Pink Prickly Pear

We moved our computer upstairs.  It's conveniently out of the way from babies who like to chew on wires (still haven't figured out what to do about the walls), but very inconveniently out of the way of stay at home mothers who feel like blathering on about nothing in particular and hitting "publish now" counts as a "creative outlet".  Hmmmm, when I put it that way, maybe it is conveniently out of the way.

***

So, we recently celebrated our tenth anniversary.  At the county fair.  With the kids.  Hey!  We eloped to Vegas, were you expecting just the two of us to head to a Balinese resort for couples massages and snorkeling?  Mini-Pear and Mr. Pear went on all the vomit comets.  I held the baby and our water and just-in-case long sleeves and watched teenagers performing the dance of summer courtship.  I had a funnel cake, which was excellent, because really, who fucks up hot fried dough with powdered sugar on top.  A couple of hours later, I had a totally nasty barbeque beef sandwich.  Not nasty like Janet Jackson, just regular nasty.  I threw it away after two bites.  Which left me with plenty of room to share a caramel apple stack.  Caramel apple stacks are a vast improvement on the lowly caramel apple.  No swiveling away from your eager little teeth and rolling off down the midway, plus there's all that caramel left in the bottom of the cup for you to slurp. 

Love caramel.  Also, obviously, love Mr. Pear.  Like, more than caramel.  And sometimes with caramel, but that's a whole other (private! locked!) entry.  

I'm pretty sure I haven't brushed my teeth yet.

I wonder how many times I can put these Trader Joe O's back in a little cup after the boy dumps them on the floor?

It's something to do, I guess.

Confession:  I quite enjoy reality television.  Well, not Survivor or shows like that...it's the shows about people with more money than sense (Hulu, please stream more of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, New Jersey, Orange County, etc...) that suck me in.

However, after watching two My Super Sweet Sixteens in a row last night, I think my appetite for shows about spoiled teenage girls is quelled.  I think that show I watched last week about NYC prep school kids pushed me to the outer limits and last night, it all just spilled over.  From my pinned in position on the bed, sleep'n'spin D'anjou on one side, laptop balancing Mr. Pear on the other, I just about managed to squeak out a "Make it stop..."

For what it's worth, I did attempt a little politics of food last night, but I just cannot get into The Omnivore's Dilemma.  I'm not getting enough sleep lately, and the place I'm noticing it the most is my brain's capacity to absorb all but the fluffiest information.  Hey!  I think yours would too if first and foremost it was continually scanning all surfaces for choking hazards and scalable eights, not to mention the ever present "Where's the boy?" alarm.

But I've got to get into The Omnivore's Dilemma, if only because it's what my in-laws (they of the Splenda and the South Beach Diet) were reading on their visit.  Amusingly, they seemed quite horrified by my consumption of organic instant oatmeal for breakfast.  Not that pulverized grains in a little paper sack is my first choice, but after the boy's sucked me dry all night long, I am famished and instant organic oatmeal fills me up...and fast. 

He is so close to walking it's not even funny.  I doubt you will hear about it here, because I suspect once he gets up on two legs I really won't ever have time for much of anything.

I would write something more substantial, but over the weekend I totally messed up my little gauzy lace shawl I've been knitting.  I spent a great deal of time yesterday un-knitting (I spend so much time un-knitting one would think it was a favorite pastime - you know, right up there with sweeping dog fur off the floor) and then re-knitting, only to realize that in un-knitting, I created even more of a total mess.  Aaarrrgggghhhh.  My knitting time is too limited to spend hours unpicking lace weight yarn.  Finally, the boy fell asleep on the way to karate, so I spent the duration of the class in the car, wrestling it back into a semblance of its former self.  In other words, it's all back together again, but I am now desperate for the opportunity to bang out some trouble free rows (and maybe stream MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen a documentary on food politics off the internet...).

 

My mum called tonight.  I've been a stranger.

The minute I answer the phone, D'anjou charges towards me.  It's a full tilt crawl, accompanied by shrieks of happiness and lots of drool.

"Do you hear that?...oh..oh...poop running down the leg!  Call you back!"

This is how it goes.

We made it down to Old Town San Diego over the weekend.  Erm...quaint (in a tourist-y you could buy this stuff for a tenth of the cost if you drove down to Mexico kind of way), lots of old stuff...buildings, wagons, historical re-enactors on their smoke break.  Actually, we weren't there for the old stuff (plus, it's California, so old is only the 1800s, and that's really not all that old).  We had heard the Old Town Rootbeer Company has a perpetual buy one, get one free rootbeer float special.  We like root beer.  We like ice cream.  We like saving money.

Except when we got out of the car, it looked very much like the Old Town Rootbeer Company was closed.  For good.  For lease signs in the windows and all that.

Might as well look at some old stuff.  Like poorly maintained graveyards.  Mini-pear was distressed at the lack of ice cream at the end of our journey.  So after a dutiful look around the dusty square, we found some adequate ice cream and a shady spot and listened to a Peruvian pipe band long enough to hear it cover Simon and Garfunkel.  Ouch.  Time to go.  As we walked back to the car, feeling slightly sticky and overly full of cold dairy on a warm afternoon, we noticed that the Old Town Rootbeer Company was not, in fact, out of business.  It shared a building with a couple of other businesses that were no longer doing so well, but there it was...and we were full.

Damnit.  We did come home with a mixed six pack of microbrewed rootbeers to taste test, but we will have to go back for our floats.

No-No-Bad-Dog...

...strikes again.

There's a special place somewhere for Craigslist no-shows on gorgeous Sunday afternoons. 

Whatev.  We enjoyed ourselves anyway, so I suppose it's neither here nor there.

Last week, Mandy sent us home from what can only be described as a canning party* with a pile of peaches.  I was determined to make a pie, and I was going to have to be quick about it, because those delicious peaches were going fast.  I also had to be realistic.  D'anjou was not going to wait in the wings while I messed about with pastry, so I settled on a crumble (with a quick and dirty topping of flour, sugar, butter, oatmeal and almonds).  Once all my peaches were prepped, it was obvious we'd eaten too many peaches, so I added blueberries.  The end result?  A whole lot of yum.  There was not a lot left over.  We like sweet treats.  We like to eat them at 11:30 in the morning on a Sunday.

Sunday in pictures?

My babies sharing a quiet moment together.

Catching up to the rest of the family on the way to the park.  I love stepping out our door and seeing the ocean.

Smiley boy.

I love this picture of my thoughtful girl.

What do you do with the red wax that comes on your baby bella cheese?  We make gum.

D'anjou gets his first shiner.  Explora-boy meets table leg.

^{* As always, she has posted some excellent photos of the event over on her blog, so pop on over for a look-see!}

Lists, lists, lists. Who has time for anything more?

He climbed onto a storage box I'd left next to my sewing table:
a paperclip
a threaded sewing needle
3 pieces of felt

He pulled himself up on a small side table:
a houseplant (tried to eat the leaves)
magazines (tried to eat the pages)
folded laundry (not folded anymore)
smoke detector

He tried to climb into his stroller (funny, since he never seems all that happy about it when I'm putting him in there):
library books

We were lazy when we got home and left our things by the door:
his sister's flip flops
contents of diaper bag - in particular, wipes, keys, wallet, his own shoes

Things we can't find new homes for, but I wish we could:
CD cases
bookshelves
dog's water bowl
trashcan
the fireplace

Today...

Grocery shopping
Laundry
Pick up library books
Meet Mr. Pear for picnic lunch
Laundry
Gym class
Karate
Quick and easy dinner

flutterbyes...

One of the families in our unschooling group set up a visit to a local butterfly vivarium yesterday.  After checking the map, I realized we would be able to walk over there.  Then I realized I didn't have any cash in my wallet.  A detour to the ATM at this late moment, would have necessitated hopping in the car.  Wah...

So I called Mr. Pear.  Could he meet me at the bottom of the hill with some cash and then we could continue our walk?  He was at a point where he could step away from his desk for the five minutes needed. Yay!

It makes all the difference, living close to work, being able to walk to most amenities.  It's not always possible, so I hope we can continue to make it happen for us.  At this point, we're walking so much, I feel a bit resentful when I do need to get in the car.  Before we went on vacation, I ordered baskets for my bike.  D'anjou is happy to ride in the trailer, and Mini-Pear is getting more comfortable riding longer distances.  It will be nice to be able to go that much further...and carry groceries, library books, beach towels, etc.  Walking is great, but on a bike we can do so much more!

The vivarium was lovely.  There were pieces of watermelon the children could hold and coax the butterflies in for a closer look, but the butterflies were everwhere - landing on elbows, shoulders, gently opening and closing their wings like living hair ornaments on your head.  I didn't bring my camera - the above photo is courtesy of Flo, who at one point was focused on taking a close up of one butterfly, while another rested on the top of her camera!