ingrid

Inez has been slightly sleep disrupted lately.  The nice, regular naps of her babyhood have given way to the herby-jerky starts and stops of late toddlerhood.  She needs a nap, she doesn’t want a nap, when she finally gets the nap, she messes around at night until 9:30pm.  It is trouble.  As an imperfect parent, I don’t know whether to cut the naps out and aim for a decent bedtime or hold the line and not worry about when she nods off at night.  Ahhh….year three.  How you torture me.

Knowing that whatever I think of doing will mostly likely be wrong, I have decided to take each day as it comes.  Some days we are going so hard that we just cruise on through nap time.  Some days I think we won’t take a nap and then find this when I sit down to read a book on the couch at 10:30am—

And then there are days when she does get the sleep she needs and then at night we can hear her tiptoe all over the upstairs bedroom long after her brother has fallen asleep (that’s about 2 minutes by my count).  She messes around, she pulls out all the books, and as we still have the crib there, she moves from bed to bed looking for a more comfortable spot like the princess and the pea.  Invariably though, she finds the place she is most comfortable; asleep in front of the door on a bed of tiny board books, looking much like a murder victim.

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Yeah, I realize that I am sort of going backwards here.  At this rate, I could post something about Easter next.  I figured that I needed to get up pictures of the kids soon though.  It has taken me a bit because my iPhoto is really bogging down.  Could it be the 9000 photos in there?  You know how the advent of digital photos made you take 10 pictures of the same thing instead of one decent picture?  The thought was that then you could go back and select the best to keep.  My problem is that I never went back.  I am starting at the beginning and deleting liberally, which is a poignant exercise as much of what I am deleting is my PRECIOUS LITTLE BABY photos.  I am not even through Francis and I dumped 1000 “not as good” photos.  I am keeping the best ones of course, but it is still hard to trash them forever.

ANNNNNNYYWAY……

Halloween.  The kids talk about Halloween costumes for months before October even peeks around the corner.  I think we are generally planning for costumes round about April, with final plans drafted early September.  We make everything of course because that is half the fun.  Plus it is one of the only times the kids think we are cool, so needless to say, we don’t want to throw that one over too lightly.

Brad has a great technique with the kids; one which he also uses when it is time to make pinatas.  He asks the same question each day for a week.  When the kid gives the same answer three days in a row, that is what he starts working on.

This year I had a freaking awful morning with the children one inservice day.  It was suppose to be great because we had nowhere to go, but as it was, we got trapped in a horrible maelstrom of whining and yelling.  (I tried to stop whining, really I did!). It looked like the whole day was bound to go to crap, but then we started digging through fabric in my studio.  In reality, I probably was trying to ESCAPE the kids, but they followed and engaged me and I made the best of it by shifting everyones focus to Halloween costumes.

Initially Zephyr wanted to be a clone trooper.  I sort of nixed that one.  It is the helmet thing.  I knew that Brad could do some paper mache magic, but you just never know in Oregon if it is going to be pelting down rain or 60 and balmy on Halloween night.  Next suggestion was a sting ray which was more my speed.

I learned something this year:  everything can be “poncho-ized”.  The poncho is the great Halloween costume middle ground.  Many a thing starts with a poncho, including sting rays.

Love the poncho.

Francis initially wanted to be a musketeer, which seemed super easy, if not too creative.  We had most of the elements of that costume already because she had been Puss in Boots a few Halloweens ago.  Or maybe it was for Mardi Gras?  Anyway, a musketeer is just Puss sans ears plus mustache.

Digging through the fabric though, we came across a bunch of (really tacky) stuff I bought a year or so ago when Zephyr said he wanted to be a mermaid.  Francis, in typical 8 year old form, said, “Ooooooooo!  It is beauoooooootiful!”.  So we started in on figuring out how to make her a mermaid.

I had a general concept for the tail—which she didn’t like.  When you are 8, you don’t care how you will walk down the street.  You want to cover those feet because of course, “mermaids don’t HAVE feet Mom!”.  She was close to tears, but I insisted that she must be able to walk.  I made a mid length skirt and then tacked on huge fins which then attached to black elastic that looped around her arms.  She could lift her arms to lift her fins.

Next problem wasn’t so hard.  I was not about to let my daughter run around in a bikini top.  I have nothing against bikini tops—I am not particularly modest myself— but bikinis belong at the beach or the swimming pool, not at school or trick or treating.

Going to Oregon Children’s Theater productions, I’ve really observed how the costume designers interpret and suggest features of the characters using textures and quality of fabric.  To make a chicken, they put a woman in tights and crocs and a square dance skirt with multi colored flounce.  The fluffiness of the skirts suggested the feathers and big butt of a chicken.  If they need to make a bug, they focus on color, crazy shoes and glasses.  Maybe a hat.  You don’t have to make the whole thing to make the viewer identify the subject.

Following these principles, I dug up this really cool crocheted top that my mom gave me.  I’ve worn it a couple times, but it has these drawstrings on it, so I knew I could cinch it up a lot.  Because it is crocheted, it suggests fishing nets, which to me suggests mermaids.  I think it worked.

We glue gunned a bunch of shells, broken necklaces, and nerd air beads to a fleece crown as the final touch.  (Air gun pellets are all over the pedestrian overpass most weekends.  They piss me off so much!  Don’t these teenagers realize they are LITTERING?  Anyway, I pick them up and this time glued them to the crown.)

Inez was a tag-team effort.  She wanted to be a shark.  I was tired of making costumes, so I handed it off to Brad.  Actually first I made her a poncho, then I handed it off to Brad.

Brad has some really great paper skills.  He sat down and figured this head out, then worked with craft foam sheets to make it more permanent.  I can’t say enough about those craft foam sheets.  I am sure they are some sort of environmental nightmare, but man, they work great!  You can glue gun them together and they sort of melt in the heat which can create a super clean bond (if you work fast and carefully and keep your mess on the inside of your object).  Here is the shark:

She looks a little pope-like from the front.

Brad made himself a star fish.  I was pretty impressed with his sewing skills, especially the care he put into making a pocket on his belly for candy (or his hands I guess),  but he was saddened by people’s guesses.  After a couple people asking if you are a banana or a penis, you would feel sad too.  (For the record honey, I don’t think you look at ALL like a penis.  I really don’t look at you and think “penis”….hardly ever.  Really.)

After all these costumes were done, I sort of threw mine together in less than 15 minutes.  I had wanted to be a creepy doll, but the execution on that one was sort of flawed.  I need to invest in one of those expensive theater make up sets, like the ones I remembered from high school.  Instead I had this greasy stuff from Goodwill.  It ran off my face in about 5 minutes and then I just looked like a Juggalo in a cute dress.  Anne joined us as a beautiful unicorn pony in a tutu (she found everything in our costume box—way to fit into a costume made for a 7 year old, Anne!).  Here is the group photo:

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Back in July (?) August (?) summertime, I worked on a rummage sale for our school with my neighbor.  It was well-intentioned, but a little rough.  We couldn’t have it indoors.  They didn’t have any tables for us.  The bathrooms were locked.  Then it rained.

Suffice it to say, it sort of sucked the big one.  We made a small but respectable enough chunk of change, but not large enough to warrant the many desperate walks to find the nearest-neighbor-to-the-school-that-I-sort-of-knew so that I could ask to use her bathroom.

On a positive note, we priced things to MOVE, because, of course, we didn’t want to have to MOVE them ourselves at the end of the day when they didn’t sell.  One of the big bargains I picked up was a really ugly stick horse.  It had a shrunken head of stained blue upholstery fabric and orange yarn for a mane.  The cool part about it was that it was made of oak (sturdy!) and there was a wooden wheel on the end attached with a wooden peg.  I tossed it in my art studio thinking I might someday do something with it.

Fast forward a few months.  My eldest daughter is long on ideas and short on follow through.  Or more accurately, so full of ideas that she could not possibly create all the things she comes up with in one day…. so she makes me do things.  Here is her M.O.—she comes into my art area while I am working on something else (usually something boring and necessary like mending clothing or making cloth napkins).  She stands there really quietly for a bit until I have forgotten she is there.  I have poor peripheral vision and she tends to stand slightly back of my elbow where things get fuzzy.  Then, “Hey Mom, you know what you could do….” and then she proposes something REALLY HARD and seemingly impossible.  Then I sigh and say, “Francis… that is too hard!” or “I don’t know how to make a spiral out of fabric that flies with a basket attached that a toy mouse could sit in!” (insert parental whine).  The thing is, sometimes I DO know how to make things that she suggests.  Or rather, I can figure out eventually how to make what she suggests, but she has much more faith in my ability than I.

At Zephyr’s birthday, she thought I should make a fabric pea shooter toy from the Plants Versus Zombies game.

It involved sewing a sphere, which is sort of hard seeing as how I refuse to actually use math or measurement of any kind.  It kind of came out okay.  I forgot the frilly leafiness on its head which continues to bug me, but Zephyr was thrrrrrilllled.

Next Francis saw the stick horse and proposed that we make a better one for Inez.  ”Oh no Francis.  You see, that would need curves and stuff so it would be really hard!”.  But I sat down and started thinking and cutting and made a head that I was fairly happy with.  I shoved the old head up inside this one (weird, I know) and crammed a bunch of stuffing around it and felt fairly pleased with the result:

Inez rides “Angel” constantly now.  Truly, this horse has made about 30 trips to and from school.  Old people go gaga when they see a kid on a stick horse.  And Angel is pretty easy to ride because she has a wooden wheel at the end of her stick.  I keep waiting for Inez to tire of this toy, but she hasn’t.

Sometimes I feel pretty sorry for myself that I had a bunch of kids and could not “develop as an artist” or some such crap.  Other times I have to be honest and say that maybe having kids around and making things for them is some of the best inspiration I could find.

(This is almost too sweet for me—-gagging a little—but it is true.)

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Photos 1, 2, & 3 by Inez

We have a chicken who can get over or under any fence.

Her name is Pumpkin Pie and she is a brave and capable one.

The other chickens are content to stay in the backyard, pecking at bugs and digging in the dirt.  Not Pumpkin Pie.  She wants to visit the front yard.  She wants to visit the neighbors.  She wants to eat apples two houses away.

If we leave the chickens fenced up in the backyard, but also leave the front door open on a hot day, Pumpkin Pie will hop in the front door and up the stairs.

Pumpkin Pie is Inez’s chicken, so I make her take her back downstairs and to the backyard.

Still it is kind of fun having a chicken come visit while you are pecking at the computer.

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Around here the first day of school was a little anti-climactic.  Only Francis went out the door that day as Zephyr’s Kindergarten had a staggered start in order to allow all the new students to come meet their teacher and visit the classroom.  It is a nice way to do it, but not something that confident little Zephyr needed.  He knew Sr. Siam and had been peeking his head in the kindergarten door ever since his first day in pre-K at Beach.  On his appointed day, he charged in the classroom and proceeded to show off EVERY LITTLE BIT of his broken Spanish.  He talked a blue streak.  His grandfatherly, mellow, Cuban teacher asked me, “Does he always talk this much?” not once but twice.  I was subsequently both proud and sort of embarrassed—-proud that he knows so much Spanish and is not afraid to try it out, embarrassed that he would not shut up.

I’ve certainly had my struggles with not shutting up.  Most of my embarrassments in life have been not in what I have neglected to say, but in those times where I misjudged the necessity to speak.  I should shut up more often really.

Zephyr seems like he will adjust just fine to school.  Like me, he charges right in bravely (and rashly), and in many ways this is a comfort to me because it is something I understand.  On the first day, parents were to take all kids to the cafeteria where the kids would meet their teacher and walk in a line across the playground to the Spanish Immersion annex building.  Zephyr was thrilled to be at school, proud of his lunchbox and excited to see old friends.  He got in line and was ready to go.  The only hitch in the walk-in-a-line plan was that the doors to the cafeteria are sort of narrow and many of the first time parents were sort of hover-y.  They ALL wanted to walk along with their kids on the way to the kindergarten classroom.  I found this slightly amusing and fell back from the crush of ADULTS pushing towards the door, because it was apparent that not everyone was going to be able to fit through following the line of kids.  When the doors finally cleared, I moved through with Inez.  Entering the playground area, it was clear that the line had totally disintegrated.  These kindergarteners didn’t know the first thing about moving in a line, and the hanger-on parents weren’t really helping much.  Sr Siam and the vice principal were busily gathering kids up and moving them back into the line.  I was chuckling at this chaos when I noticed that I couldn’t see Zephyr.  He was gone.

One nano second of panic and it seemed clear to me that no one would kidnap my son on his way out of the cafeteria.  None of these parents was organized enough for that.  They couldn’t even handle the kindergarten line.  I stood there thinking—-knowing my son, he is probably in the classroom.  And he was.  He hopped across the playground, in the doors and right to class where he found his name on the desk and started the assignment on the table.  He even turned on the classroom lights.  I think this kid is going to be okay in life.

Francis is in third grade this year.  Her class is a 3/4 blend which is a sort of different experience.  She was shocked that she doesn’t do all her classes in the same room any more.  Now she leaves for math, art, technology, music, and pe.  She was disappointed that math is no longer in Spanish.  On the whole, she has a lot less of her day in Spanish, and her literacy classes (writing and reading) occur separately in each language.  She says math is too easy, which we will be checking into when we are a bit further into the year.  It is a little early in the year to be a pain in the ass parent.

Inez is hanging out at home with me, picking vegetables in the garden, playing with the chickens, doing chores, and riding bikes.  We have started a new tradition of picking up garbage on our walk home from school each morning.  Inez is really into it.  I have to watch that she doesn’t pick up anything that is really gross.

It’s great to have the older kids in school, but it isn’t super easy like I had thought.  I have more time (sort of) but it is clear that I only sent the more independent ones off to school, so I still have the one who creates the most problems when unsupervised.  I kept the one around who picks all the letter keys off the laptop keyboard and then throws them (inexplicably) in the trash can.  But even Inez had a promotion of a sort.  This kid is now officially out of diapers.  Halleluia!  But still, when can she go to school?

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Every now and then one of the kids nabs my camera and takes pictures that I don’t find until later.  Often the pictures are fairly poor quality.  Often the total number is COPIOUS (like in the hundreds).  Sometimes the photos are also sort of interesting.

Here is what I found this week:

I wish the army guys luck.

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This summer thing is working out just how I had hoped it would.  At the beginning of the summer, I sat down with the kids to brainstorm what they wanted to do.  In reality I wanted to lay down the law (and present what they wanted to do as the carrot).  They wanted visits to grandparents, bike rides in the neighborhood, playing in the sprinkler, popsicles and berry picking.  I want a quiet time every day where I can nap or read.  All has gone according to my (evil) plan.

Mid June we went out to my parents’ place in Sheridan.  The weather was only so-so summery.  It took a long time to warm up in Sheridan, which is even cooler than Portland.

As it was, the plan to “sleep out on the deck” with my childhood friend Maria became a midnight “haul the kids in out of the rain”.  My parents have two dogs who love nothing better than barking their heads off every night.  Mom and Dad don’t mind.  They claim to not hear a thing, which I would attribute to hearing loss if there weren’t complaints of city noise when they stay in town.  Anyway, midway through our sleep out on the porch adventure, I heard strange scratching noises on the scaffolding underneath the deck.  My dad had been pouring a new footing that day and had beams strung under where we were sleeping.  The dogs were freaking out, and it quickly became clear that SOMETHING was hanging out down there.  I jumped up and yelled over the edge and the unknown lurker tumbled down through the hop trellis, taking half the scaffolding with him (or her).  At that point, I was thoroughly freaked.  Although I knew rationally that a raccoon is not going to climb back up the deck and into bed with me, I felt vulnerable with all those kids strewn all over the deck.  And I guess I am afraid of raccoons after seeing them go after chickens so enthusiastically.  I was actively talking myself out of being scared of a raccoon when it began to rain steadily.  Thank you RAIN!  Now I could wake up my friend and tell her we needed to move inside without sounding like a scaredy cat city girl!  Yes!

Maria and I managed to move 4 sleeping children into the house without waking a single one.  Actually I am not sure that Maria was awake herself.

In the morning, this one slept on:

My dad is amused by us.  I love how relaxed my parents are about their hospitality.  Some people fuss over you when you come to stay, and in their fuss, make you incredibly uncomfortable.  I once stayed somewhere where the parents wanted to give ME their bed, which embarrassed me to no end.  My parents just figure that people can find some nook or cranny where they can be comfortable, and because they’ve been so flexible with their views, over the years I have brought scores of people out to crash on the floor.  Mom and Dad just flow along with it.

The next day it was a visit to a chicken breeding farm out in Sheridan.  Even though this farm had my same town as the address, it was so far in the hills that it took nearly half an hour to get there.  Once there though, the rewards were great!  I learned a lot from the farmers.  They were incredibly generous hosts and we saw some gorgeous birds..

In the afternoon we were off to Sheridan Days parade, which is sort of weirdly charming and strange at the same time.  It is mostly emergency vehicles with their sirens on and protestant church groups angling for more fish in a small pond, attempting to show you how much fun their youth groups are having by sitting in pick up beds singing along the parade route.  When I was a kid there were big log trucks with the biggest tree they had cut down that year, but those are mostly gone now.  Remaining are bagpipe groups and a smattering of rodeo queens from small towns, plus some freaky clowns from the coast and this really strange group of old dudes from Lincoln City who dress like devils, pull women out of the crowd, take them to their “float”, put them in a stockade and stamp “SEXY” on their cheeks.  I am not kidding.  They are called the “Red Devils” and I suppose they are a social group of some sort, (but I do NOT want to know what they do for fun at their secret meetings because their public outings already give me a heart attack).  Half my life I have been afraid of the Red Devils.  The other half I have been pissed at them.  Perhaps for this reason, I have never been picked by them.  They are not dumb, and surely they know to avoid the woman yelling “sexists!”.  Maria was picked though, and she, being a better sport than I, allowed a devil to escort her to where she was branded “sexy”.  He was polite about it, but I couldn’t help but be worried about her as she disappeared around the corner with the Devils.  For Maria’s part, I figure she knows she is sexy.  She is just allowing the Red Devil the mistaken pleasure of thinking it was somehow his discovery.

I need to not be so ernest, but that is a life long struggle for me.

The sun set on much candy gathering, and as you know, I am a gatherer.  I have taught my children my unique skill set.

Too bad you can’t make this crap into jam.

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It was a terrible time.  Children were coated in dust, choking on it actually.  The country had been thrown into a deep depression and families slowly loaded all their belongings on an old pick up truck and headed out to pick fruit in Califor—-

Oh wait.  This was last week on Sauvie Island.  Pickin’ strawberries.  It’s a wonderful life.

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This is what the kids like to do all day...gallons of water later....

Summertime!  Or at least school is done.  My older sister has eagerly been awaiting school being out for summer, but I can’t say I share her enthusiasm.  It is nice to have less schedule, but the openness of the time sort of terrifies me for a couple of mixed reasons.

First of all, there are tons of kids on the block and they all LOVE our house.  This is cool, really, and I am pleased that we have plenty of fun diversions to offer on our tiny little plot.  I like being the fun house on the block… until I don’t.  That is, I have tons of patience and love and understanding for kids… until I don’t.  It is just that when I don’t, it is bad.  I am sort of a mix of strict and allowing.  I don’t mind kids doing things that might get them hurt, so in that sense I am lenient—Could break their arms?  So what.  Could fall off the roof?  Maybe they won’t climb there next time.  Wacking each other with swords?  Just make sure everyone is equally armed.

On the other hand, I am sort of a neat freak.  I don’t want the sand from the sandbox in my kitchen.  I don’t want the tools strewn all over the lawn.  Please don’t throw my pea gravel or river rock….it was hard to carry in there.  Did you just step on my poor, suffering wisteria vine?  Why, you terrible little kid!  (I don’t say this; just think it.)  And get out of my garden!  Or at least walk on the walkways and not the lettuce.  So what happens is that occasionally I just snap and need to shout, “Everybody OUT!  Time to go home!’.  Kids with nicer parents are freaked out and teary.

Yes, I need to RELAX a bit.  I am working on it, believe me, but I also feel like I need a little piece of the summer that belongs to me… and I am a tired, hardworking mother who needs a couple hours each day to just zone out and not be responsible for anyone.  Wherever the kids go, Inez goes trooping after them, and often they leave her in the dust.  Truly I want to take a nap without fearing for anyone’s well being.  I want my kids in predictable places where they are relatively safe.  And I don’t want to have to deal with anyone else’s overly-tired children.

In order to maintain a summer plan that works for me, I gathered the kids around the coffee table and put in place some summer rules.  First, chores each morning.  No arguments there.  The chores are quick and easy.  Second, quiet time, in their rooms reading each day from 1pm to 2pm.  No arguments there.  They like this.  Third, extended quiet time from 2pm to 3pm where they could play outside, but only in the backyard and no visitors.  Total UPROAR.  ”Unfair!” Francis protested.  ”That’s just another quiet time and we already did one!” Zephyr added.  ”I want to play on the swing in the front!  Why can’t we just be done at 2 and go play where we want?”.

Because.  Mom.  Is.  Tired.  And Mom likes to have the first hour of quiet time to do computer stuff (like this blog) and the second hour to sleep or read, because often the first hour gets sucked up with dishes or laundry or really boring things like that.

They eventually accepted my rules, or at least tired of arguing and got sick of being forced to sit at the table during our little summit.  It occurred to me that I have raised independent kids thus far which means that they are smart, expressive, and not afraid to be completely defiant and disrespectful.  Yay me, right?

I need to think of how to communicate this plan to the neighbors so that the two only children nearby our house are not ringing the doorbell at 1 and 2pm each day.  They are sweet kids, but being only children, their families are able to function each day with a certain level of flexibility.  I have heard their parents say, “What do you want for lunch?” and “Maybe you should take a nap” which are things that have never been uttered in my house.  My good friend across the street will be all on-board for our schedule, and I think some nearby neighbors will get it too, although I fear I will look like a total control freak for putting it into effect.  Oh well.  It’s best to accept who you are, right?

Zephyr with neighbor Ben. We need a bigger bucket.

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On the stairs before leaving for the big show

I have fond (if fuzzy) memories of being in every talent show that ever happened in town.  Mom was quite the mover and shaker and moved and shook most of these shows into being in the first place.  They were classy acts, complete with big chorus numbers to finish out.  I don’t know what to say—there wasn’t a lot to do in Willamina, so when we did things, we tried to do them well.

My sisters and I (pre-Anne!) usually dressed up completely adorably and sang some show tune or other.  I remember “Lullaby of Broadway”, “How Ya Gonna Keep ‘Em Down on the Farm”, some song about clowns (but not that “Send in the Clowns” one!), “In the Mood”, and “One” from chorus line.  Did we practice a lot?  Did we love it?  I just can’t remember, but I have vague memories of it being sort of fun and maybe even good for us.

Last month Brad and the kids and I saw “How I Became a Pirate” at Oregon Children’s Theater.  Our neighbor is the artistic director there and gives us free tickets.  It was so funny!  Absolutely brilliant show—even for adults!  Anyway, a major part of the show was about how to sing sea chanteys.  My kids being who they are, quickly asked if I knew any.  I KNOW that I know lots of sea chanteys, but all I could think of at the time was “What shall we do with the drunken sailor”.  It seemed like a lame one, but this song completely charmed and enchanted the kids who started singing it everywhere.  When Francis heard that there was to be a talent show coming up, we decided that we needed to debut our act.

So we started getting ready by singing it in the living room every morning.  Oh but practice is miserable for the under 7 set.  Francis has energy and focus for it, but Zephyr could only do the song once a day before collapsing in a pile of complaints.  ”I’m tired!”  ”I already know it!”  ”I can’t sing it again!”  ”My voice hurts!”.  Inez of course was a wild card from beginning to end.

Even pirates get exhausted

All the same, we did it—-not a whole lot better nor worse for all our practice.  See the end product here:

What SHALL we do with the Drunken Sailor?

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