This Explains Everything

At 4:30 am, we hear Tiny Viking calling "DAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDYYYYY."

Like any normal, sleep-deprived parents, we try to ignore it (what? it wasn't a panicky cry, I promise).

It continues a couple more times, and we decide we can't ignore it any more. Lawnboy gets up to see what he wants, and he says "I go bed, Mommy."

Lawnboy brings him into our bed where he proceeds to wiggle and squirm like a tiny marmocet who has just taken a hit or two of meth. I can't take it any more, this lack of sleep, and I say to Tiny Viking, "Were you sent here by evil insomniac Gypsies???"

He pauses a beat, and then responds "....uh, YEAH!"

I hope those Gypsies are happy with our actual child. I'm sure they're getting a lot of sleep. I won't pursue it legally, mostly because Tiny Viking is so damn cute.

Why We Garden

Growing up, both our families had a backyard garden. My husband's parents' garden was considerably more substantial than my own parents', but nonetheless, by the time we were five, we both knew a carrot was a miracle that happened underground and that those frozen peas in December were a sorry substitute for what happens in June. In fact, gorging on the peas that were always planted by our woodpile is one of my earliest memories.

When we bought our first house, Lawnboy and I were smart enough to close on it in January, which left just (barely) enough time to dig up some of the grass in the lovely southern-exposed back yard, so we could get the babies in the ground by March and April. We learn as we go, and five years later, we can look back on our garden journal and have been able to improve on what we started. We are no longer "on a break" from our friends the Cabbage Family, we have finally figured out the mysteries of those delicate and delicious plants. We know to rotate everything, and we know that if the tomatoes have blossom end rot, they aren't getting enough calcium.

But why do we keep doing it?

Because sustaining our lives with some dirt and tiny seeds are the closest we could ever get to understanding the meaning of our existence. Because our kids deserve to know that potatoes don't come in mesh bags, and that while onions may rot, leeks are with us all year round. Because every time we watch a seed grow we're reminded of how miraculous and sacred life is. Not just the pumpkin, not our darling baby boys, not the soldiers everywhere, but ALL life. Because it is reassuring to know that we don't have to rely solely on the industrial economy to put food in our mouths. Because there will come a time when our children, or our children's children, might not have a choice in the matter. Because life is about the survival of genes. And we want ours to survive.

Golden Hour by the Lake

IMG_0248, originally uploaded by lankathi.

Uncle Thane came to visit us in September, and we had a grand time showing him around Seattle. One of our favorite places for a picnic is a little park on Lake Washington, and we were there at the most beautiful time of the day. Fezzik showed Uncle Thane all around our park, and we ended up on the dock enjoying the sunset.

Tiny Viking on Slide

Long delays! We've been *living* y'all!

Here is the small one at our favorite playground, hamming it up on the syide. Which, in twospeak, means "slide."

More to come real soon - I just configured my flickr account to post directly to the blog, so hopefully that will keep me more motivated to share pics with you.

Pickles!

I realized that my summer weekends are now a thing of the past. We have two weddings next weekend, and after that we're headed to Montana for a major road trip vacation.

That said, we had a lot of stuff to put up from the garden. The green beans are overwhelming, the cucumbers keep coming, the zucchini is... not quite overwhelming, but I could survive on zucchini alone. I love the stuff. We never have too much.

A weekend full of canning was in order. Here's what we put by (sorry for the lack of pictures, I'll update later).

• Seven pounds of scarlet runner beans (canned)
• Seven half-pints of blueberry jam
• Five half-pints of raspberry jelly
• Two quarts of asian-style refrigerator pickles
• One quart of half-sours, a fermented dill pickle

This quart-at-a-time pickling is quite convenient. I have never tried to do fermented dill pickles before (our sweet pickles are brined/fermented for 14 days before they are canned). I am excited to see the results. The recipe, from The Joy of Pickling, says that half-sours are "cucumbers still, not pickles - little cucumbers who have died and gone to heaven." I'll let you know our assessment in a week or so.

Pictures

I'm running out of brains. My only excuses for not posting my usual, pithy entries is that it's been a very crappy spring - broken friendships, grandma's death, having to put down our favorite old cat. By put down, I mean murder (even if it was the kindest thing for him, it still felt like murder).

Anyway, these can speak for themselves for now. And if you haven't already heard, please join us for the Swedish SummeRun - it's going to be held on what would have been my mom's 63rd birthday, and it has been 5 years since her death, so we want a HUGE team this year in her honor. Sign up here.

And now, on with the show! We went for a little walk at the Mima Mounds a couple weekends ago, just after we hit a farm auction (which was more fun than it sounds, at least for me). These mounds are mysterious, and people still don't know how they got here. Some folks say they're a result of glacial melts, some say Native Americans made them, others say pocket gophers (really). Our money is on the glaciers, but what do we know?


Then, for your viewing pleasure, is Fezzik's ATTACK FACE. Click on the picture for a close-up, it's totally worth it. Believe me when I tell you he missed this ball, but the next one was a nice hard line drive. His baseball skills really improved this year, and more importantly, he liked playing. He was a great little hitter! He was one of 2 kids who homered this year, and doggone it, even if it was a result of the other team's incompetence, IT COUNTS. That is all; I'll put my rabid Baseball Mom attitude aside until Fall Ball starts. Thank you.

The Ice Age

Woke up this morning, on the hottest day in 9 months, to a wee baby with a 101 degree fever.

It's rough trying to work from home when you have a 2-year-old, hot, sweaty kid wanting to be held all day. I am not one to say no to holding my sick baby, either. The not-wearing-pants part is a great benefit on a day like today, 90 degrees in the shade (83 by my laptop...).

So, instead of 8 contiguous hours, I get to break my workday up into little chunks, and work 12 broken up hours.

To tell you the absolute truth, I would much rather have been in the office today, where there is air conditioning. I am a WIMP! When the mercury climbs above 78 I start melting.

We've worked out a complicated compromised schedule for tomorrow, one where Lawnboy gets up even earlier than normal, and I start the day like normal, but come back after dropping off Fezzik at school, and dropping of Tiny Viking the Contagious with his dad before I head to work. Phew!

But air conditioning? Here I come. And I may not wear pants tomorrow either. I'm just warning you.