A Mother's Day Hike

I needed to get out of the house on the Saturday before Mother's Day and The Drummer was totally on board.

We packed up the kids and drove out to Garland State Park where we'd hiked before.

We lathered the kids in sunscreen and started out.

Garland State Park is pretty and open with miles and miles of trails and, most importantly, it's warm!

This boy is a charmer.  He is constantly bringing me flowers.  There's a girl out there who'll thank me for this one day.

Any kind of walking or hiking is challenging with kids because they are so slow.  Their focus shifts every few minutes - amazingly the only thing they seem to be able to focus on is whining about how badly they want to go hooooome!  Marian had it easy though.  She rode in the backpack and even took a nap!

This ended up being a bit of a trek, I must admit.  And by the end of the hike I was so tired of listening to them ask how much longer and stopping every five feet to encourage them to keep walking, that I, myself, was asking The Drummer how much loooongerrrr???

There was some amazing scenery, however, and I fell in love with the succulents growing out of the moss on a rock wall near a waterfall.  I love the colors.

It ended up being around three miles of hiking.  At mile 2 3/4 John was so tired he was tripping over his own feet.  He'd land, face down and spread-eagled in the dirt and lay there like, "Just leave me here!"  He was miserable.  Three miles is a long way for a three year old's little legs.

Looking at his beet-red, dirt-streaked face I had to chuckle.  I've often wondered why The Drummer and his siblings always looked so tired and put out in their family camping photos....and their dad looks suspiciously satisfied.
Now I know.  He'd worn them to a nub hiking, fishing, playing in the sun.  They were done.  Cooked.  Stick a fork in 'em.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, my friends.  The Drummer learned from the best, I think.

Daniel had a collection of pinecones and sticks we had to talk him into leaving behind.  Hey, if you knew how many pinecones he's got in his room right now!  No more.

I loved this view so The Drummer took a few pictures of me with it.  I look so uncomfortable but I'm not used to posing for pictures by myself anymore!  What do you do with your arms without children to hold onto??

We finally loaded the kids in the car and drove home for homemade pizza.

Life is good.

My New Tree

I have a new backyard and several new trees to love.

But I'm particularly taken with one.

Really, nothing could compare to the last bit of majesty rooted just outside my back door.

But this one is beautiful in a whole different way.

The Drummer and I like to sit on the back porch, light up the propane heater, listen to waves crash against the shore and gaze at the stars.  The last part sounds overly cheesy but it's been two years since we've seen stars in clear dark sky - cut us some slack!  It's like seeing them for the very first time.

Sitting out there in the light of the sunset this tree almost looks animated.  Not Disney-animated but Pixar-animated.  It's shimmery around the edges.

California is the most amazing place for tree gazing.
Really.

Does this look like something from a Dr. Suess book?
I wish the color of the trunk came through the picture better - it's a bright rusty color - and there are these red puffy blooms that drip from the branches.

And this one is also in my backyard.
I love the symmetry.
And I'm not a symmetry kind of gal.
On second thought, maybe I am.

And these, oh! I love these.  They captured my heart the first time we lived in California and seeing them again and actually having one out my kitchen window was like coming home.

You'll hear me say it again -
living in California must be like living in the Garden of Eden.
This state is blessed with rich soil and every imaginable tree, flower, plant and vine.
A good retirement spot I'm thinking?

The Tassel's Worth the Hassel

I just got back from Daniel's Pre-Kindergarten graduation and the event can be summed up in one word.

Bagpipes.

Now, I'm a simple girl.  Graduation, in my opinion, is reserved for high school and college - you know, to mark the end of real achievement.  After 18 years of bullies, cafeteria lunches and Biology, it's expected and earned.  Graduation from Pre-K marks the end of butcher paper art and Goldfish crackers.  

I was approached two weeks ago by another mom who informed me that the school didn't traditionally do a preschool graduation (to which I nodded my head in complete understanding) so she had asked special permission to organize one herself (to which my eyes narrowed and my head cocked sideways like "why the heck would you do that?").

You gotta love mothers like these.  I really, really do wish I had even an ounce of what they've got - that motivation, creativity and care.  I do not and I'm always a little bit annoyed by it.  They make us old fashioned moms look bad.  I remember fondly the days when the mom who made the best cookies was Queen.  Just cookies.  On a plate. Covered in syran wrap.  Not fancy jars with crafty labels with elegant font and brightly colored ribbon.  How do moms have time for this kind of stuff??

But I showed up today dragging my two extras, my assigned Costco bag of Pirate's Booty for the unfortunate gluten-free children, and my camera because to leave the camera behind would be the utmost in Bad Mommy.

My first indication that this was going to be a Thing was the packed parking lot and grandparents in Sunday dress heading for the sanctuary.  This would be no casual classroom production, oh no.

After picking up a program (!) I herded my kids into a pew and waited for the ceremony to begin.

I tried not to look as confused as I felt when I began to hear bagpipes in the distance.  It grew louder and louder and soon there he stood in the back of the church in all of his kilt wearing regalia grandly leading in a group of four year olds dressed in paper caps and leis.  The leis were as incongruous as the bagpipes.

But I snapped pictures along with the other 30 people, who, like me, are hefting massive cameras that cost too much and are perpetually stuck in Auto.

Perhaps its my reticence to participate in this sort of thing, perhaps it's his father in him, but Daniel is rarely impressed by such pomp.  He hides his eyes, looks at the floor and telegraphs his discomfort to all who observe.  

When handed his "diploma" he stood and stared at it for a moment, a blank look of incomprehension on his face, then he walked back to sit with the other kids with a shrug.

After reciting a poem, thanking their teachers and a few words from the pastor, we were dismissed outside for cupcakes, cookies and my lone gluten-free Pirate's Booty.

My children filled up their paper plates, found a bench out of the way and in the shade, then sat and watched the other kids run and play like they were witnessing aliens frolic in the courtyard.

We lingered just long enough to get a group picture then this Drummer family snagged our Pirate's Booty and hit the road.

Many thanks to those mothers who make the school year go round.  My hat's off to you.

Fierce

"And though she be but little,

she is fierce."

-Shakespeare

I don't have a brother, though I had an imaginary one when I was younger.  His name was Steven.

Staci - Steven...I thought it made sense.  Steven would bring his hot guy friends over all the time.

Yes, I imagined Steven at an age when I was interested in his imaginary hot guy friends - I was that old.  Steven was a rule breaker, wild, a real bad boy.  You know, someone who would forge a path with the folks; someone I could follow in the wake of and take advantage of the strides he'd made in getting them to lay off some of the rules.  Someone a little sister could look up to.  He was big and played football and was incredibly popular.

I still think of Steven sometimes...lucky for me he lives happily just outside Wichita, Kansas, where, after retiring from a very successful stint on the rodeo circuit, he settled onto a large cattle ranch with a beautiful wife and 5 crazy kids.  He's long overdue for a visit.

Despite my dreams of Steven and his wild rebellious shenanigans (dude never got caught!),
in reality I grew up without a trailblazing big brother.

So I'm thoroughly enjoying Marian's experience.  And while having three kids 5 years old and under is not easy...at all...I'm so thankful I had them close together.  They are like a band of buddies - their ages near enough that when the oldest begins navigating a certain path the other two are hot on his trail.

Now, my boys are fearless and daring when it comes to anything physical.  From birth they were naturally athletic and had an innate feel for balance and what they were capable of doing.

They walked early, they ran and jumped and climbed way before I was ready for it.

But in social situations they are bashful.  It's almost painful for me to watch.  

I remind myself that my grandpa weathered 84 perfectly good bashful years and he made out ok.

Marian is an interesting mix.  She, too, is physically ahead of the game.  I'm not sure if she would attempt some of the acrobatics that she does if it weren't for the careful study of her brothers.  But she seems to handle it well - the occasional bump and scratch as the only evidence of her daring.  At 36 years old I'm just now discovering the joys of being a physically active person.  I hope she grows up knowing it.

Besides her physical prowess, girlfriend packs a punch in the personality department.  She's a firecracker.  She shares full toothed grins with little prompting.  She loves games and being silly.

She is quickly learning her power over men as she handily wraps her daddy around her little finger.  She is often seen pushing a finger into her brother's chest giving him the "what for."  Bashful is not a word I would use to describe her.

She's pretty easy going - but don't let that fool you - she has very definite ideas of how she wants things to go down.  A streak of pure steel runs through her backbone.  Like a lightening flash she can go from chill to fired up.  She objects with peacock like crowing and fierce I'm-not-joking eyes.  And she has that perfectly girly pout down pat.

She follows the boys everywhere and holds her own.

I'm so excited for her to grow up with these two strapping boys.

There'll be times when she hates it for sure.

But I'm pretty sure that in the end she wouldn't have it any other way.

Homemade Vanilla Extract

I've told you of my Renaissance Man, haven't I?

There is not much he can't accomplish in the kitchen.

He's our Cook and I'm the Baker.

But ever' once in'a while our culinary worlds collide.

I do not remember how it started but I do recall my man making his way to his computer, keying up Google with the intention of discovering how to make homemade vanilla extract.

The recipe was easy enough for him (but then, what isn't easy for The Drummer?) and before I knew it - he'd ordered vanilla beans off Amazon.

Yes, you can buy vanilla beans off Amazon - delivered right to your door.  

What's not to love about Amazon, really?

And with the beans you have left over - make vanilla sugar.  Yum.

You gotta love a man who makes homemade vanilla extract just because he knows I'd like it.  Nay, love it.

He bought all the goods:

Vanilla beans

Clean sealed bottles

Vodka

And made the goods:

10 beans per quart-ish
Slice the beans open, slide them in the bottle and fill the bottle with vodka.
Let sit 6 - 8 weeks.

Before:

After:

It's now my go-to vanilla extract and it's wonderful!

Great gift idea, too, don't you think?

Awe....do you wish you had a Renaissance Man who'd make you homemade vanilla extract?

Well, you can!!

My wonderful, handsome, kid-loving, super-smart brother-in-law.

He's currently manning a submergible nuclear reactor that's cruising around the Atlantic.

How freaking cool is that?

If you think you can handle the stresses of being a Navy Wife - let me know.  I'll hook you up with the adventure of a lifetime!