Uncle Jace

Jace (a younger variety of the new graduate) and the adoring nephew.

P was beyond-words-excited when he received Uncle Jace's highschool graduation announcement. Aside from his adoration of mailboxes and new papers in general, his ecstatic bouncing was mostly due to his undying devotion to this, his youngest Uncle. And, honestly, the guy deserves wee leg hopping. He is fantastic fun with P....

True to P form, this birthed a project. (Seems like everything births a project for P. I have grand plans for homeschool activities, fun forays into P's fave subjects... they're never needed. The kid creates his own, ideally suited to his learning level, but that's another post, for another night, hopefully before my rock project pics rot...) After organizing (and re-organizing) the included pictures and reading (and re-reading) the announcement, the Little Man went through a whole process of using stickers, the few family pics he's scrounged and some unknown algorithm to properly display his newly received photographs. Except for one. This shot he carried in his hot little hand, everywhere, for the remainder of the day. Including the live theater performance on 42nd St (the Butterfly Garden at the New Vic, which was gorgeous. The metamorphosis of the butterfly was performed by two dancers on an interactive digital screen, wordless, with music. P was invited on stage, to be chased by digital caterpillars. If photography had been allowed in the theater I could now post a picture entitled "sublime happiness, featuring P." ) All through this, the Little Man clung to Uncle Jace's face. He also whispered to the picture, informing me that Uncle Jace was answering! Hehe.

Sure, sure, some may say a shrine to a distant Uncle could be construed as creepy :) But I consistently find the kid's familial devotions (despite so much distance) sweet as sugar. And, honestly, if you had an Uncle as amazing as Jace, you'd probably build a photo shrine too ;)

So here's a shout out to the great Uncle Jace, a highschool graduate as of... tomorrow!

P becomes a skateboarder

Today was one of those perfect days. The ones that just flow, filled by happiness, not contrived or calculated. Seems like some of our weekends are plotted, planned for fun. But that pull is annoying compared to the days that just... go. Add to it wonderful weather, fab family and the sweetest city ever and its perfection.

Of course, the lack of forethought meant no camera, and I would have paid a pretty penny to have video capabilities today instead of shitty iphone photos... Ah, well :)

The day led us to Seth and Alicia, who led us to Paragon, which led us to buy a skateboard for P, leading us all to the open spot in Union Square, seriously adored by city skateboarders. Ian and Kendra joined us as we all lazed about, then ran about the square, while P figured out how to ride. Honestly, though the child has chatted about getting a board for a few years (you can see P practicing his early moves here), I really figured we were a while away from full on skateboard-ness. Even after the purchase, I was planning in my head where we would store it until he was really ready. But sweet, sweet Seth skated back and forth and back and forth in the square, helping P feel his way. Then Ian took turns, and Alicia pulled him along, then Kendra too... Ahhh, to be Phoenix and be so supported :) And then the kid figured a fix, a way to zoom independently and then move to a stand. This, of course, brought one of my favorite beams - the one that he is trying to cover but just can't because he's so pleased with himself. I was still a little surprised that he hadn't broken bones and gotten bored. Even though the kid has been standing on the back of our big scooter for the last month, riding with no hands, just to better his balance for boarding. Sometimes Mama's are so slow...

So he used it like a surfboard, riding on his belly, then standing. Sliding it on his knees, then rising up. Then he figured out how to stand on it and push with one foot, just like his Uncles. Big beam. E commented on unschooling in action. Nobody was shouting directions. The kid was watching, listening, and then inventing ways to make his body and board do what he wanted. It was cool.

And then it wasn't :) His focus was over at this point and he was getting jumpy (literally, jumping on his loves) so we switched it up and played on the playground next door. The enormous stainless steel dome was as enticing to his Uncles as it was to him and the other children :) Of course, they are clever and inventive and soon enough planted seeds in small heads that some parents didn't appreciate... but P saw nothing unusual with an Uncle sliding down the dome sideways...



Then they had to set some more good examples on other pieces of equipment. Mothers everywhere loved us today :)



By this point, the day had gotten away from us all and, having accidentally traded lunch for fun, dinner was calling. But, then we found a musician and stopped to listen just long enough for P to hatch a plan. He's seen many a skateboarder ride down the stairs in Union Square. And now he was a skateboarder, so he could ride down the stairs....

I was still surprised he was standing on the damn thing. Skateboarding is hard. But he was determined. First, it was just one stair, over and over. Then he added a second, then a third, until he was doing all of the stairs he could clear people off of. I love watching him when he is this focused. When he finds the perfect challenge. Over and over he rode down the set of stairs. Then he took his wee little butt and rode his board to our destination, followed by the "oh my gawd - how cute!"'s of girl groups sitting in the square. I don't know if he heard any of them or not, but, biased or no, I had to agree :)

Ewwwwwwwwww

An art installation in Union Square (from a year or so ago....) that P adored. It may not be clear from the pics, but the speared heads were dripping wool blood and beautified with boils and bumps... This should have been telling to me at the time.


Honestly, I'd like to vent right now. Whine, cry, fuss. Ok, mostly whine. But I'm short on time (the reason behind the whine), so, instead, I'll briefly stand in awe. Of the women that homeschool more than one. Of the women that elegantly make it through the day (and night) when their loving partner is working (day and night). Of the women that have more than one clean room in their house... at the same time.

And I'd like to apologize to everyone who has emailed and heard digital crickets. My dirty inbox is smirking so smugly at me and my scattered floor that I'm about ready to give virtual communications the valedictory boot.

But I'm falling behind on my beloved's journal and determined to get one post in before the calendar flips a week. So I'll skip right to the point.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

That's where we're at in the kitchen right now. (No, that's actually the one room that is clean, so not that kind of eww.) We're talking fish heads and turkey tibias ick here. And I was worried the kid would find issue with E eating meat. Ha.

After all, the Little Man has always had a passion for skeletons. His third birthday's wish list featured a few fossilized dinosaur parts and a cat jawbone. Perhaps we've been too heavy handed in our AMNH visits. Perhaps he's a budding biologist. I don't know. I just know that the situation has me precariously placed, ready to puke. Meanwhile, the kid is having the time of his life dissecting our dinners.

So, yes, our fish and fowl eating foray has been moving along nicely (and no, the dreams haven't ceased, yet.) I roasted an entire (DiPaolo's free range, local) turkey last weekend. I've basically been operating under the assumption that if I can't hack hacking the thing to bits, I don't deserve to dish it up for dinner. This could be some sort of sadistic silliness to appease my self-condemnation, could be just good environmentalism, I'll try and finesse those details when I find some spare time. But what I do know is that the hubby is oh-so-happy when a roasted bird is set before him. And the Little Man is as equally enamored with the turkey as he was with the chicken. And as equally unimpressed with the meat as left-overs. This is vexing to my well laid plans....

If we don't revisit the bird for mid-week dinners, then we have to kill another animal for more meat. I've tried it stir fried, fajita fixed, chunked in chowder and smothered in sauce for sandwiches. The rest of the sad stuff is stuck in the freezer, awaiting my turkey jerky plans.... the kid likes salt? (I'm unbelievably wide open for ideas here, just zoom to the comments section...save my sanity...)

But, I'll admit to a bit of relief that turkey is off of the menu until I find a fix. Cuz cooking that thing.... eek. I knew from the chicken that there might be, ahem, things, amid the ribcage. But none of my online recipes prepared me. When I reached up that bird's butt and found a long, frozen thing, I grabbed it, hopeful there'd be a nice little something to add to my stock pot. And that long, hard thing kept coming and coming and.... Holy shit. Could someone please write a turkey recipe that prepares people for the horse-like hard-on that emerges? It was, in a word, absolutely disgusting. The Little Man was standing beside me, excitedly watching each and every step (he was Mary or Laura, and I was Ma, since Pa had caught them a nice turkey in the previous night's chapter). This prevented me from saying exactly what I was thinking at that moment.

So, following the other thing that completely bugs me about bird roasting (seriously! My hands are like leather from all of the fear filled handwashing following fowl handling. Oh shit! I accidentally touched the salt shaker. Wash, wash, wash. Do I wash the top of the soap dispenser after each hand wash? Wash wash wash... ) I did the logical thing. I called my mother. She helped greatly.

Post- turkey roast, I thought I was ready for anything. That frozen gizzard-butt combo had me feeling as resilient as childbirth once did. So, when we went to the Green Market mid week for fish, I flippantly complied to P's request for whole fish.

I know this all sounds quite pansy to the many meat eaters out there. And to the hunters that do, well, whatever they do after the kill. But for me, this was a serious ewwwwww moment. And, of course, the kid is standing right there, so I have to save it for the blog :)

The fisherman's wife led me towards some Butter Fish. Less gutting work she says. Sounded ideal. Nah. Sawing the head off of a fish sucks. Period.

P just had to help, of course. So we both hung on to the butcher's knife and rocked it back and forth, listening to the bitty bones break, watching the little fishy face go all opened-mouth, in seeming surprise at the knife's pressure. P delved into the separated sections, searching for the brain, popping out the eyes to see how they connected. The layers and folds of the intestines were fascinating to him and he carefully compared, bigger than and smaller than, for each fish. I, meanwhile, just tried to keep down lunch.

This had me wondering, why all the fuss (for me)? The kid had no issues. None. He was fascinated to see how it all worked. He happily de-boned his fish on his plate and snarfed up the meat. Then he grabbed the tail and the tip and undulated it back and forth, showing BB how the fish would have swam in the waters. I, meanwhile, greatly enjoyed the roasted veggie side-dish...

At any rate, the kid is happy and growing. The newness of it all excites him and the flavors are working, too. I suppose I"ll ponder my problems with flesh while I clean. I have a pile of turkey bones, hoarded in the window well, awaiting my help. And the paper bonanza on the floor. And the seed experiments settled on the dining room table. And the strange toilet tissue tornado on the bathroom floor....

O.M.G

Above, a sunny day rainbow we saw last week in Bay Ridge. Today, we had a sunny rainbow on our floor...

P loves getting stuff. Any stuff. I keep meaning to a post about hoarding/collecting.... The child brings home rocks, sticks and leaves, every time we leave the house. He'd happily get anything at any store. And if he sees something left on someone's stoop, he'd like to bring that home too. Ahh, but I"ll leave all of those details to a different post. This one is for a simple story. One that revolves around "Startling Orange."

So, we found a wooden dresser down the block yesterday. As soon as P saw it he said "I'd do teamwork to get this home, Mama." (Honestly, the kid doesn't care what it is, he wants to bring it home!) I just so happened to be in the market for a (free) dresser for P's clothes, so teamwork it was. But first we had to do some dealmaking. Because, the Little Man can get a wee bit dictatorial about how things will go down. (I once removed a tall bookshelf from our kitchen cabinet to clean and by the time I turned around to replace it, the child had determined it his and stocked it with toys. Its still in the playroom, displaying trucks and dinosaurs....New room and new purpose meant, to me, a new color, so I painted it one night. Whoops! The child still bemoans the change in color. Same with our trunk. Same with a wood box we have. Basically, re-painting is a problem:) However, this new dresser was recently unearthed from the corner church's basement (as displayed by the spider webs and that fine, musty smell) and featured a shit brown paint-job. But the wood was in great shape and the size was exactly what we needed. So I told him from the get-go that the paint would have to go. He was hot to trot to obtain the piece and agreed instantly. As soon as it landed inside our landing, the child wondered if we couldn't leave just a part, a small part, of the brown? Just to remember it by? Oy ;)

After going through paint splotches galore, the obvious answers for the room were green or black. I like simplicity in my space and would be fine with everything being white with a pop of green. Having a child necessitates less white, more black. Fine. But the LIttle Man likes bright. He wears red shoes, red sunglasses, tartan pants and has quite the fetish for hot pink (duh, BB is half hot pink, after all:) The child suggested hot pink. I thought of Ethan :) I countered with black. He countered with hot pink. I countered with green. He countered with vibrant orange. Fine.

And so we come to today's story. The one where we take 2 hours to make it home from the hardware store (ten blocks can take a lifetime when one of you is supposed to be a dog, a dog that enjoys looking at every leaf and twig he passes). This lateness means immediate dinner preparations upon arrival. Which means the can of Startling Orange is forgotten in the canvas bag by the door...

You can see where this is going. The child innocently yanked on the bag to claim his charcoal collection (that he scored from the fireplace at the historic house in the park today) so he could draw while I cooked. All of a sudden I heard a crestfallen "Mama?"

When I turned towards the playroom, there stood an enormous puddle of Startling Orange. And the child. Who was quite pale by comparison. Needless to say I was pretty shocked myself, and out popped the words "No. You. Di'int" It was comical, but the child didn't quite get the joke, and, perched on the trunk by the puddle, covered his eyes in horror. It was adorable.

These are the moments I wish I had a Mama Manual. How the holy hell do you get a puddle of paint off of carpet? P was mortified, his hoarding instincts went full throttle and he was obsessed with knowing if we could ever get those same carpet squares again. As I scooped the paint up with my hands (yah, I'm sure there are better ways to improvise this situation, but they were what I had available:) the child tried really hard to not fall apart. And I was struck by the irony. He had just dumped (accidentally, of course, but the heavy handed yanking had certainly precipitated the situation) a can of shockingly bright orange paint onto my carpet, my dinner was boiling over, my hands were phosphorescent, my canvas bag ruined... and he needed the hand holding. At that moment, I felt like a mother. A real one. Typically, I feel like some kid (the kind with grey hairs and crickety knees) that is faking it till I make it. I was moving fast but feeling mellow and the hilarity of the situation was as obvious as the orange. It hit me. Perspective. I finally own a piece of that pie. (I wish it were a more permanent parcel though, I think its just a time-share at this point...) So I clucked sweet reassurances to the worried wee one as I pushed paint back into the pail. My calm slowly slowed his worries, and he switched to Mr. Helpful.

And here is where I plug our rug. If you are shopping for a floor covering, you must buy Flor. I purchased this rug specifically for days like today. Bowls of soup, sunscreen, cat vomit (sorry), you name it, the Flor has taken it. And scoffed. Today, we added bright orange paint to that list. The painted carpet tiles went to the bathtub where.... they are now drying, paint free. The Little Man echoed my thoughts exactly as the first tile came clean. "I didn't expect that to go so well, Mama."

When E walked in the door and noticed the gaping holes in our rug, I rushed to tell him of our adventure. I freakin' love my husband. As I announced that they were drying in the bath, due to their previous bath of bright orange paint, he never asked how such a thing could have happened (I guess anyone with a five year old wouldn't really need to ask that question.) Instead, he asked, "Orange? Why orange?"

Which is exactly what I thought when I just laid down the first layer of Startling Orange over the Shit Brown. The combo, after just one coat, was Shockingly Shitty. Hopefully I scooped enough off of the floor to reach the child's required level of neon.... And with that, I'm off to do coat number two (except for that one spot - that will remain forever brown, for happy, hoard-like remembrances :)

Busy!

We have been so busy.... doing what??? Some days the whole day is gone and I wonder where its gone to - cuz we didn't get to half of the Little Man's morning plans! Then, I'm behind in everything, so the after bedtime time is getting chewed up by catch-up work; soaking grains and beans, fixing the ferments, laundry, homeschool prep-work, cleaning and then, eventually, a bit of sleep ;) I get my news updates over people's shoulders on the subway these days, since I haven't had time to glance at the headlines this month... So, if you're annoyed by that weirdo lurking on the F train... give the girl a little pity and hold your newspaper nice and still...

Just a quick pic (I haven't even been taking my camera with me lately - this spring weather is a Bag Killer. On top of the regular water, snacks and books, the hats and coats must be schlepped when we leave (so they can be used on chilly walks home) and the umbrellas are always included these days - for the ominous looking clouds. Honestly, I'm ready for solid summer - give me hot and humid, all dependable day ;)

Despite the griping (honestly, I didn't mean to do that!;), P's enjoying the Thursday meet-ups in the park. He's "excavating" around a fallen tree with a few pals. Last week we dug holes and then P created an "adobe" making enterprise. The mudballs were placed in a sun-oven to bake, to build the house in the woods the child is fully planning on creating. As if we didn't have a hard enough time keeping our wild child in the city, then we had to go and read him "Little house in the Big Woods" (and now its sequel - on the prairie)??? And now the child chats about his future log cabin, daily.... Oh, the guilt of parenting, is there no end? (Last undeserved pity point tonight, promise;)

Yah. For real.

P, with his first chicken.

Its hard to know where to begin here... ;)

I remember registering for our wedding. As I skipped over the carving fork in our setting, the saleslady sternly said no. But I'm vegetarian, I said. Oh dear, you just never know, she said to me. I distinctly remember feeling peeved. Oh dear, I thought, but I do know.

We raised our own beef, I rode horses, rounding with my father (for the very brief period during which my little brother was too small to "help." Once slightly bigger, he displaced me, due to him being a boy and all. And so spring the seeds of feminism in the west...) Meat was a breakfast,lunch and dinner affair in our house. But alongside those feminist seeds sprung some hearty vegetarian ones, much to my parent's dismay ;) But it seemed so natural to me.

Then I reached my teen years and soon the environmentalist roots ran deep too, a veritable death sentence to my family dinners. Aunts scoffed when I passed over the Tday turkey, brothers teased, parents sighed. Eventually, I was in college and happily headed down the veggie path, only baited on breaks.

E always enjoyed meat. And he's not quite the softy for Bambi eyes that I am, either. So it was the environment that kept our dining fare on the same table. It also led us to veganism, which I enjoyed even more. No sticky dishes, zero animal deaths due to my diet, and delicious to boot. Granted, cheese is hard to give up... but I was dedicated :)

Little by little, the last 5 years have led us down another path. Short of living in the refrigerator, my body wasn't gonna grow a big baby without some bulk. In inched the eggs and cheese and yogurt and out popped a huge, healthy baby. His allergies happily had us vegan for a while again... and then cancer landed E back in the milk drinking category. Then P's allergies shifted and we added in eggs again. Thus, the child had serious protein sources on which to grow (his allergies preventing the fave vegan options of nuts and tofu and beans being too high in fiber/low in fat to be his only alternative) and E had his dairy. Homeostasis seemed to be reached.

Then came the doctor's orders for fish. And E's head shake. And then, eventually, E's agreement. And so, for the last year, I've made him tuna fish salad for lunch each Saturday and he has fish out occasionally. Every dinner was protein packed with beans, cheese, eggs, quinoa, whole grains, a by the book buffet for hypoglycemics. Ahhh, homeostasis in the home...

And then, a friend posted a salmon cake recipe on her blog. Hey! I had cans of salmon around, in case E started to crash and needed a quick protein pick-me-up! I could make those for him for a surprise! I did, he loved them... and, amazingly, so did the child. The next day, E had his usual tuna salad for lunch after his egg breakfast. That night, was P's half-birthday dinner out and E.... had fish... again. That's three times in two days, a never before featured feat.

The next morning, he glowed. I shit you not. I haven't seen him look like that since we fasted a decade ago. And even more, he said he felt good. Alert. Awake. Energetic even. These are, typically, not words used to describe Ethan. Shit.

This is a tough spot, philosophically. Containing traces of the baby making decision. Where is the line, the one that stops at what you want/need and begins with what the rest of the world/planet needs? This planet certainly didn't need another North American citizen eating up resources. Did we really need to have a child? Or was it just a want? Obviously, we, eventually, landed on the side of need on that one :) (But its an endless cycle! Does the child really need a sibling, or just want one? We're gonna stick with want one and give him the opportunity to hate us for it later...)

So, there we were. E's felt like shit for 20 years... which is when he stopped eating meat.... So, its not just that he wants the turkey burger ;) Unnecessarily long story short, we decided to try eating meat. I know.

Fortunately, P's been enjoying Laura Ingalls Wilder in the evenings. When we read about Pa smoking the venison, the Little Man was engrossed. Then I told him about my father's venison jerky. It was the one meat I ate that I really enjoyed. Dad had hunted it, after it ran free. Then he had it salted and smoked - till it was delicious. I remember my little brother and I walking around the house, chomping on the stuff; greasy grins of delight. These stories planted omnivore seeds in my son, much as Bambi planted vegetarian seeds in me. When we told him we were buying a chicken for Papa, he wanted to try it.

But, honestly, I wasn't sure if, after all of his previous remarks, he'd follow through. After all, this is the kid that, walking through the fish stalls, mutters "poor, poor fishies." But we didn't even make it out of Whole Foods before the kid raked the rotisserie lid off the bird and bit in. And smiled.

Arriving home and finishing off our fowl, there was waste galore left behind. This would not do. The bones were tossed into a pot for stock (and then picked clean by the child. He, of course, wants to start a bone collection...). And the pre-cooked chicken was sworn off, no more vast plastic packages, we were already fucking with the environment enough now.

So this week has been busy for me after the Little Man hits the hay. Because I had never cooked meat in my life. And now I need to know the best way to buy it (free range and local only) and cook it (full bird, dinner leftovers and then bone broth) for us - and the planet - the one that I can hear sighing that sad sound...

Obviously, the guilt is there :) I really want E to feel healthy. I want P to eat as he needs (E has always been concerned they share body types.) And I want to do what is right. So we've settled on guilt metering guidelines :) No mammals. Period. That leaves us with fish and fowl for experiments. For the fowl, we're only doing small farm, free-range, organic. For the fish, wild, and pole caught, as much as possible. No nets. This doesn't really cut the crime, but it makes sense. (A dream from last night: We were eating at a restaurant. They'd heard we were eating meat and offered us beef and lamb. "No thank you, just fish and fowl." "No problem! We have sea food too! Would you like the Whale or the Sea Lion?" "No, no! No Mammals!" " Oh, but they're from the sea, ma'am. May I suggest the whale?" At which point I fell apart, that anyone could slaughter such a matriarchal beauty... "They talk," I blubbered. "They have dialects!!" Oy. It will get easier, no?)

And speaking of easy. After swearing off the store bought packaged bit, I wasn't so sure I could swallow sauteing the raw stuff... But its been surprisingly simple. I think knowing the life they've led helps me. Imagining them growing strong, pecking around with relative freedom, gives me the freedom to give thanks for the health it will give my family. Mind over matter in action. Much like I can't stomach caged eggs. Little beak-less hens shoved into each other's shit. Umm, I'll skip breakfast today...

And so, when my child ran up to me with his new prize (of a pile of chicken bones- sheesh) and asked me to help him dig the marrow out of the big bone with the sharpened little bone (he was making a flute)... I had to laugh. "Please, P. I was just vegetarian the day before yesterday. I need another day or two before I do bone marrow..." :)

Anyway :) I have to go check my chicken stock, simmering on the stove. (I boiled the bones last week and the boys drank it all. I'm hoping to save some this week for the asparagus (yay spring!!!!!!)soup.... I wonder if it will taste much different than soup with veggie stock???) And then I have to write a thank you note to that saleslady, her name was Sally R. Cuz, we very much enjoyed using our carving fork last night for dinner.... 13 years in the back of drawers hadn't done it a bit of harm.

Couple of Quickies. And 5 1/2

Now that his hair will act as an obvious timeline, I'll toss out a couple of the last crappy phone pics....

We are love, love, lovin' our Green Market days this spring. Trekking through the wind and snow all the way to Grand Army Plaza was, occasionally, less than ideal :) But Saturday walks in the Spring are so lovely. Toss in a great band and some blossoms, and, well :)



P has taken to "reading" to himself for blips of time. Its one of those rare times that his mouth and body aren't moving, and its as lovely as the Spring :) He was so engrossed in a new library book the other day that (after sliding off his seat on my scooter, on which he had already read in silence all. of. the. way. home:) he sat, mesmerized at the bottom of the stoop.



P celebrated his five and a half year old birthday last weekend. It was a fine time, filled with park play, garden growing, and city scooting. P chose a dinner out at Bar Toto too. We've never had dessert there, hadn't even thought of it before. But, of course, the lady beside us had a huge honking mound of something sweet, and P was primed. When the second menu came, we read it through to him and he chose instantly, proudly ordering his "Chocolate pot of creme." He was quite pleased with it, despite his inability to eat too much of the sweet treat :) We did discover, though, that he really, really enjoys homemade whipped cream. So we'll be getting cream at the Green Market this weekend ;)

Shorn short

P has been growing his hair out for forever, with his goal length: his toes. Don't get me wrong here, I love long hair on boys and men. Particularly top-knotted or in dreads. But the child, well, its been a bit angst filled :)

The long stuff, it drags into the daily oatmeal, dredges through the soup, sticks in the glue, collects the sand and fans out in the dirt. Brushing such a concoction is unfavorable to the child, yet he allowed it once a day, each day. Brushing the mop would be much easier if it were washed on a regular basis, but the child finds this act, likewise, unfavorable. All of this doesn't even touch on the subject of aesthetics. I mean, his hair turns into a gigantic poofball whenever the protective layer of grease is removed, by, say, the occasional bath. Like a giant blonde pyramid it is, pointing out from his slender shoulders. I loved his curls last year, these long layers - they were my daily nemesis.

As he sat for his brushing today, he grouched and moaned at each little tug (he was unusually grumpy and tired). He doesn't want me to stop (he dreads naturally formed dreadlocks) but he doesn't want me to go. And I say, as I always do when we hit this impasse, "I can cut it, if you'd like. Or we can try again. What shall we do?" He sat there, sullen. I upped the ante. "You know, with short hair, you never have to brush it."

I know I've mentioned this brushing bit before, but today, it just clicked. "Ok!!! Cut it!" And despite the fact that we, quite literally, had one foot out the door, he was ready to drop everything for the great chop.

Fearing a change of heart, followed by tears, I suggested he glance at some photos of his previous do's, to show me his goal length. I would have been more than happy with a shaggy head of curls, summer's humidity does wonders to his head, but he found the cut he wanted... on his Uncle's head.

"There! There! That's what I want. Just like Uncle Jace's!"

Before:

After:


So we tied it up and cut it off. Honestly, I know I'm supposed to be attached to my baby's hair, but it was like Belle kissing the Beast. I was so happy to see his little head again :) And as we ate dinner tonight, the runny hummus wasn't a war zone anymore...

Greenpoint Gardening

Falling behind again ;)

A week and a half ago, we had our first class (of three) on top of a warehouse in Brooklyn. A gardening class, at that.

Seems like a dubious place to dig, but it was amazing. The view alone could grow perfect vegetables ;) We typically don't do classes these days, so many of them fall into the morning time-slot (and the Little Man doesn't do mornings;) but P decided getting up early was worth it for some sky high harvesting.

The kids broke up compost, checked out seedlings, harvested spinach, planted peas and then brought their own baby basil plants home. P grew completely attached to a kale stalk, nibbling on it and handing out its tiny flowers as gifts for the remainder of the day.

Which included a long afternoon of running at a nearby playground. Being five and having long hair is really paying off for P. I need to do a gender bender post, so I'll leave most of my thoughts on the subject for that, but suffice it to say, five year old girls can be persnickety about playing with boys. With his blond bob and blue eyes, most everyone mistakes him for a little lady these days. Including the preschool set. This means the mini-chics have no chance to kick him to the curb until they have already fallen for him. And since P loves the way girls interact (all that chatter! The laughter!) he's happy to stay silent and follow their lead. This afternoon was unusually special, since a few of his favorite girls were in the class, making his play inclusion fabulously flaw-free.

When the tag games finally split up, we scooted south through a couple of neighborhoods and over a bridge. We couldn't stand to waste any time underground, what with Spring doing such a glorious dance that day and all :) As Phoenix explained his kale seed plans to E that evening, I was slightly surprised to see that his cheeks weren't the only things that had absorbed a little more than I'd realized; he had the whole "life of a seed" seriously pinned. Taking him one step closer to his grand gardening dreams ;)