Beaches, Peaches, Magic

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.  Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
-Roald Dahl

It's! Almost! Fall! Mode

We have now reached the point in the summer where there are no more scheduled events for the girls - no camps, no sleepovers, no tennis lessons - except for Annie's thirty-minute-a-week piano lesson.  The weather's been cool lately, and we've been sleeping with the windows gloriously open, and I heard a goose honking overhead the minute I woke up yesterday morning.

All this to say that I've gone fully into my It's! Almost! Fall! mode, which annually involves:

1.  Me, getting all seize-the-day about taking the girls to the beach, or on a spontaneous outing, or doing a million picnics, or making it to just one more park concert, or letting them get ice cream almost any time they ask.

2.  Me, getting all inspired to cook and bake up a storm with the last of summer's goodness and the early tastes of fall.

Related to item the first, I am planning to take the girls on a mystery trip tomorrow to pick peaches at Crane's and then on to play at the South Haven beach, where they love the play equipment almost as much as the beach itself.  I might sneak in a stop at Salt of the Earth just for their seedy salt bread, too.

Related to item the second, I made chicken stew and biscuits for dinner last night, and right this minute I have blueberry muffins in the oven with five minutes to go.  Last night, Jason nicely took the girls to the park while I made dinner and drank a Founder's porter in peace, but the blueberry muffins, I made this morning with absolutely zero interruptions from my children.  They have been playing/setting up a tea party/having and feeding babies/cleaning up Jemma's room/getting each other dressed/brushing their teeth this whole time.

It still sort of shocks me when this happens, when I am able to accomplish something like a normal person without an infant around my neck or a toddler running in to attach to my leg every seven seconds.  Yesterday, I was noticing that when the three of us run an errand and go to get back in the car, everyone just goes to their own separate door, opens it, gets in, shuts the door, and buckles themselves in.  I remember so clearly when it was "Go to Annie's side while lugging the infant car seat and holding Annie's hand, open her door, get her into her seat, shut the door, go to Jemma's side, put the infant carrier in its base, shut the door, go back around to Annie's door, open it, buckle her in, shut her door, get in the car and heft the diaper bag into the passenger seat."  Sometimes I am still surprised at what my life looks like right now.

Also related to item the second, am I the only one who finds herself at the grocery store or the farmers' market, tossing things in the cart, all inspired and full of plans for specific meals and getting certain items specifically for those meals, and then gets home and makes maybe one of those meals the very same day and maybe one more the next day, and then finds herself looking at, say, a carton of buttermilk or a bunch of parsley and thinking, what is this for?  And crapping out on the meals for the rest of the week and just ordering Rose's Express pizza family meal?

Maybe this is just my problem.  I attempted to combat it yesterday.  When I got in the car in the grocery store parking lot after paying for my $87 worth of groceries, I wrote out all my meal ideas for said groceries on the back of the shopping list I had just taken into the store.  Smart, right?

Then I came home, unloaded the groceries, and threw the list away, forgetting only fifteen minutes later that I had written on the back of it.  So!  At least there was chicken stew with biscuits!

Just Us Big Girls

Jemma spent the night at my parents' last night for her summer sleepover and Jason was off doing manly things involving mountain bikes, jerky, speakers, and beer at the cabin, so it was just me and Annie. After the others left, I told her she got to be in charge of the day and her eyes lit up.

First, we went to the farmers' market, where she chose a peacock feather for herself and one for Jemma.  We bought peaches and raspberries and tomatoes, too.

She declared it Opposite Day, meaning that first we needed to eat ice cream at Jersey Junction, and then we needed to eat lunch.  So we did.  We sat outside and spoiled our lunch with ice cream and it was fabulous.  After lunch, she wanted to "be cozy," so we climbed into my bed, Annie with her Boxcar Children book and me with my books, and we read for an hour or so in companionable silence.

Next, Annie declared that we go to the pool, so we did.  There was hardly anyone else there but luckily she knew one little girls from school and I talked with a friend while her son zoomed into the water and taunted me adorably with his peanut butter crackers.

She wanted risotto for dinner, so I made that and I sliced a farmers' market tomato with some fresh mozzarella and basil from our windowbox.  Sarah called to invite Annie down to watch a movie in jammies with Lucy, so the little girls snuggled with popcorn in the basement while Sarah and I drank lambic in her adirondack chairs.  Later, she fell asleep while I scratched her back.

It was pouring this morning when we woke up.  We made peanut butter toast and had more raspberries while I drank coffee and looked at the IKEA catalog and Annie perused morning cartoons.  I went running while she made up a dance routine with Lucy.  Later, we went to Target, where she counted out all her "spend" money to buy her very first pair of real earrings, tucked away in their pink box for the next month.  She asked me if I cried when I got my ears pierced.  She asked to buy new basil soap.  She chose Annie's Mac & Cheese, pumpkin granola bars, and new school clothes.  She still fits into some 5T Osh Kosh, just barely, and I am savoring one more season of that cuteness.

We went to the library to return books and check out new movies for a cozy movie night.  She asked me what my favorite song is.  She asked me how I learned to cook.  She wondered what Jemma was doing. We played statues.  We did math flashcards.  We read Pippi Longstocking, and Jemma came home, and everyone went to bed.

I hope she remembers.  I think she will.

He Remembers Every Word Jon Bon Jovi Ever Sang, Though

The scene:  Couch, living room, late summer night in August
The players:  Jason, listening to music on iPad; Stephanie, reading on laptop

Stephanie:  Huh.  That's interesting.
Jason:  What?
Stephanie:  NPR just reported on a study that shows that babies can be pre-disposed to like certain, specific foods based on the flavors their moms ate during pregnancy.
Jason:  Yeah . . . so.
Stephanie:  Well, maybe that explains why Jemma is so picky.
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  Do you remember how I was when I was pregnant with Jemma?  How I only ate yogurt and bagels?
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  Remember how I had constant explosive diarrhea and felt nauseated all day long for six months?
Jason: . . .
Stephanie, louder:  Remember how I lost ten pounds?
Jason:  I . . . ah . . .
Stephanie:  Remember how I had to start drinking Ensure every day because the doctor was concerned about my weight loss?
Jason:  I don't . . . remember anything about diarrhea . . .
Stephanie, loudly:  Remember the time you were at work and I had to call my dad to drive down and be with Annie at the house because the explosive diarrhea was so violent that it actually caused me to begin having regular contractions when I was only twenty-some weeks pregnant??!!??
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  !!!
Jason:  Heh.  Well, it was five years ago.

In Concert

www.davidchandlerphoto.com

Tuesday night, I tell her we're going to go to a concert in the park and she immediately runs to her room.  Lipstick.  Bracelet.  Necklace.  Clip-on earrings.  Packs a purse.  Probably would have painted her nails if there had been time.

We walk to the lake, spread our blanket on the grass, and she is gone - chasing friends, getting her face painted, dancing in front of the band, laughing.  She is still six.  Her ears are still un-pierced, this last month before her seventh birthday.  She stands, looking, smiling, the sun and her sister just behind her.

*****

Wednesday night, I tell her I'm going to a concert with my friends and she immediately runs to my room.  "What dress are you going to wear?  What food are you making?"  Blue maxi-dress.  Figs.  Goat cheese.  Probably would have made caramels if there had been time.

I kiss her good-bye, drive to the gardens, plunk a chair down on the grass and I am there - drinking wine, people-watching, talking, listening to Sara Barielles sing, dancing under the stars, laughing.  I am still thirty-three, this last month before my birthday.  I sit, looking, smiling, the stars and the crickets just behind me.

The Number One Rule

My parents were over for dinner one night last week.  In the course of conversation about another family member, my mom remarked, "I mean, the number one rule of being a (her maiden name) is Take Care of Your Stuff!"

The minute she said it, it struck me that Take Care of Your Stuff really is the number one rule for that side of my family.  I have never, ever, ever been to my grandparents' house and not seen every single item in its place.  The lawn is always mowed, the bushes trimmed, the garden weeded and watered, the carpets vacuumed, the cars washed and waxed, the tools hanging in their proper places in the garage, the counters wiped clean, the mail sorted on the phone desk.  The same thing is true at my parents' house, and at the houses of my aunts and uncles and extended family.

The same thing is not true here.  I mean, we don't totally neglect our stuff, and there does come a point where the stuff does get taken care of, but it is not rule number one.  It's probably not even rule number two or rule number thirteen.  It's probably rule number thirty or so, and that's okay with me.  We've actually tried not to accumulate too much stuff, because stuff needs to be cleaned and stored and waxed and vacuumed and sorted and wiped clean and watered and trimmed, and I don't get pride or joy from doing those things.  I do them when they must be done, and I try to do them thoroughly, and I am for good-enough stuff-care.  My family is possibly disappointed in me.

I've been thinking, though, about the unwritten rules we learn from our families, and about which rules we're following in our own home.  Beyond the (failed) attempt to teach me to take care of stuff, my family of origin also had other unspoken rules I can see if I look:

• Things - decisions, money, voting - are private.
• Save your money.
• When children grow up, their life is theirs to live.
• Give the best of what you make away to others.
• Be humble.
• Work first, then play.
• Everything in moderation.
• Follow the rules.

Then I had some fun thinking about the unspoken rules that Jason received from his extended family:

• Things  - decisions, money, voting - are public and to be discussed.
• Spend your money.
• When children grow up, you still have influence over their lives.
• Celebrate big.
• Be proud of your family and tell everyone.
• Follow traditions.
• Play more.
• Bend the rules.

I don't want to make it look like Jason and I grew up in polar opposite families, because we didn't:  lots and lots of the rules we lived by are the same, and we were raised in many of the same ways.  But it's fun and funny to look at how some of the messages we received were different, and it actually illuminates the few areas that can create conflict for us in our marriage. 

Now I'm thinking about what an outside observer would guess our little family's Rule Number One is.  I'm thinking, really, about what I would say it is, and I'm not sure.  I thought about it while I was running the lake last night, and while I was driving home from spending the day with my mom, and while I was painting trim in the living room on Friday night.  

Jason and the girls went up north for the weekend to fish with grandpa and dance polkas at The Polish Festival, and I like the distance that a little break gives me from our family of four.  I'm able to see it more clearly from the outside, put it under glass and walk around it for a day or two, making notes, examining.  I'm whipping out the calendar and planning our next few months, hunting down back-to-school supplies and clothes, dreaming up a few last summer adventures, and thinking about the unspoken rules I'm laying out for my family.  I'm thinking about what I want Fall 2011 to be about for us.  I'm reading this poster that hangs in my kitchen while I do the dishes and wondering:  what's your Rule Number One?

Read Elsewhere: Ridiculous Fashion

At the beach a few weeks ago, a friend and I were paging through some women's fashion magazines we'd scrounged up in the hopes that the children would be sufficiently busy with the sand that we might have ten minutes to sit in our chairs.  (They were.  We did.)  And that right there is one of only two places that I enjoy paging through any kind of women's fashion magazine, the other location being at the salon.  I have never subscribed to one, and even when I DO page through them with a friend at the beach, I'm mostly pointing to something on a page and saying, "What is THIS?"

So it was with great joy that I stumbled upon Temerity Jane's snort-inducing "Cosmo Cliff's Notes" late last night.  The whole, many-thousand-word post is total awesomeness, but this part was my favorite:

I know I say this every month, but you guys. The fashion section. None of this is any good. None of it. You just can’t wear this stuff at all. No. You can’t. There’s no reason for it. There’s just no goddamn earthly reason for any of this. IT’S JUST EGREGIOUS.