pretty much how I feel when things don't go according to my personal plans, too.