"It's Friday & I'm in Love" Sharing.

I don't have a product or song that I'm in love with this week.  I have an verb.  Sharing.  When you have kids, this verb runs strong in your household.  Either they're just learning to share or you're constantly working on it.  I can't think of anything else you focus on during year two of the baby's life.  Some parents work very hard with this action.  Other parents just shrug their shoulders & say, "What are you going to do about it?"  Some parents play the gender card, "She's a girl.  Can't you find another toy?"  Other parents make a strong front with the verb.  One whine from a kid & they swoop in to enforce the sharing.  Others wait until there's screams & a broken toy.  A disclaimer: I don't believe that a 14-month-old should be expected to share with a 3-year-old.  And since the 14 month-old isn't going to share with the 3 year-old, sharing rules can be bent.  3 & a 5 year-old?  Absolutely!    Share, kids!  Share.

Don't you love when it happens & you aren't there to gently demand it?  Here's a scene that unfolded a couple of months ago.  Because I know this is a rare occasion,  I had to document it.  Someday when they're fighting over the car, I'm going to dig up this photo & shove in their little teenage faces.

Coop really wanted the last 4 block & Becks had it.  Notice his disgust & anger.

After whining (when does that end?) about it, Becks said, "He can have mine!"

Coop isn't quite sure that Beck is going to fork it over, but he's hoping.

And just like that our world was good.

May you share your weekend with loved ones!

-Erika

It Gets In Your Brain

. . . and you know what? That's a-ok with me. The whole album (there, I'll sufficiently date myself . . . I still call them albums) is pretty damn good. Have a listen! And enjoy the weekend early - Dave and I are off to Montreal for the weekend. Something about celebrating our 19th anniversary, I think.

- Jill

I would think that most people returning home for a class reunion would spend anywhere from three seconds to weeks examining their life.  How could you not?  I’m not talking a huge Examination.  Is this where I wanted to be?  How did I end up here?  No, the simpler one.  I’m no longer a child & haven’t been one for years.  Believe me.  This isn't a new realization.  I’ve been called, “Mrs.” a few times.  It’s hit or miss if someone even cards for the wine I’m buying & most times I think the cashier is just trying to be sweet.  I’m realize that I'm no child, but attend a party where everyone is practically screaming, “You’ve been an adult for 15 years!” & that point is hammered home.

That hammering made this trip feel extra Memory Lane-ish.  I felt like I didn’t walk into my parents’ home, but I walked into a museum of my youth.  Two things before I continue.  One, I live 45 minutes from my parents.  I go home often, but not for high school reunions that force you to feel old.  Two, I’m not so vain as to think the house is a museum to MY youth. It’s my families’ youth.  But since I was the only one home experiencing it, my side got the slant.  I’ll continue.  Every room had an artifact that was dusty with memories.  I walked into the kitchen exhibit & found the squatty orange Tupperware container that held baked cookies.  Flip it over & you’ll notice a scar from when one of us left it on the stove’s burner.  Nestled next to the increasing bottles of prescriptions, I found the simple recipe box.  I’ve flipped through that box at least a dozen times searching for the No-Bake Cookie card.  I've slammed it shut a dozen times only to whine to my Mom that it wasn’t in there.  And she's found it a dozen times.

As I shuffled along to the porch area, I noticed that the curators’ must have felt like it was ok for visitors to play with some of the artifacts.  My boys created a community surrounded the Little People toys.  A hospital on the left.  A school on the right.  All leading up to the castle in the cul-de-sac.  The little plastic bed was missing the foam because we yanked it out as children.  The monkey was missing his rubber foot because it was too easy for one of us to chew off.  These missing parts didn't ruin the boys' community.  They added some 2010 flavor by lining up the Star War toys on the roof of the castle.  Subtract those fighters & about 30 years, you would have seen a similar scene unfold with my siblings.  When you leave the porch there’s a small section of glass in the door.  It isn't marked with a plaque or a set of ropes, but if you hold your ear close to it, you can actually hear an argument that took place decades ago.  My brother was angry with my older sister.  He slammed the door & she fell through.  Get your ear even closer & hold your breath so you can hear my mother beg us not to move because of the broken glass.

Later that night, I put my boys to sleep in that museum. I let them fall asleep with one of the oldest pieces: a picture that lights up an entire room.   When I clumsily twist the switch, the hum & flicker of that light transports me back to my grandparents’ house.  It hung over the bed that my sisters’ & I slept in when we visited.   Because a Light-Up Picture is rare & precious, my mother took it from her parents’ museum.  It now serves the same function that it always has.  It ushers little bodies into sleep safely & without worry of the dark.

My mother was thrifty.  She had to be with four children.  But things weren’t disposed of so easily back then either.  You kept your wedding towels even if they didn’t match the new bathroom color.  I’m grateful that these objects still reside in my parents’ house.  And it gives me more of a reason to keep the things in my house.  Not the mountain of toys that seem to magically pile up after repeat trips to Goodwill.  But the tiny hill of beloved toys that are dragged out daily.  The books with spines that are worn & wrinkled from constant openings.  The cookbooks with pages that are splattered from over use.  The Batman sheets that are washed & immediately put back on the bed because it’s the only way to sleep.  The things that will hopefully remind our children of their own simpler time.

-Erika

"It's Friday & I'm In Love" 35mm Lens

This post is heavy on photos . . . sorry in advance, but I really am in love - J

 
Dear Becky -

I think we've met once, no twice: first when Erika and I were headed to Evolve to put a down payment on my tattoo, and then again at Comfest that weekend. But I more than owe you a huge, huge thanks. When Erika and I were talking about lenses, I mentioned that I wanted to get a fixed/normal lens, and it concerned me because I couldn't figure out what to do: get the one that Erika has and then always, always, always manually focus it or just deal with the kit lens that I had. For a while, it seemed like I was opting with the kit lens because, let's face it, manually focusing for me would be painful. Trust me, it's not pretty . . . lots of grimacing and brow rubbing and more cursing per minute than a woman has a right to.

Apparently she didn't like how is smelled

"You know they make a 35 mm lens for the D40. My friend Becky bought one, and she's really happy with it," said Erika. She went on to mention something about taking the lens out back and showing it a good time, and you know what? You were right . . . this lens is amazing . . . I'd like to lick it all over, but I failed to buy the lens cleaning kit. Maybe next week I'll give it a run for its money when Dave and I are in Montreal.

We spend hours at this duck pond when the Girls were little . . . it was deserted today

 

Next time I'm in Columbus, drinks are on me. We'll let our lenses mix and mingle . . . who knows what they'll get up to. Enjoy your weekend, everyone! I'm participating in a photowalk tomorrow evening, and I'm kind of afraid that people will figure out I don't belong there because I really am figuring out this whole photography thing as I go. But knitting . . . knitting is easy.

- Jill

It will be a scarf eventually

 

Words to live by . . . they get me through the day

 

Raindrops are hard to capture . . . crap

 

I love this bag (but I love the lens more since you can see the knitting inside)

 

I really need a camera bag . . . Dave, I'd like this one for our anniversary . . . please?

I'm smitten.

Are you?

-Erika

Hasty Decisions.

I'm a planner.  If we do anything, I like to have the time to prepare.  Lists are made & piles are organized.  And when the day arrives, we're ready to Move-Out.  But this week, I'm grateful for hasty decisions.  During Wednesday's dinner, I floated the idea about camping.  We've been dreaming of a family camping trip since I was pregnant with Cooper.  For the past 10 years, we camp with a large group of friends.  It's strictly a No-Kids event.  Nothing lurid happens, but it's nice to get a break from Parenting & kids would change the entire vibe of the weekend.  Not mention, I'd be a nervous wreck with the kids in our canoe.  And where would the cooler fit?  Back to Wednesday night...

Mark jumped on board & began checking the weather reports.  It looked clear.  Since we're skilled campers, everything was packed & organized.  It took very little effort for us to prepare.  Let's camp in the summer!  The boys were told & the site was reserved.  When I clicked the "Purchase" button, some regret began to bubble up.  Wasn't the A/C going to be fixed on Friday?  Aren't we sick of the heat already?  How are we going to escape it outdoors?  I don't have time to get everything ready!  What are we going to do with a toddler on camp site?  What the hell is wrong with us?  This hasty decision could only have been made in a state of delirium brought on by living with no A/C in house with only two functioning windows.  But it was made & the camp stuff was slowly being brought upstairs.  I asked every question I could that might pass this doubt onto Mark.  "Each site has electricity.  What if we're next to a camper that runs its air the entire night?"  "What are we going to do with Becket?"  "What if he runs into the woods & he never comes home?"  "What if the Beach is only a gravel pit surrounding a puddle of mud?"  "What if it floods?"  "What are we going to do from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. at night with the boys?"  "What if..."  He knows me & just let the questions pass.

{Notice the different pile sizes?  I think he just noticed it too.}

My biggest worry was concerning Becket.  I knew Cooper would find a way to entertain himself for the weekend.   But a toddler?  I almost brought some blocks, but we ran out of room in the trunk.  I begged him to bring Guys to play with, but he didn't want any.  What was this kid going to do all weekend?  What could I bring that would satisfy him all weekend?  Clearly,  I haven't learned my lesson with this one.  The only thing I ever need to bring is Cooper.  He's his shadow.  Cooper tells a story.  Becket repeats it.  Cooper says, "Baby-Head."  Becket calls you, "Baby-Head.  Tree-Head. Toilet-Head" & laughs about it.  Keep Cooper happy & Becks is happy by default.  At this stage of our Parenting lives, this is the key to happiness.
 

When we got to the campsite, all of my other doubts were chased away by the beauty of it all.  Our site was lush & tucked into a canopy of natural shade.  I realized that we were going to spend the weekend alone & I was excited for this moment.  It wasn't that we'd get a break from technology, but we were going to get a break from everything.  Whatever happened it was going to be our responsibility to deal with it.  And there's a simplicity in knowing that your only option is to just Deal.  At home if I'm out of an ingredient, it requires a anger-filled trip to the store.  Don't you hate when you forget the key ingredient?  At the campsite, you just deal with the fact that we have no ketchup & there's no point in pouting about it.  No one asked to watch Batman or anything else.  But we were asked to play dozens of Uno matches.  We learned that Cooper is competitive & that we can never play Monopoly with him.  One of us will be forced to leave the family for good.  Mark & I aren't nice Monopoly players.   The boys giggled at night because they got to sleep next to each other.  We didn't take guide books or try to squeeze in nature lessons.  We just let the weekend unfold.  The boys spent their mornings at the site building with dominoes, organizing the Army Men into troops & playing with stickers.  Never once was I asked, "What can I do?"  The only complaint we got was that the fire hurt Cooper's eyes.

 {Via changed my Camping-Life!}

I take that back.  Cooper took the majority of the Army Men & Becket wasn't happy about it.  Camping or not, that kind of argument will never end.

-Erika

p.s. Here's a few more...

{He was very concerned that Becks was going to walk into "traffic"}

{I decided to give "Eat. Pray. Love" one more chance. I'm glad I did}

{Toy Story Dominoes were a hit, but are too easy. And I'm pretty sure Mark & I don't play correctly.}

{He was so happy that he found some shells on his own.}

"It's Friday & I'm In Love" Fresh, Frozen Herbs

How was your week? Ours flew by quite fast . . . hence a week without a post. I'm sure that Erika's had more to do with having no air conditioning, but honestly, I have no idea.

I've been doing more and more cooking this summer. It has a lot to do with the Girls leaving for their first apartment in a few weeks and really not knowing a whole lot about how a kitchen works. Trust me, they're not slow, but I've never placed a real emphasis on cooking in our home. When we bought the home, we bought it based upon charm and the price. It has gorgeous hardwood floors and moldings and the best tree in the world in front of it (seriously, it is the best . . . you won't sway me on that). Plus, it reminded me of my childhood home . . . and the price was right. But with that mindset, we gave up a lot. We don't have air conditioning (but we've lived without it for so long that I really don't bat an eye when people tell us they don't have air cough, cough . . . my sister) or a dishwasher or more than five square feet of counter space or more than 2.5 closets. Cooking, and the cleanup that goes with it, is kind of challenging. So, we ate out quite a bit partially because the Girls were busy all through school but more because of the lack of anything in the kitchen.

Even so, I enjoy cooking a lot. The way that the flavors meld together and work their scents throughout the house . . . priceless. And for me, there is nothing in the world like the smell of cilantro. It simply smells green. Seriously. Go break off a few leaves in the grocery store and crush them between your fingers. It smells like green. If Crayola could figure out a way to make crayons smell of anything other than wax, which I happen to think is pretty divine, leaf green would smell of cilantro.

In the past, I would use whatever I needed in a recipe and then the rest of the cilantro - or any type of herb - would languish in the fridge and then go all squiffy and slimy and gross. For some reason, even though I saw the little cubes of frozen herbs in the freezer section at Wegmans, I never even thought of doing it on my own. Until now.

Maybe it's the fact that the Girls are leaving for their first apartment and will be cooking their own meals. Maybe it's the realization that I am getting slightly more frugal in my old age. Maybe it's trying to save money for a new lens and bag . . . whatever. The process was so simple that I really should have done it a long time ago. Rinse, chop in mini-food processor, spoon in to ice cube trays, fill with a little bit of water, freeze, pop out and put in freezer bags. In mid-January, when I need a little something to remind me of warmth of summer, "fresh" cilantro on some pasta will more than fit the bill.

Enjoy the weekend! And if you can think of any simple, easy to cook recipes for two Girls, leave me a link in the comments.

Jill