The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

I Love Vanilla

Bill has been asked to accompany some of the other teachers where he works in an amateur rendition of "Hit the Road, Jack."  Some of the female teachers are singing, another male teacher is playing the piano, and Bill has been "volunteered" to play the guitar with them.  This is for a talent show kind of thing tomorrow night.

Bill is in the living room with the kids, playing his guitar and trying out different renditions of the chorus.  Alex is joining in, which is cute, because he has a little boy voice and even if he's totally off key or the rhythm is off, he still sounds cute.

Bill, however...

Bill is a very white male.  I just have to say that, so you don't think I married, oh, Jamie Foxx.  He is a classically trained guitarist who, as I listen, has just now switched what he's playing from "Hit the Road, Jack" into some Renaissance-sounding piece.  He can't help it.  He also teaches chorus, so, when he is singing, he can't help articulating everything clearly and pronouncing his vowels in the "correct" choral way.... 

Anyway - it doesn't really gel with "Hit the Road, Jack."

He sort of sounds like Peter, Paul and Mary singing Ray Charles.  As themselves.  Dreamily.  Like it's really "Puff the Magic Dragon."  I know.  It's hard to imagine.  You'd have to hear it for yourself to understand.

When he sings along with songs from the Jungle Book, he sounds sort of like a cross between a member of the Vienna Boys Choir and Steven Tyler.  It's odd, to hear the song "I Wanna Be Like You," as originally performed by Louis Prima, as if it's being sung by Steven Tyler.  Who has, for some reason, joined the Vienna Boys Choir. 

And now he's singing harmony to an imagined other person singing the melody of "Happy Birthday"...and he's strumming away on the guitar, taking other requests from Alex...but the thing about "Happy Birthday" is that, if you are in middle school chorus anyway, you don't pronounce it "birthday" when you are singing it.  You pronounce it "buhthday."  You know, like it sounds.

Anyway, he's back to "Hit the Road, Jack" now.

Ice, Ice, Baby....

Karate in Maine

Just a little sort of follow up to yesterday's post...my friend Ralph called yesterday.  He'd called me at work and got the message that I'd be out for the day, so he called here to see who was sick. 

We talked about various things...and at some point he asked how the tournament went on Sunday.  I gave him the highlights...and told him I wished I'd had the chance to see Calvin spar, but that I would go to the next one and see him in action then.

And Ralph started to tell me that he'd been to a karate tournament once...some friends of his have a son who's been doing karate for some time...and Ralph went on to say that he "watched him (the kid) spa-ing..." and I interrupted him and demanded "what did you just say?"  And Ralph, who has been my friend for an eternity, and suffers my interruptions and spelling corrections on a regular basis but still puts up with me, sensed a trap, so he said, hesitantly, and with a questioning lilt at the end "I watched him spa-ing?"

And I said "what, he had a mud bath and a massage?  It's sparring, not spa-ing!" and I proceeded, in my cruel, heartless way, to laugh hysterically for a long time while he tried to interrupt me.  I couldn't stop...visions of competitors in their white gis and different colored belts sitting there with cucumbers on their eyes and blue clay on their faces, while other teammates gave them pedicures and manicures and massaged their temples...I'm sure everyone would want to join such a club.

I blame it on his Maine hearing.  Even though he doesn't ALWAYS lapse into his down-east accent, I think he filters what he hears through that same accent, and as a result, well...spa-ing. 

Sorry Ralph, but you knew I'd have to share this.  That's the chance you took when you dialed my phone number yesterday.

Yassuh.

Focus

I'm home today - Alex has a fever.  He's sleeping on the couch at the moment...the end of The Jungle Book is playing on the VCR.  His current favorite movie. 

But I'm not writing about him today, though I could.  Endlessly.

Yesterday I spent a few hours watching my sister, Meredith, and her kids, Calvin and Natalie, compete in a karate tournament.  It was really cool.

Calvin, who is 12, started karate classes when he was in the first grade, and a couple years later Natalie, who is 9, did the same thing.  Meredith started a couple of years ago.  To be honest, I mostly went to see her.  But I watched all of them, and took pictures of all of them too, and hopefully one or two of the pictures will come out good - with one of them kicking or spinning around or doing something - not just appearing to stand there immediately after kicking or spinning or whatever.

The whole event began with five different demo teams coming out to center court (this was held in a gym), one team at a time, to do their demonstration - an exhibition of all their best kicks and moves and weapons mastery - and loudness.  Loud yells punctuating much of what they did.  One team in particular - if they'd been competing at loudness, they would have won.  They certainly had the loudness intimidation factor perfected.  But they didn't win.  Actually the team Calvin was on won. I didn't see the entire group though - I spent most of my time peering through the viewfinder of my camera, focused on Calvin, anticipating (or trying to) a leap or kick or spin that would make a good picture.  So I only saw him. 

After the demo team competition, the regular competitions began.  There were 8 areas marked off, and everyone was divided up by age groups (or that's how it looked to me, anyway.)  Age groups, and then skill levels or belt colors or something along those lines.  (I should have taken notes...but I didn't.)  Anyway, my sister was assigned to a corner at one end of the court, and both kids were at the other end.  So I watched from the bleachers for a little while, with my parents, who had also come, until it looked like someone from my family was about to compete.  Calvin was first, so I hurried down to the other end of the gym to hang out and wait for him to go...and at the same time I was keeping an eye on my sister's corner, because I could see that she'd be up soon...and then it became quite stressful as I looked back and forth from Calvin to Mere, hoping that their turns wouldn't come at the same time.  They didn't.  Fortunately.  And after both of them I got to watch Natalie, and then it was back down to the other end to watch my sister spar.

I have to say the coolest part was watching my sister wearing head gear, a mouthguard, a protective belt kind of thing around her abdomen, and padding on her hands and feet...and there she was before her sparring matches...stretching and hopping in place and looking totally focused on what she had to do...and then she went in there and did it.  Punched and kicked and all that.

Did she win?  Nope.  Not at all.  But to me that's not what's so cool about all this.  I mean, yeah, a trophy would have been great.  But it wouldn't have been any more impressive to me if she had won.  The fact that she is doing this - and in front of people - that is what is so cool.

And Calvin and Natalie, too...at their age, would I have been comfortable out in front of people?  Even in a competition like this, where it's like a circus, with tons of things going on at once...and everyone who is competing is pretty much oblivious to what everyone else is doing...and the people in the bleachers are mainly watching their sons or daughters or grandkids or siblings or whoever and might idly cast a glance at another competitor, but not for very long or with much thought...would I have done that?

Not a chance.

I took ballet and tap when I was very little, and I was in a couple of recitals...and the famous thing I said to my parents after one recital, when I was so shy and scared that I dreaded going out on stage, was "I kicked up my bravery."  Where did that little kicking girl go?

I was thinking a lot about this yesterday, on my way home.  And I don't know if I can describe this well, but here goes...I was thinking about how it would be to be, say, Natalie's age, 9, and out there in front of a ton of people, trying to focus on my kata and do it correctly for the judges and block out everyone around me, no matter how scary it would feel to have all those potential eyes watching...and I realized that it's not all the eyes of the people in the bleachers (or in an audience, or classroom, or wherever) that have affected me all these years.  It's all the eyes I carry around inside of me...all the eyes in my own head that are constantly - and critically - watching me.  Every little thing is scrutinized.  And these little eyes also have little voices (no, I'm not crazy, stick with me on this) that are, unfortunately, for the most part, hypercritical.

That's what's scary.  To me.  And I have to get over that.  I really do.  They've done nothing for me, ever.  They have just kept me from trying things.  Sure, they've prevented me from falling on my face in front of a big crowd of people - but so what?  I've still fallen down in front of people PLENTY of times under various circumstances and I'm still around.  In fact, my falling down stories are part of a collection of stories that my sister and I laugh over to this day. 

So who needs these stupid eyes watching me in my head, and their rotten little critical voices.  I used to feel like if I could figure out WHY I listen to them, then I could make them stop.  But now I'm realizing - who cares?  Who cares where they came from?  They've already received way more attention than they deserve and here I am, facing a BIG birthday this summer and feeling like I've got very little to show for reaching this milestone.  It's not the getting another year older that is bothering me - it's the getting another year older and feeling like I haven't come very far from the shy kid I started out as.

I know that's not entirely true.  I am a functioning member of society.  I can look people in the eye and stuff like that.  I'm really good at standing up for other people, like at work or something.  I'm great at that for everyone except myself.

And that's what I need to work on.  Much as I love photographing members of my family - and I really do love that - I realized yesterday that there probably aren't many photos of me doing anything.  Okay, I got married.  So there I am in those pictures.  But it's not like I worked hard to get to that point, you know?  It was like a birthday party.  You show up, you get your picture taken.

But most of the time, I'm the one taking the pictures.  I'm the one watching.  I'm the one capturing other people as they do things.  Cool things.  Like leaping and spinning.  Cool things.  Like kicking up their bravery.

I need to get out there and do something. 

But anyway, back to my karate sister and her karate kids - I didn't stay to watch the whole thing, though I would have liked to.  But I got to see each of them get out there and show what they could do. 

And, inspired by this, I did crunches (50) (with my kids crawling or sprawling on top of me during most of the 50) and some other ab stuff and some yoga.  I have noticed that when I work out, those little eyes in my head don't watch me so much, and their little voices tend to get quieter.  So maybe if I just try to focus on doing things - any things - I can make the critical watching eyes and their critical little voices go away.  They've overstayed their welcome.

Thanks Mere.  Thanks Calvin and Natalie. You guys inspire me.  Kiai!  (did I spell that right?)

Stocking Up

I've had a pretty happy day for myself.  We went grocery shopping this morning and got stuff to have on hand so we can throw meals together quickly during the week...especially the days when Bill works late and I'm throwing food around and juggling children at the same time.  It's like Iron Chef only there's no competition and I'd really like to see Bobby Flay try to do much of anything carrying a baby in one arm and trying to keep the older child from touching the stovetop. ("That very, VERY hot, Mommy" he says, pointing at the burner not in use and coming within a milimeter of touching it.)  (Oh, and why is he even that close to the burner to begin with?  Because we're STILL waiting for our stovetop to be fixed, so we're using the two electric burners in the basement...and so while I'm making dinner with one hand and holding Julia (who longs to dive into pasta sauce, apparently), Alex pushes a chair over and decides he's going to help me.  That's why.)

Anyway...where was I going?  Oh, yeah, stocking up.  So what I most wanted to accomplish today was to roast a whole bunch of garlic and have that on hand to add to things here and there.  So I cut 12 heads of garlic in half, dumped some olive oil on them, and wrapped them in foil and baked them at about 350 degrees or so for around an hour.  After they'd cooled a little, I squeezed out all the garlic into the food processor, poured in a little olive oil, and pureed it all.  It's stored in a little ceramic container with an airtight lid and I am so pleased about it that I'd sound like a crazy person if I continued to go on about it.

I also diced 4 big green peppers and froze them.  And julienned 5 big red peppers and froze them too.  And sliced 5 pounds of onions (in the food processor, otherwise I'd still be weeping) and froze them.  That's what I wanted to do, and it's done.  Dinner is in progress - I've got a tray of cut up beets roasting away, and also a pan of cut up potatoes roasting too.  Bill will be grilling salmon steaks in a little while, and I'll also saute the beet greens and my newest favorite vegetable - broccoli rabe - in a little olive oil with a little salt and pepper and a grating of romano cheese at the end.

So my day has been all about food, which is fine with me. 

It's also been about the garden...seeds for the early crops (HA - like we'll have acres and acres...) have been planted - Bill is in charge of the garden, pretty much, though I participate in planning what we'll grow every year.  Still, he is the master gardener.  I just pick stuff and cook it when it's ripe.  He's planted arugula, swiss chard, broccoli rabe, peas...and other things - I don't remember what his chart said.  But he's very organized about it.

And now I must go, because Julia has just realized that being in a playpen isn't half as much fun as crawling all around the living room...and she's sobbing brokenheartedly about it, which I can't ignore.

No - wait...oh, here is why I am happily married even though I will occasionally need to vent about little things about my husband...there is silence now, because he and Alex are in the living room building things with blocks, and Bill took Julia out of the playpen and Alex gave her a wooden block to gnaw on, and so there is peace.

Wow.

Alarming

I was up three times with Julia last night. 

I am on auto-pilot most of the time now, so I could probably be struck blind all of a sudden and I'd still be able to function in the middle of the night, since I hardly turn on any lights anyway.  Which is why ALL the pathways in the house need to be clear.  All the toys and other stuff can be piled up to the ceiling, as long as it is out of my way when I'm on my nocturnal prowls.  That means please don't leave your shoes right in the middle of the kitchen floor like that because I don't want to trip over them and whack my head on the sink.  Trust me - you don't want that either, because I'd get to be hospitalized and you would have to take care of both kids all the time (she said ominously).

So anyway, the second time I got up, I groaned loudly, rolled out of bed, put my hair in a ponytail, put my glasses on (so I can see CLEARLY in the dark) skimmed the hardwoods, barefoot, barely making a sound on my way to the kids' room, lower the side on Julia's crib, catch her as she's rolling back and forth in her crib, where she is shrieking in imagined pain or outrage or just for fun, pat her on the back and bounce her up and down for a second on the off chance that she'll just miraculously go right back to sleep.  It never ever happens, but I remain hopeful.  Pad softly (on little cat feet) out of the room, shut the door, and carefully hurry down the stairs (12 steps total) to the main floor.  Round the turn through the living room, and again to the left to the kitchen.  The keypad to disarm the security system (I have to shut off the basement motion detectors whenever Julia and I are up at night so we can sit down there in the semi-dark and watch every episode of Fresh Prince of Bel Air ever filmed) is on the wall next to the basement stairs.  I pass it on the way to the kitchen, where I make a 4 oz bottle of formula and Julia is still grumpy and squirmy in my left arm.  I shake the bottle to dissolve the formula, flick on the light to the basement stairs (the only light I turn on at night) and head down the 13 steps to the basement.

And halfway down there is a sudden PIERCING SHRIEKING HORRIBLE SOUND and it's not Julia crying; it's the alarm going off because I walked right by the keypad without punching in the code so I spin around on the 7th step and run back up as fast as my little legs can carry me, drop the bottle on the floor and punch in the code, hoping that that's all I'm supposed to do because if there's more I can't remember what it might be, and ahhhh, there is silence.  Except for my rapidly pounding heart.  And the amazing sound of my husband, hurrying down the stairs in the middle of the night.  I yelled to him that it was just me, and he tells me he has the number to the security office in his wallet, but that's okay, I have it in mine, so he turns around without another word and heads back to bed...probably cursing me, who knows.

I call the security office hotline and tell them it was a false alarm and to verify that it's me, they ask for my passcode, which, bright girl that I am, I have NOT written down on the little card with their phone number on it, because in the event that the card should become lost or stolen, someone could break into my home, pretend they are me, stop the police from coming over, and steal all the diapers and dirty dishes.  Anyway, I think I know what my passcode is, but then I panic, thinking that maybe I'm wrong, and if I give them the wrong passcode, they'll think I'm a burglar (who brings her crying baby with her on break-ins) and send the police over to arrest me in my stained tee shirt and sweats.  After hesitating (suspiciously, I'm sure) I hazard a guess, and - thank goodness - I get it right.  They tell me they will cancel the call to the police, and I am free to go.

So Julia (who is wide awake and kind of excited by all this) and I (who am wide awake and not at all happy about it) go back down the basement stairs.  My heart stops for a second halfway down, just in case the alarm has somehow re-set itself, even though I obsessively looked at it three times before going ANYWHERE.  And we turn on the TV and I change Julia's diaper and give her a bottle and try to take deep cleansing breaths.  Around 2:30 we go back to bed, where I proceed to have weird, disjointed dreams about creepy bearded men trying to get in front of me in line somewhere.  (I have no explanation for that one).

This morning Bill and I kind of briefly talked about this as we sped about in our own frenzies to get ready for work and out the door...he said we behaved exactly as we shouldn't have.  One person should have gone to stay with the kids (protectively) while the other...I don't remember...maybe watched for the police or watched for the burglar.  But his first instinct was just to run downstairs and see what had happened...and he said "what if I'd found you lying there dead?" - but instead of this having any kind of emotional effect on him, it just led him to conclude that if I'm already dead, there's really no need for him to become dead too...so if it happens again, I expect him to dash to the kids' room and wait there until the police come.  I will have to fend for myself.   

Young Love

Alex has a huge crush on one of the teachers at daycare. 

I went to pick the kids up the other day...got Alex first, as usual, and then got Julia.  Came out of Julia's room with Julia, her lunch bag, a bag of her clothes that needed to be washed, and my car keys, thumb all ready to press the remote unlock button.  I had Alex's lunch bag over my other shoulder and took Alex's hand as we went down the hall and turned left to head out the door. 

But then he broke away from me.  And raced all the way to the other end of the hall.  Looking for her.

"I find Miss Teffy!"  he shouted determindely.

Her legal name is not Teffy, but this is what the kids call her.  She's very nice, good with the kids, kind of quieter than some of the other teachers...and my son would propose to her if he was tall enough to apply for a marriage license.

He raced to the end of the hall and peered into the room that he thought she was in, while I followed along behind, Julia and bags in tow.  "Come on, Alex, time to go home!" I called, encouragingly.  It's really hard to chase him down when I'm carrying all the other stuff (and Julia).  I knew I could do it if I really needed to.  But I was hoping to just convince him that going home without a fight would be a fun thing to do.

Ha.

When he didn't find her at that end, he decided, just as I reached down to grab his hand, that perhaps she was way at the other end of the hall, where we had just come from.  So he took off again, laughing like a maniac.  I lumbered along after him.

Of course she wasn't there.  So I got him by the coat this time and we marched, once again, toward the door. 

But Cupid was conspiring against me.  There she was.  Miss Teffy.  Coming from somewhere down the hall (the other end) and, with a smile and a wave at Alex, disappearing into the office.

The office area has a little reception area that is visible from the little entry hall.  Off of that, to the right, is the main office, with a few desks and computers and so forth.  You can see whoever is in there through a couple of windows that look out into the halls.  And also off of the reception area, to the left, is the break room, which you can see through a window in the foyer.

Anyway, Miss Teffy disappeared into the breakroom and I thought we were home free.  We almost got to the big glass front doors, but then Alex wiggled away from me and raced into the reception room.  He's gone in there before to say hi to whoever's working there.  No one was there today, and he kind of hesitated, and I thought I could grab him, but he darted to the right - into the office, where the owner was having some work-related conversation with one of the teachers, and the office manager was at a computer typing something.  When I got to that doorway, Alex was getting a hug from the office manager.  I called to him - with good-natured mommy-patience (because I don't want to look like a banshee who can't control her toddler...though that's what I was starting to feel like) "Come on, Alex, let's go home and see Daddy!" 

He headed toward me - and ran past, into the break room, where Miss Teffy had gone.  I followed, "Alex, Alex, come on!" and saw him race down a hallway that I didn't know was back there.  I thought she had gone into the bathroom, and I was afraid he'd try to follow her in there, but he didn't.  He turned right down another hallway and ended up out in the main hall where he had tried to find her the first time.

I had no idea where she had disappeared to, and I hoped she'd stay hid, wherever she was.  Alex had paused, undecided about where to go next, so I got his arm and started to pull him gently in the right direction, but he spun away from me and lost his balance and landed on the floor.  So of course he started to fake cry.  Which brought another teacher running from the room.  She picked him up and transferred him to me...and that's how we ended up leaving the building - me with a kid in each arm.

My left arm - the Julia arm - was numb.

The next morning on the ride in, when we were almost at daycare, Alex announced "I go see Miss Teffy....I like her!"

Well, she wasn't there when we arrived, much to his disappointment.  But that afternoon when I got there, she was one of the two teachers in his room.  He came to give me a hug, and then began the mating dance.

He just started running from one end of the room to another, with a goofy grin on his face.  It was not just an "I'm-going-to-make-Mommy-work" kind of running to and fro.  It was more than that.  He was performing.  He was demonstrating his speed and agility.  He was showing that he could outrun all the other two-year-old boys in the room and was therefore most worthy of Miss Teffy's attention.  The other teacher just watched him go and looked at me and laughed.

He beamed at Miss Teffy and raced around the room again, this time shaking his head so all his straight blond hair flew away from his head like one of those pencils with that fluffy stuff at the eraser end, the kind that if you roll the pencil really fast between your hands the fluffy "hair" would stick straight out...I hope you know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, in order to help me escape the building, Miss Teffy came over, smiling at Alex, and asked him if she could zip up his coat.  He just beamed at her, googley-eyed.  She asked if he wanted her to give him a hug, and he smiled even bigger and goofier, and moved toward her in a trance.  She zipped his coat up, and picked him up and gave him a big hug.

I saw his face.  I think he nearly fainted from joy.

On the ride home, I knew for certain that she is the ONE.  He started singing "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" - which really means he wants me to sing it and he will tell me what animals Old MacDonald has.  It goes like this:

Alex:  "I wanna sing Oh-BaDonno had a farm ee-i-ee-i-oh and on that farm he had a Alex the lion...say that."

Me:  (singing) "Old MacDonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-oh.  And on that farm he had a Alex the lion, ee-i-ee-i-o, with a roar roar here and a roar roar there, here a roar, there a roar, everywhere a roar roar - "

and then Alex typically interrupts with the next animal - "(some other family member) the (some other animal)" and I launch in to the next verse.

Well, one of the new animals on Old BaDonno's farm is now "Miss Teffy the kittycat."

Ee-i-ee-i-oh.