Memorial Day Muffins

Because people have died for our freedom. Which does not give you the freedom to be a greedy pig.

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Further Proof That I Still Do Not Get Enough Sleep

In the early morn, cup of coffee in hand, I'm scrolling through overnight emails and slowly getting my brain moving for the day.

My inbox has a Living Social email in it, one of those daily deal super fabulous coupon dealios.  The subject line says: Dog Boarding.

And for the life of me, I cannot figure out why anyone, even here in anything-goes California, would pay to have their dog go surfing, with or without a coupon.

That image?  You can buy it as a sticker!  No, not from me; I thought
since I'm using their fun image, I could at least link to the site
where you can buy it. Click here.

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Do Not Teach Children To Help Out Around the House. Bad Things Happen

Ever feel like you're the only one in your family who cleans up?  The only one who keeps things running smoothly?  The only one who replaces the toilet paper roll, puts folded towels in the linen closet, keeps things in their rightful places?

Is so, consider yourself lucky.

I fell into the trap of trying to teach my kids responsibility, of trying to instill in them a sense of cooperation, of trying to make them human.  Big mistake.  Here are two cautionary tales from my botched attempt to get some help around the house.

Tale #1: When Other People Clean, You Will Be Late

I recently re-instituted the simple idea of straightening up the common areas every evening.  We've been in this habit before, but have fallen woefully out of it, so I felt it was important to whip us back into shape.  The result?  We all went to bed in a clean house.  Mostly.  The other result?  The next morning, as we were trying to get out the door to school, I could not find my purse anywhere.  I looked high, and low, and in between.  I re-looked everywhere I could think of, in all of the places I've been known to put it.  I riffled through two laundry baskets twice, thinking it might have gotten tangled up with the clean underwear and towels.

Bordering on hyesteria, I sent the kids -- who were no help whatsoever -- out to the car to wait for me.  I searched in vain for another 5 or 10 minutes.  And then I remembered that we all cleaned up the night before.  I marched out to the car and said through clenched teeth: "Does anyone remember moving my white bag with the black flowers on it last night when we were cleaning up????"

Lady E: "OH!  YES!  I know where it is...but don't be mad!  I was cleaning, and I grabbed it off the dining room table, and I had a bunch of other stuff in my hands, and then I went up to my room and started doing something else, so I think it's on the doll crib in the corner!"

10 minutes late to school because I had the kids clean up the house the night before.

Tale #2: When Other People Help, Your Head Might Explode

Little T is finally catching on to the idea of helping.  So in the midst of the clean-up flurry the other night (same night as referenced above), she offered brightly: "Mommy, do you want me to bring in the towels from outside?"  Why yes, I thought!  That would be great, and I had forgotten that I had put them outside in the sun to dry earlier that morning.  Fantastic, sweetie: great idea.  Out she went, and back in she marched, arms full of sun-dried towels.  I told her to put them on the basket of clean laundry.

The next morning, I grabbed one of those towels for my shower.  I was taking a very late shower, one I wasn't even sure I had time for, and this was before I started looking for my purse.  I took my quick shower, jumped out, grabbed my towel, and started vigorously rubbing my hair and shoulders, aware that I had mere moments to get ready and still get the kids to school on time.  The towel was a little crunchy.  For a few seconds, this didn't bother me: sun dried towels usually are.

But then, I looked a little closer, and realized that in addition to the clean towels, Little T had also grabbed the towel someone put outside a month ago for cleaning off the chalkboards during the garden tour.  This towel was crunchy and chalk-dusty, and I had just rubbed it all over my head.  I now smelled chalky, felt gritty, and was in danger of having my head explode, all within 60 seconds of getting out of the shower.  With no time left to take another one.

These two tales illustrate why wise mothers say: "It's just easier to do it myself."

I don't care if my kids are lazy, entitled loafers who expect other people to do everything for them.  I'd rather arrive places clean and on time, thank you very much.

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Me and Me and Me

A meme! This might be just the thing to bring this sad little blog back from the brink of extinction. I have been tagged by Homemaker Man, who has posed the following questions for me (and 10 others) to answer. I will come up with 11 new questions, and tag some more people to participate.

1. Have you ever stolen anything in your life (don't answer this if it's a felony still under the stature of limitations. Disclaimed)? YES. That is all I have to say on that score. Because the memory of marching back to the market and fessing up to the store manager about a certain purloined pack of Bubblicious Burst liquid center-filled sour cherry bubble gum is just too painful. Thanks Mom.

2. Can you read my mind? YES. You are thinking about your Lovey.

3. Coopon or Q-pon (there is a correct answer here)? Q-pon. Totally Q-pon. Coopon is pretentious and silly. Everyone knows that.

4. Medium rare or vegetarian? Oh, for the love of Joel Salatin, go medium rare or go home. I take after my daughter, who went sheet white when she heard that there are people in the world called vegetarians. The thought of never eating meat, well, it left her speechless. That is her Heart of Darkness: "The horror! The horror!"

5. How many angels fit on the head of a pin? Five angels fit on the head of a pin. And then they jump up and down on top of it and drive that pin straight into my temples. Actually, those same five angels (and I know their names and social security numbers) fit on the head of several pins, all of which are positioned around my head at homework/dinner/shower/bath/soccer practice time. Little known fact about angels: they like to torture the ones they love.

6. What's the frequency, Kenneth? I would totally answer that, if I had a clue what it meant. Alas, I have none, except a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with South Park. And I disliketh South Park. Satirical art form that it is, I disliketh it still.

7. What does it have in it's pockets? A pair of tweezers, of course!

8. If you were ever sent to prison, and you couldn't get your hands on a spoon or a toothbrush, out of what would you fashion your shiv? The binding of a hard cover book. And no pulp fiction either. I'd choose something appropos, such as a collection of Flannery O'Connor short stories. My motto is, if you're going to stick a shiv up under someone's ribs, do it with a shiv made from a book containing this line: "She would have been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."

9. If you could 100% ensure your children have one specific quality when they grow up, what would it be? The capacity for joy. (It was a tough choice between that and the ability to fashion a shiv out of a book binding, but see? Goodness always wins out.)

10. In order to save the world, you have to do seven minutes in heaven in a broom closet with either Vladimir Putin, Newt Gingrich, or the corpse of Elizabeth Taylor. Who do you choose? Well. Those are appetizing choices. I'm going to have to go with Putin here. Republicans and dead people are not my thing.

11. What is your desert island ice cream brand and flavor? Fenton's coffee ice cream. I could stay on that island forever. Except maybe if Putin were there too. Then I'd eat my ice cream and start swimming.

And now, The Rules.

The rules of this meme, for those of you tagged by me below, are as follows: 

1. You must post the rules. 
2. Answer the questions the tagger (me!) set for you in the post, and then create 11 new questions to ask the people you've tagged. 
3. Tag 11 bloggers.  However, you can break the rules and tag fewer people if you want. Make sure you hyperlink their names/blogs. 
4. Let them know you've tagged them! 
5. Have fun! 

Next, my questions for the people I tag:

1. What do you want to be when you (finally) grow up? 
2. What is the last thing you read that truly stirred you? 
3. What is the last thing that made you truly, righteously angry? 
4. What hung on the walls of your home when you were a child? 
5. What's your pop culture guilty pleasure? Bad music, stupid TV show, cheesy movie...I'll start you off by admitting to being a Law and Order junky, with a particular fondness for SVU. 
6. Can you explain Justin Bieber to me? Please? Cuz clearly I'm missing something. 
7. Where do you never want to travel to again, and why? 
8. Do you support your local public radio or television station? Wait. Before you answer that, remember that you can open up a new window in your browser, click over to your local station's website, donate, come back here, and then answer with pride and integrity. 
9. Where do all the socks go? 
10. Wherefore art thou, Romeo? 
11. If you were to write a letter to your 30-years older or 30-years younger self, what advice would you give yourself? 

And lastly, those who shall from this point forward be known as The Tagged Ones (pronounced The Tag Ed Ones):

1. Deliajude
2. Mama Mama Quite Contrary
3. Minivan McGyver
4. Momofali
5. WifeMotherExpletive
6. 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11: tag yourself. Play along! 

Happy Meme-ing everyone. :)

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We Are Raising Lazy, Uncultured Waifs

Overheard at my house, during a conversation about Led Zeppelin's signature song:

"A stairway to heaven would be really long and inconvenient. They really should have made it an escalator."

And I can do nothing but shake my head and weep for the next generation.

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7 Quick Words

THE

GARDEN

TOUR

IS

ON

SUNDAY:

YAHOO!

Humm babies in the Manzanita...
coffeeberry after rain...
an iris, a perfect iris

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That's the Pits!

Today, I watched my seven year old daughter execute the wardrobe-change-while-riding-in-a-car maneuver.

We left her soccer game, where she displayed 2 scissor moves, one fake, one thigh trap, five right footed-goals, 1 left-footed goal, and 1 left-footed shot on goal, and she had to do a quick transformation before getting to her next destination, a birthday party.  Before we pulled away from the curb, she had changed out of her soccer shorts and into her cute little cut-off jean shorts.  Next, the sweaty soccer jersey was whipped off, replaced by a sassy little pink t-shirt, complete with rhinestone doohickeys on the front.  She topped it off with a black half-length vest, and then set about brushing her hair as the van careened down the hill towards the party.

I kept sneaking glances at her in the rearview mirror.  She was "doing herself up," as much as a 7 year old  can, transforming herself from rabid athlete to bounce-house party girl.  It was poignant.  I pictured her older, and found myself hoping that soccer grows up with her and stays with her into high school.  Having never been an athlete as a child, I love the idea of my girls challenging themselves physically, pushing their bodies and growing up strong.  Visions of prom night swirled in my head, with a dazzling Lady E dressed to the nines after a fierce competition on the pitch.  I don't want her to be a debutante or anything, but I like that she's got both going for her.  I kept sneaking glances at her as she brushed and brushed her unbrushable mop, and I smiled to myself all the while.

She was worried about being sweaty.  "Mom, when we get there, I'm going to use the bathroom first, so I can wash my hands and face, and my pits, Mom, because my pits are gross!"  Emphasis hers.

Happy as I was about her taking care of her personal hygiene, I  gently suggested that she couldn't actually bathe in her host's bathroom, and that it would probably be fine to just wash her hands and face.  After all, I figured, she's seven.  And she's going straight into a bouncy house with a bunch of other seven and eight year olds, where they will bounce like mad for 2 or 3 hours.  It's not like the pits are going to matter.

When we got to the party, we found our way through an immaculate, show-ready house, said hello to the hosts, then we found our way to a gorgeous bathroom, with cute little soaps, pretty towels, and matching everything.  I re-did her un-doable hair.  She washed up.  Washed her face and hands, and reached for the towel to dry up.   And just as I was marveling at how extremely lovely she is, and before I could reach over to stop her, she took that nice pretty hand towel and mopped up both her pits.

I'm pretty sure the rough and tumble athlete is going to kick the debutante's ass in this little girl.

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7 Quick Takes: Volume 54

7 works of art, all made on this lovely Friday.

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7 Quick Takes: Volume 53

Let's be quick about this shall we?  Here are my 7 Quick Takes for today.  Actually 14, because today, I bring you 2 lists of seven things that reveal a little bit about me and my family.

List #1:

1. The other day, I was lying down on my bed with my daughter.  She looked down at my feet, looked back up at me, gave me a little sly smile and said:  "Look at you, wearing the matching socks!"
2. I organized my desk piles yesterday.  I found a Netflix DVD we have not returned.  From December.  Of 2010.
3. My kids sometimes lament: "We're the Heck's, aren't we?"  
4. Related: One of my kids, surveying the scene after we stayed at grandma and poppa's house for three days and were about to begin the process of putting it back together, said: "I know what happened here.  We Alatorre-ed up the place."
5. I had to dry a school uniform shirt with a hair blow-dryer this morning.
6. Every day, it takes about 3.4 seconds for the car ride home from school to reach epic levels of nastiness between my children.  When this happens, I worry that they are actually possessed by evil spirits.  Every day.
7. I finally found one of the three flash drives I've been looking for!  Outside, in a dirty bucket, partially submerged in rainwater.  Along with it, I also found one bottle of expensive facial sunscreen, a couple of necklaces, a soaked deck of cards, and my kitchen dish scrubber.  The dish scrubber did not survive.

List #2

1. My husband can simultaneously agree with my son, in the most emphatic way, that a kid we know is an absolute idiot (replace the word "idiot" with your preferred curse word; I couldn't bring myself to pull that trigger) while also telling him that even that kid deserves adults who will bring out the best in him, because "you never give up on a 13-year old kid."
2. A couple of times recently, when they had their choice of what movie to watch, my kids picked To Kill a Mockingbird and Guess Whose Coming To Dinner.  
3. Four out of my five children will be in a production of Midsummer Night's Dream this summer in Sonoma.  
4. My dining room table is covered with evidence that art takes places all the time in this house.  I could sand it all away any time I choose.  I do not choose.
5. The other day, someone asked me "how I do it," how do I handle 5 kids.  I replied quite sincerely that I yell a lot.  She, bless her, expressed disbelief: "No!  I don't believe that!  It seems like you laugh a lot!"  Well, both are true.  And I was grateful to her for pointing out to me that, yes, we laugh a lot.
6. Every  now and then, the stars line up correctly, everyone's moons are in the right aspect, our chakras jive with our karma, and the five kids all have fun playing together, from the 13 year old, all the way down to the 5 year old.  Not going somewhere fun, not for a special occasion, just because we get lucky.  When this happens, like it did last night on a warm and beautiful Spring evening, with children rolling on the lawn and the sounds of their merriment wafting down our street, I marvel that my children are kind, fun, creative, hilarious, and strong people.   (It didn't last very long...but it was glorious.)
7. Things I love about my family: that we are Barcelona fans...that we make paella...that we love the Beatles...that we talk ad nauseum about life...that we all give each other second chances every single morning (so, like, second chances times infinity, or something like that)...that we all possess very strong senses of humor...that we are here, in this place, with and for each other.  I never doubt that a small group of Alatorres can change the world.  Indeed, it's the only thing that does it for me, day in and day out.  (Sorry 'bout the stealing, Ms. Mead!)

We give me whiplash.

:) Happy Friday everyone.  Go visit our host, Jen, and sample some of the other 7QT-ers.  

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It Only Took Me 9.75 Years

My daughters are rough and tumble.  They are hard on clothes, hair accessories, and their own bodies.  I try to dress them up, I try to "do" their hair.  It usually takes mere minutes for them to revert back to their natural state: unkempt, with holes at the knees.  Cute hair bands unravel at their touch.  Pretty blouses are christened with paint or mud or both within days.  I've used more bandaids on my three daughters in nine years than I have on my two boys in thirteen.

I had a realization this morning as I was searching for a non-shredded pair of tights for Thing One to wear.  All this time I've thought I was buying tights for my daughters, pondering which ones to buy, trying to keep them organized in a cute and tidy little stocking basket, I haven't actually been buying tights.  I've been buying disposable socks.

It stops now.  No more wasted money.  No more standing and staring in the Target aisle.  I'm taking a stand against tights.  No more tights.

I'll find something else to do with that cute basket.  Maybe I'll keep my Y2K supply of bandaids in there.

* * *

Fun With Sharpees

Give my kids a relatively free afternoon and a couple of sharpees, and there's no end to the fun they can have.

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