Happy Birthday, Papaya!

There are many reasons I've been a terrible blogger lately: my mother-in-law's 10 day visit, our insane planting and yard work mania (which deserves an entry to itself), and last but not least, the Papaya's 4-year birthday party, which was yesterday (his actual birthday is today).

It was, of course, a Lightning McQueen birthday party, and it was a lot of fun to plan and host. Since Memorial Day is not a great day to host a birthday party around here (most people get away for the long weekend), we only had two families show up. But those families brought 7 kids between them, so it was the perfect number for the Papaya. I made 2 large pizzas, the cake (pictured above, a race track scene with Lightning pushing the King across the finish line - the Papaya's idea), and cupcakes with "wheels" made out of Oreos on top. Papaya Daddy made a large wok of yummy fried rice and some cold lemon-mint tea using the abundance of mint growing in our yard. For games, we had a spare tire beanbag toss & the ever-popular pinata (a birthday party tradition in this neighborhood). It was a fun, low-key time and most importantly, the Papaya loved it. In fact, he spent the entire afternoon leading up to the party just staring at the cake and Cars-themed decorations. He wouldn't even leave to watch a video. And the guests brought more Cars-themed toys as gifts. Life doesn't get any better than that.

It was fun to honor the Papaya with a party. He's a sweet, imaginative, and lively 4-year old (if a bit manic at times). He seems to have grown up so much lately, wanting to do everything himself now. I look forward to seeing how he's going to grow and change in his 5th year with us. He is so dear and so loved.

Kids are gross (or is it just boys?)

Yesterday, after sitting and laboring successfully on the toilet, the Papaya informed me that he wanted to continue sitting there while he flushed, because he really liked the feeling of the dirty toilet water splashing his bottom. A painful admission for a mommy to hear - the Papaya was quite upset that I did not encourage his plan.

Pretty gross, but not quite as bad as a couple months ago, when I walked into the bathroom to discover that the Papaya's hair was dripping wet. After using the toilet (and before flushing), he had dipped his entire head inside the bowl. Dirty toilet water was running down his face and neck. Hopefully, his swift removal to the shower and the cold water that immediately drenched him, clothes and all, dampened his enthusiasm for a repeat performance.

Are all kids this gross? Is it innate? Or is it just the Papaya? Perhaps he's one of the few who will find satisfaction and success in a future career of sewage processing and management.

Strength-building Saturday

This morning I woke up with sore arms, very sore shoulders, raw fingers, tired legs, and a bruise on my inner thigh. All completely worth it, and gained in the course of a very full outing with the kids to Jack's Canyon yesterday (pictured above). We joined a group of fellow health center employees, a few other kids, and half a troup of boy scouts on a hiking & rock climbing expedition. Sadly, Papaya Daddy had to work yesterday, and missed out on our fun & action filled day. To his credit, he was the one who spurred me to get ready and basically shepherded us out of the door & into the car before he left for work. Without his selfless encouragement (he would have loved to go himself), we would probably have left hopelessly late or not at all.

The Papaya Daddy's absence made things just a little more complicated. Usually when we hike, he carries the Banana on his back, and I carry everything else (water, food, extra jackets, kid stuff) in a large and beautifully ergonomic backpack. Papaya Daddy's absence meant I was the only beast of burden available. After quite a bit of contemplation concerning how to carry everything, we settled on the arrangement pictured to the left (add a 19 month old in the child carrier on back, and a bit more bulk to the green backpack, and you'll know how it actually looked on the trail yesterday). The green hiking pack wasn't quite as ergonomic when hanging from my front, especially when loaded down with over half a gallon of water, a picnic lunch, and various other necessities when taking a significant hike with two small children. Now picture me in this get-up climbing down (and then back up) a very steep, crumbly, rock-laden trail into a canyon, unable to see my feet, with a Papaya clinging onto one of my hands and using me for support whenever he slipped or jumped down a rock step, and you'll understand my sore shoulders & tired legs.

Jack's Canyon is about a 1 3/4 hour drive from where we live (via Winslow, where we did some shopping & recycling on the way), and so we arrived after everyone else (who camped the night before) descended into the canyon, and left before they hiked back up. Otherwise, I'm sure somebody would have helped me do a little carrying. The weather as I drove between Winslow & the turn-off for Jack's looked truly menacing - I could see about five storms to the west and even drove through about 3 minutes of rain & hail. It seemed inevitable that one of those storms would hit us. Indeed, I almost turned back.

But somehow, despite my best rational arguments about two wet and miserable children, a possibly violent storm in a remote canyon, and several miles of muddy, unimproved road to get back to the highway, I couldn't bring myself to do that. We ended up gearing up & hiking down into the canyon to find the others. And what a good decision that was! Yes, a few storms did hit us, but they were short and consisted primarily of wind and a little hail-snow (weird precipitation that was a combination of the two). Jack's Canyon was verdant - full of green trees, bright red penstemon growing out of the rock, hummingbirds, and countless other wonders. The Papaya had a fun time playing in the dry wash with the other three children present (he even did his own bit of rock climbing, as pictured above), the Banana had a great time toddling around & flirting with the men, and I had a lovely time just being there (once I got over my worry about the weather). Despite the many boy scouts rock climbing for the first time, I even got to ascend three routes.

This was my fourth time rock climbing - each of the four have been in Jack's Canyon, initiated by another health center family who let Papaya Daddy & I borrow their equipment and show us the ropes (literally). I've been surprised at how much fun it is, and how pretty much anyone reasonably fit can succeed (or at least succeed enough to have fun) with a lot of encouragement and supportive belaying. Jack's Canyon is a sport climbing location, with bolts already attached to numerous routes throughout a good mile of canyon. One of the experienced members of our group leads a route or two, anchors the rope at the top, and then we take turns being top roped & climbing to the top. Yesterday, I sailed up a 5.6 route I'd done twice before, found a 5.8 route to be a fun challenge, and inelegantly clawed my way to the top of a 5.11 route (an accomplishment made possible only because of some very aggresive belaying down below). The 5.11 ascent didn't really count, but it was fun to make it to the top!

Last week was a long, mostly house-bound week (two days of strong winds and one night of heavy rain that made it too muddy to get out the next day). It's impossible to express just how good it was for my soul and body to get outside and away from the house - worth every bit of inconvenience. I just wish Papaya Daddy could have been there.

The 5.11 route I kind of climbed (made it to the top of, anyway).

Cold frame progress

Exactly three weeks ago, I posted a picture of our cold frame looking pitiful. Here's the close-up (from April 10):

Here's our cold frame today:

Talk about a miracle. The lettuce is actually ready for harvest, enough to make at least three good salads (it's a lot bigger than it looks in this wide-angle). And there's even a little cilantro coming up (still too little to see). Want to come over to our house for some nice fresh salad?

Trip to The Tree & dust devils

Last Friday was a perfectly blue, still, early summer day, leaning toward actual heat. The perfect day to get outside with the kids. So I spent the necessary hour getting both kids sunscreened-up, putting together a hike-survival kit with diaper change materials, water, snack, camera, hats, sunglasses, cell-phone & first aid kit, and blowing up the flat tire on the Chariot (pictured above). Finally, we were all ready to begin our big hike to The Tree.

The Tree is well-known to all members of our housing community here. A large cottonwood, it is the only tree of size within at least a five mile radius. It's almost exactly 1 1/2 miles away, so walking or jogging there and back makes a perfect 3 miles of exercise. It's on the edge of a sandy wash that is a lot of fun to play in and explore. During the few times a year when the wash actually flows, it is a lovely picnic spot where you can bathe your senses in the sights and sounds of running water and rustling leaves. Of course, the walk there and back is completely exposed and shadeless, and is therefore a rather thankless hike with kids in the heat of the summer or the violently windy spring. It's not something we do very often. But last Friday was perfect.

The Papaya walked excitedly all the way to The Tree, while the Banana fell asleep in the Chariot. When we arrived, the Papaya & I had a snack and water while we looked around us (see picture above). The leaves weren't out yet, but there were buds and birds, the sky was a deep cloudless blue, and it was very lovely. As I looked back the way we had come, I saw a large dust devil whirling right over the health center compound (where our house is). It looked like it was headed straight towards us, so I closed the plastic Chariot covering over the Banana, pointed the dust devil out to the Papaya, and warned him that it might get very windy for a little while. (If you look closely at this picture - the view from the tree back towards our house - you can faintly see the dust devil in the distance. It looked more impressive in real life.)

In case you've never experienced them, dust devils are weird things. They're like mini-tornados, but usually just arise when it's still, hot, and sunny. They can really take you by surprise. Last year, one blew into our backyard, picked up our solid plastic slide, and deposited it on the other side of the yard. If you get caught in one, you'd better cover your eyes and mouth if you don't want to be spitting out grit for the rest of the day!

As it turned out, the dust devil changed course & passed quite a distance to the south of us. The Papaya, however, was much impressed, and has been talking about it ever since. I didn't realize how much he had been influenced by it until I found him napping that afternoon with the duvet pulled completely over his head. I pulled it down so he could breathe, but later found it over his head again. When he woke up, he began walking around the house with his hands over his eyes, saying, "I don't have to be scared anymore. I don't have to be scared anymore." When I probed, he told me he was scared of dust devils and that he slept with his head under his covers so they wouldn't get him in his bed. I assured him that dust devils couldn't come inside our house, or our car (we were about to drive to the post office).

As we drove to the post office, he listened to the song I was playing (a contemplative song by Fernando Ortega) and said, "This is a sad song. It's about the dust devil that went away and didn't come back."

"It sounds like you're not scared of dust devils any more," I said.

"No, I'm not scared of dust devils! I love dust devils! Dust devils are my friends!" replied the Papaya emphatically, spreading his arms wide and then crossing them over his chest.

The Papaya's fascination with dust devils has not waned. In Sunday School day before yesterday, I attempted to teach him and a couple other preschoolers about the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Desirous of making a Meaningful Connection, I emphasized that when Jesus' followers heard the sound of a violent wind inside their room, it was just like a dust devil was inside their house. Well, it was a Connection, all right (although I'm not exactly sure what meaning he got out of it.) When the preschoolers got their take-home papers to color, they were supposed to draw tongues of fire over the pictured apostles in the upper room. The Papaya picked up a crayon with enthusiasm. But instead of drawing tongues of fire, he drew dust devils.

The Papaya at the tree, contemplating the dust devil he just saw.

Been there, done that, you can have it!

Well, we're back from Las Vegas. It truly was a world unto itself - a pretty sordid world. Never before have I seen quite the level of open encouragement to indulge yourself in all your basest vices, as I did in that city. Signs glimpsed by Papaya Daddy & myself: "Seven deadly sins: one convenient location", "Seven deadly sins? We demand a recount!", and "Finance your fun with our bank!". [Aside: can you name the seven deadly sins*? We looked them up when we got home. They really aren't all that glamorous or exciting - my guess is the sign makers didn't know what they were, either.]

There were fun things to do in Vegas. But the enormous casinos you had to drag your kids through in order to get anywhere bothered me, the endless smokiness everywhere bothered me, the crowds bothered me, and the in-your-face money extraction industry bothered me. (Evidently 86% of Vegas visitors gamble, with the average visitor spending $626 just on gambling! And I didn't see a single gambler who looked like they were enjoying themselves. That's a lot of money to waste on something that isn't fun!) But all this paled in front of the shameless peddling of women, everywhere, all the time. I don't consider myself a prude, & I'm not just talking about the enormous billboards and flat panel displays of almost-naked women everywhere. I'm talking about the newspaper vending machines (free) every fifty feet or so, chock-full of open pornography flyers & details on how to buy the women pictured (okay, so the women had small stars over their nipples to keep this from being "frank" porn - not a lot of difference in my book). I'm talking about the men handing out "business cards" with pictures of naked women and their prices ($49 special)! I'm talking about the way these cards were strewn over every single sidewalk, as well as stuck into railings, trash can cracks, etc. I'm talking about the guys wearing T-shirts that said, "Hot Babes - Delivered to your door in 20 minutes!" who accosted you as you strolled. I'm talking about the billboard trucks that drove slowly up and down the Strip all day long, picturing naked women in suggestive positions on beds & the number to call so they could appear on your bed. I'm talking about the almost 200 Yellow Pages of "escort services" in the phone book. It really made me angry (one of the seven deadly sins, by the way, but maybe it was an appropriate anger).

To my surprise, I found out once I got back that prostitution is illegal in Las Vegas & Clark County (although it is legalized in smaller counties of Nevada)! Obviously it is a law that is not taken very seriously - from what I can find out, enforcement is limited to occasionally arresting the prostitutes themselves. This seems to be missing the point. Maybe they could do something about the demand, the nauseating advertising, the open invitation to "Come & sin all you like! It's fun and there are no consequences here!" - perhaps occasionally arrest somebody who hires a prostitute? The US State Department suspects that Las Vegas is one of the main US hubs of international human trafficking (modern slavery), with most victims forced into the sex industry.

The one thing on the Strip that I really loved were the fountains at the Bellagio. There were hundreds of jets, covering an enormous area, and occasionally they "performed" a choreographed routine to a piece of music. The talented fountains expertly interpreted a fairly wide range of musical genres, sometimes spurting up to 200 feet in the air. It was delightful, fun, awe-inspiring (for a water-lover like me), and helped to wash away some of the visual pollution paining my eyes. The one irony of the fountains occurred when they "performed" to a somewhat sappy, sentimental song with the refrain, "I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free." I thought it was an odd choice of song in a city that celebrates one's worst instincts, where thousands of people are encouraged to further enslave themselves to gambling addictions as they lose their savings to large, rich casino owners ("finance your fun"), and where human trafficking thrives in an openly supportive environment.

We were so glad to get away and gaze upon wide, open, clean spaces once again. The kids & I did have fun, but I do not feel the need to return - ever. Even though I never did get to see the volcano at the Mirage erupt!

***The seven deadly sins are: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath (or anger), envy, and pride (worst of all). They were believed to lead to deadly deeds & destroy the life of grace in those who indulged in them.

Off to Vegas, baby!

I spent my childhood and adolescence exploring various countries around the world. After marrying Papaya Daddy, I finally ventured beyond the Eastern and Midwestern states in the good old US of A and have been amazed to discover how much there is to see and do in my very own home country. Imagine, I used to think the entire Southwest was one big boring flat desert with an occassional Saguaro cactus bettering the landscape. If you had asked me where the Grand Canyon was, I would probably have said "Colorodo" - because how could something as spectacular as that be in a wasteland like Arizona? And I thought California was all Hollywood - I had no idea it contained landscapes like Yosemite or the Sierras (which amazed me on our honeymoon). How wrong I was!

Well, tomorrow I get to continue the exploration of my incredible home nation by venturing into Nevada and Las Vegas. Papaya Daddy is attending a snazzy medical conference called "Got Resus?" at one of the big casino hotels on the strip, where he will learn various advanced ways and means to resuscitate various ages of people in various situations (and will even practice invasive trauma procedures on either mannequins or chunks of pig flesh, I'm not sure which). Meanwhile, I will tow the two kids around to see and do what there is to be seen and done in Vegas (for free). I have been trolling internet sites to find out what you can do in Las Vegas if gambling doesn't appeal to you and you don't need to get married or divorced, and I have am amazed. This city is a strange country and culture unto itself! It's like a weird, off-color Disney World for adults with exhorbitant prices for the more spectacular attractions.

Just one example: there's an entire Venice streetscape inside one of the hotels, with canals and gondolas and gondoliers. For a mere $18 per person, you can stand in line for a couple hours and take a 10 minute gondala ride. I've been to the real Venice before, and I think it costs about the same there for the true experience. (Needless to say, this isn't one of the things I'll be doing with my kids.) Crazy, crazy!

Thankfully, we won't be staying in the strip, since I'm not sure how long I could stand to be near casinos. We'll be in a nice, clean, chain inn and I'll navigate the Strip traffic every morning to get Papaya Daddy to his conference. We plan to have fun. I'll let you know when we return what we think about yet another new experience in this fascinating & varied nation!

P.S. I'm certainly not sad to be leaving the Hopi Reservation tonight. Currently (according to The Weather Channel), the wind is blowing steadily at 37 mph and gusting to 58 mph. You get painfully sand-blasted every time you step outside and visibility is about 1 mile. Even though it's sunny, everything (including the sky) is brown. Just the sound of the wind constantly whistling around and through the windows is starting to drive me crazy. The Papaya asked if our house was going to blow away. Our metal folding chairs are blowing across our yard. Time to go pack. GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!

Like Magic

For over a year now, I have halfheartedly, now and then, attempted to teach a disinterested Papaya the letters of the alphabet using various disjointed methods (there may be a direct correlation between his disinterest and my halfheartedness). As a result of my labors, he reliably knew about half a dozen letters.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I finally followed the advice of both a friend and 378 Amazon reviewers who collectively gave this film 5 stars, and purchased The Letter Factory, a DVD by Leapfrog.

Let me tell you, it's magic for our family.

After not many more than half a dozen viewings, the Papaya knows all his letters as well as their most common phonetic sounds. Even more importantly, he's excited about them and picks them out everywhere, proudly telling me what they are and the sound they make. He's even beginning to get the idea of sounding letters together into words. Even the Banana seems excited about letters and sounds and sits in rapt attention for the length of the video (extremely rare for her).

I really don't know what it is - this DVD lacks the charm and cultured adult entertainment value of Sesame Street. But somehow, it delivers! Who says watching TV (or in this case, our new flat screen monitor) isn't good for kids? (Although I feel vaguely guilty for so successfully abdicating my role as alphabet teacher to a DVD.) Highly recommended.

And one more picture...

These are a couple of the Hopi Buttes (actually on the Navajo reservation) that we passed as we drove home from Winslow last Saturday. You really can't beat the sky here.

(By the way, can anyone tell me how you put borders around pictures in Blogger? I haven't been able to figure it out.)

The desert is green!!!

Winter before last (our first here) was incredibly, unusually dry - so dry that most Hopi (traditionally farmers) didn't even bother planting any crop in the spring and summer. As a consequence, nothing grew in our yard last year except a lot of tumbleweed and pigweed (both thorny and nasty), some hardy mint, and a few glorious sunflowers. This last winter, however, has been a lot more normal, with a few good snowfalls. As a result, our warm weather lately has catapulted the desert, and even our backyard, into a lush greenness (at least to our eyes), somewhat evident even in the aftermath of this late snowfall a week ago.

Here you see our amazing mint and brave peach tree, as well as the detritus blown against our fence after a full day of 30-50 MPH winds

Keep in mind, the above are pictures from over a week ago. Check out these pics of our trees now: a blossom from the peach tree and our happy Navajo willow with the desert behind it the greenest we've ever seen:

And how are the poor abused plants in our cold frame doing? Well, they're markedly better and actually growing daily now, but it still may be awhile before we're enjoying a home grown salad (although I did hopefully plant cilantro last week in the sad blank spaces):

And to close, we've gotten four more flowers from our bulbs (since the blue iris that bloomed a month ago)! I haven't yet taken photos of the two yellow irises (or crocuses, I'm not sure) out front, but here are the two red tulips that came up in our backyard. See if you can guess which one bears the Papaya's loving touch (he's obviously inherited our black thumb-ness).

Our dining room table these days...

Need I say more? (See this entry if you don't get it. At least in this picture there are 4 socks that actually go together to make pairs.)





And one more picture...

It's Lightning McQueen, hanging from barbed wire.

It's here, and it's beautiful!

We've finally (I think) finished just about everything involved with getting our new computer set up. We are in love with the screen. So are the kids:






We spend hours playing with Google Earth (I even found the very maisonnette we lived in in Nairobi, clear as day!) & watching scrambled slide shows of all of our pictures, back from 2003. Now that the novelty is wearing off a little, maybe I can get back to mundane things again, like updating this blog...

Tax return = new computer

Last Saturday, after about six frustrating hours on the Dell website and about 698 hours of Papaya Daddy's research and contemplation over the last year or so, we finally completed our order for a new computer. It should arrive today. He is Very Excited and I am Pretty Excited.

So, dear readers, enjoy this last blog entry from our old computer. The next one, I'm sure, will look extra snazzy and shiny because it will emanate from a beautiful new computer with a bunch of fancy stuff like dual core technology (which I really don't understand and care much about even though it excites Papaya Daddy) and a 24 inch ultra-sharp flat screen monitor (Papaya Daddy's long term dream and something I'm excited about too). We won't be watching Netflix on our little old TV any more!

And now I need to sign off and finish backing up all our files onto CD's, disconnect this old computer, and carry it to the guest room before FedEx arrives. (So far I've backed up about 20 CD's of photos. I'm sure there is a better way to transfer information and maybe our new computer will provide it.)

So farewell from our old faithful computer. Next post, from the new one!

The downside of character underwear for kids...

...is that the pictured character is almost always on the back (at least for boy briefs). Which means that the Papaya always wears his underpants backwards. Why sport Mater or Lightning McQueen on his bottom when he can simply look down and enjoy seeing them? What were the manufacterers thinking, I ask you?

Amazing what first class postage will do!

When we received our new camera about 2 weeks ago, its box was wrapped in a sheet of bubble wrap – the kind with really big bubbles – and ensconced in a much larger box for shipping. The Papaya was fascinated and enchanted. “May-wee will weally like this,” he said. (Merry is his cousin who had just completed a visit with us.) “No, no, no, Mommy – don’t pop it yet! Save it for May-wee. She will be weally happy to get it. She will get it and she will say, ‘Thank you for the poppie-things, Josiah!’ And I will say, ‘You’re welcome!’”

I told the Papaya that we would save it until we went to the beach house in August and saw Merry there. He considered this possibility for a few minutes, then decided that August was much too far away. The following is his monologue (repeated several times since), punctuated with occasional affirmations from me:

PAPAYA: No, no, no, Mommy. We won’t wait until the beach. We will send the poppie-things to May-wee in the mail. We will take them to the post office and we will give them to the lady there and she will get on an airplane and go to May-wee’s house in Pennsylvania and wing the doorbell and give them to May-wee and May-wee will be SO excited and happy for the poppie-things. [I guess my previous explanation of how the US Postal System worked left out some important details.] We will put the poppie-things in a box and we will use lots of tape and be ve-wee careful to make sure that they don’t break. [The first time I’ve ever heard of anybody going to extra lengths to protect bubble wrap in the mail.] Come on, Mommy, we will go wight now!

The Papaya put the bubble tape into the large outer box that held the camera, closed the top flaps, and put on a single piece of Scotch tape. Then he found his shoes and went to garage door. “I’m weady to go to the post office now, Mommy!” Happily, the post office was already closed for the day, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend good money to fly bubble wrap across the continent. I put the bubble wrap on top of the refrigerator and told the Papaya that the post office was closed and we would think about sending it later – hoping, of course, that his ardor would have diminished by the next morning.

I was wrong. Every box that the Papaya’s gotten ahold of over the last two weeks, he’s filled with the bubble wrap (he pulls a stepstool up to the refrigerator to retrieve it), taped up with Scotch tape, and tried to take to the post office. I’ve held him off by telling him that the boxes were much too big to mail (very true), but he hasn’t forgotten. I even tried to get him interested in popping the bubble wrap himself, but this got him very upset (“No, no, NO, Mommy – those are May-wee’s poppie-things!”). We ordered a birthday present for Merry’s mommy on-line (to be delivered to her house) and told the Papaya that the poppie-things that came with her birthday present would be for Merry. But that didn’t seem to really satisfy him for long.

Finally this morning, when the Papaya tried to lug a very large Pampers Cruisers box, covered with long pieces of Scotch tape, to the garage door to go to the post office, I gave in to the inevitable. I located a modestly sized box, and the Papaya wrapped up the bubble wrap (not in a sock) and affixed a tag to it indicating that it was for Merry. We then took a walk through the house and found a couple other things to include with the package, because it really did seem wrong to mail just bubble wrap to Pennsylvania (maybe I simply have too little imagination). And we took the box to the post office, handed it over to Sonya, our postmistress, and asked for Priority Mail.

So tonight the Papaya can dream of Sonya on an airplane bound for Pittsburgh, precious bubblewrap in hand, ready to deliver it into the hands of a delighted Merry. Enjoy the poppie-things, Merry!

Christmas in March

When I was six or seven years old and living with my family in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I remember my sister and I getting ahold of a lot of butcher paper and deciding to have Christmas in April. (I don't really remember the actual month, just that it was nowhere near December.) We wrapped up an enormous amount of our little toys and put them all into a basket for my mother to open. I still clearly remember the intense sense of excitement I had, creating all of those fun little gift packages. I was so sure my mother was going to be thrilled and excited, too. I don't remember my mother's reaction, but I'm sure it was satisfactory, even though she probably felt very little true enthusiasm over opening multiple packages filled with her daughter's toys.

I'm glad I have this memory, because it's helping me empathize with the Papaya and the obvious thrill he gets these days when he wraps up his cars and presents them to me as presents.

One thing I can't empathize with, though - why, oh why does the Papaya insist on using his dirty socks as his primary wrapping medium?

When I read my sister's decorating and home design magazines, they recommend wrapping presents in non-traditional materials - cloth napkins, baby blankets, brown paper, etc. This seems to be the trendy and classy thing to do. So maybe the Papaya is trying to flow with the times. I have never yet, however, read a single article that suggested using dirty socks to enclose gifts. He is clearly avant-garde.

To fully comprehend my distress at the Papaya's choice, you must know that laundry is the one household task that I really enjoy - that I really excel at. Making dirty clothes clean - it feels like magic. And then folding fragrant, clean clothes & linens and putting them away - it gives me such a feeling of riches. All those clean clothes, nothing dirty any more - wow! Part of my laundry prowess involves never losing an article of clothing. If socks or breast pads don't match at the end of the laundry cycle, I feel incomplete until I find the pair and will often search the house until I find satisfaction. My floor may be filthy and my end tables bathed in dust, but hey - all my household's socks match! Life is good. Am I quirky? You bet! But wouldn't the world be boring without quirky people?

Anyway, imagine how painful it is for me to see a dirty sock with a car inside, wrapped in scotch tape and sitting on my dining room table, when I know that its pair is far from it and that my next dark wash is coming up tomorrow. Can I get that dirty sock into the wash by tomorrow so that it can be cleaned with its pair? Can I get them together again?

It's not as simple as just opening the present, pulling the car out, and throwing the sock into the laundry basket. Oh, no. The Papaya insists that his special presents cannot be opened until it is Christmas time.

"But Papaya," I cajole, "Christmas isn't for months and months and months! You don't want to wait that long!"

"No, Mommy - you can't open it until Christmas time," he responds with gusto.

"How about we wait until Daddy comes home tonight?" I suggest. "Then it will be a special time."

When Papaya Daddy returns and we are eating supper together, I make another attempt to free the dirty sock sitting in front of my dinner plate. "NO!" the Papaya insists. "It isn't Christmas time yet!"

"Why don't we pretend it's Christmas tomorrow?" Papaya Daddy suggests, obviously enjoying the situation. "We can even sing Christmas carols."

The Papaya seems doubtful but I grab at the suggestion. The next morning at breakfast, I announce that it is Christmas and that I get to open my present after we sing a carol.

"NO! It isn't Christmas time until winter comes! It isn't winter until it snows!" The Papaya has been listening to me only too well.

I desperately grab our powdered sugar shaker from the cupboard and dust powdered sugar over each of our cereal bowls. "There! There's snow! It's winter! Let's sing 'Jingle Bells'!" I immediately dive into a rousing chorus and Papaya Daddy joins me. The Banana loves it and claps along. The Papaya looks disapproving. This isn't fooling him. I still can't open my present.

I grasp at the last straw in my arsenal. "How about if we find real Christmas paper, Papaya, and you can choose the kind you want and wrap a present in that instead of a sock?"

He immediately perks up. "Open your present, Mommy!" Music to my ears. Gratefully, I peel off the 12 pieces of tape and pull out green Ramone (from the Cars movie). "Thank you, Papaya! Does Ramone belong to me now?"

"No - he's my Ramone. Merry gave him to me." I guess we still have a few pointers to teach the Papaya about gift-giving. But what I really cared about was that those red socks got back together again in time to wash them both and reunite them, clean and dry and good for another wear (and wrap). Life is good.

Signs of Spring

Our new camera arrived around the same time that our Navajo willow produced buds. It survived the winter! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? Leaves - in our own yard! I can't wait for our cottonwoods to follow suit.

One of those days

I didn't really have anything planned for yesterday, and that was a good thing. It wouldn't have happened. It was one of those days. Since I wasn't trying to pack or prepare for guests or do anything in particular, it wasn't actually that stressful, and I almost found myself enjoying (with a kind of bemused enjoyment) the absurdity of it.

I think we may have had a bit of intercontinental virus exchange after all, since both kids have bad coughs and crusty eyes that look very similar to the eyes of their cousins when they arrived a week and a half ago. Anyway, some combination of her bad night-time cough, incoming molars, and the fact that I forgot to turn the heat on before we went to bed night before last (it's been warm during the day but still hits the 20's at night) meant that the Banana woke up screaming at about 12:30 yesterday morning and continued on in fine form until 6:00. Papaya Daddy & I each made at least two, and possible more, nocturnal trips to try to comfort her during this time period. We had very short-lived success.

Finally the clock hit 6:00 a.m. & we brought the Banana into bed with us, where she usually nurses before beginning her day. She nursed away, then vomited all over me and the bed. Since I'm a vomit-phobe, I always nurse the Banana on top of a towel, to prepare for exactly this type of eventuality. The Banana, however, cleverly evaded my precaution and rolled over to a non-protected section of bed right before she vomited. It went all over my feather pillow, as well as the sheet and the mattress cover (Thankfully, I ripped up the mattress cover before it went through to the mattress). The Banana then managed to vomit the rest of her morning milk in two more spectacular locations - all over her high chair, and then all over the new outfit Papaya Daddy was attempting to put on her. I had my morning's laundry cut out for me.

We hoped that the vomit was simply a product of exhaustion and coughing (the Banana had coughed pretty hard at the outset of each attack), so we wiped off the high chair & put the Banana back in it (in a 3rd outfit), and fed her a little bit of cereal. Meanwhile, I washed my hands well, then cut and wrapped up the cranberry white-chocolate blondies we had made for the health center's Commisioned Corps bake sale. I hoped that no vomit germs had drifted over to them. One of the blondies had stuck to the bottom of the pan a little, so I wrapped it up for my husband's lunch & he put it in his bag (he worked in the ER yesterday, which meant he wouldn't be home for lunch and would probably work late). We let the Banana (who didn't want much cereal) down, and five minutes later, she wandered into the kitchen, handed me a piece of plastic wrap, and said, "Thank you!" While I wondered where in the world she found plastic wrap, she held up a blondie and took a large bite, with an enormously self-satisfied look on her face. It's exactly the kind of food you hope you child will wolf down after three vomits in quick succession - cranberry white-chocolate blondies!

Husband left for work (with a much smaller blondie) & I began my day of coping with a possibly sick and definitely fussy Banana, as well as doing several loads of laundry. Everything went well for a while - the Banana took some Tylenol and a nap and was much better afterwards (no more vomit), the Papaya was well behaved and fun to be with, and three loads of bedding and towels went past beautifully. Then I washed our feather pillows. They did well during the initial washing cycle in our high-efficiency front-loader, but I probably shouldn't have tried to run the extra-fast extended spin at the end, considering that the tag on the pillows instructed me to wash gently. When I opened the washing maching door, it appeared that a large goose had thrashed around the interior of the machine for quite a while, eventually giving up the good fight. One of the pillows had split lengthwise from end to end, releasing all of the feathers and down in its outer layer, as well as quite a few from its inner layer.

Luckily, the inner liner, though pathetic at holding in feathers, appeared to be intact, and to still contain the majority of the pillow's feathers (hard to believe, considering the volume of feathers in the washing machine). I put the good pillow in the dryer, and decided to try to salvage the torn one.

First, though, I put both kids down for their afternoon nap. The Banana went down easily, but the Papaya decided to make things a bit more exciting by sucking out the entire contents of his sippy cup (in little bits) and spitting them out all over his shirt, his mattress, and his pillow. His shirt and pillow were completely soaked through. I stripped his shirt off, confiscated his pillow, and sent him back to bed with the understanding that he had not done a praiseworthy deed. I wondered whether I should try to wash his pillow, too, since it had spit all over it. I eventually decided that I had had enough of pillow laundering, and that he could live with it.

With both kids finally asleep, it was work time (again). I pulled out the shop vac & cleaned the inside of the washing machine as well as I could (I repeated this a couple of times more as the feathers continued to dry). Then, rueing my lack of a sewing maching, I pulled out my dusty cross-stich supplies (last used way before the Papaya was born) and did the best I could sewing the split pillow back together from end to end. It was no easy task, and let me tell you - a wet feather pillow smells BAD! Finally, with wet stinky jeans from the pillow sitting on them, I finished and put the salvaged pillow in the dryer with its twin. (Our pillows were wedding gifts, and pretty nice, & I hated to give one of them up, if only because of the sentimental attachment).

Our feather pillows are fairly large, and take about five or six dryer cycles to completely dry. So I dried them throughout the afternoon, occasionally checking them and congratulating myself on my excellent seamstressing job. Finally, near the end of supper & after my husband finally came home from work (he was three hours late), the buzzer sounded at the end of the sixth dryer cycle. Since it was almost time for bed, I was eager to pull out our two clean, warm, and fluffy feather pillows. I opened the dryer door, then jumped back and screeched as several dark insects flew out at me. I took another look. An entire gaggle of geese had just duked it out in our dryer. My seam had held, but the pillow had split in a different place. I sadly concluded that perhaps that particular pillow was not meant to be. At least our marriage is proving more durable than our wedding gifts. I felt happy that I hadn't bothered to put the shop-vac away yet. The facility with which it sucked up dry feathers and down was immensely satisfying.

While Papaya Daddy snoozed on the couch, I researched down pillows on Amazon.com. Finally, my purchase complete, I dragged my husband into our bed. Although it contained only one nice feather pillow, it was at least covered with fragrantly clean linens. And we all slept the night through.

Spring has Sprung! (At least for this week)

Before my sister and her family arrived & we debarked on our Northern Arizona Mini-Tour a week ago, I envisioned titling my post-trip blog entry "The Transcontinental Virus Exchange Program". This is because when our two families met each other, we were each in the end-throes of some pretty nasty colds and it seemed inevitable that we'd trade them. However, we somehow seem to have avoided spreading the germs, and had a really lovely trip together. We saw many beautiful things, experienced some dramatic weather changes typical of the Southwest (including a freak cold windstorm in the middle of an otherwise idyllic sunny day, right at the time that we attempted to hike a little of the way down into the Grand Canyon), and simply had a wonderful time being together. The four children (ages 5, 3, 18 months, & 15 months) played together the best we've ever seen them. It's always good to have wide-eyed guests remind us of how fascinating and cool our surroundings really are.

If you want to read more about our trip together, check out my sister's blog. Hopefully, she'll be writing more about it & posting some more pictures. The cool '98 Toyota Corolla pictured in this entry (named Lydia), with the San Francisco Peaks behind her, is our good and faithful beast of burden (and the extent to which we burden her, especially with the roof box attached, is truly outstanding). Despite our occasional abuse (such as letting her oil run out or switching to reverse instead of overdrive as we accelerated to 65 MPH while driving down the side of Second Mesa), she's gone from 80,000 to over 150,000 miles since we purchased her, without a single problem. We hope she continues to like us. We're not excited about buying another vehicle.

But I digress. Back to the blog title I did choose. When we returned to our house late Saturday afternoon, it felt like Spring had arrived in our absence! The sun was warm and bright, and the wind was slight. There was even a beetle (a warm weather bug) scuttling across our backyard. And even better - there was Green in our yard! (Unfortunately, most of it will have to be plowed up with our scuttlehoe, because it's completely undesirable, thorny, and invasive*, but at least it's Green!) Our mint is quickly coming back from its winter slump. The native orange globe mallow we noticed last fall is starting to return, and may even have flowers before too long. The trees planted last year have buds and I have high hopes of seeing real leaves soon. And - joy of joys - one of the bulbs we purchased from High Country Gardens & planted last fall is blooming - a gorgeous deep blue iris! I wish I had a camera so I could take a picture & post it (we will soon, but it may have wilted by then).

Part of the excitement of actually having something we planted bloom is that Papaya Daddy & I both have pretty Black Thumbs. Another is simply the enormous amount of work that went into planting the bulbs. The soil behind these health-center houses is not native soil (which is, itself, not super-fertile). Instead, it's thick, heavy clay that was trucked in for some indecipherable reason. When people try to dig it (unless it's soaked, an uncommon occurance), common tools used are (I kid you not) pick-axes & jackhammers. My strong husband dug down about two feet (with a shovel) before he planted the bulbs, mixed the soil with sand (to help it drain better) and soil conditioner, then put it all back in before he planted his bulbs. To see something actually come up is wildly exciting. We succeeded! Hopefully, more will follow.

If it seems like Papaya Daddy put a lot of effort into planting a handful of bulbs, you should have seen him set up our cold frame. After building it, he dug a hole, big enough to hold its area, and about 3 feet deep, in our backyard. Then he placed the cold frame in the hole so that it was angled towards the south and banked some of the extra soil around the sides & back to help maintain warmth. Then he got the soil ready. He drove down to the wash & filled our trunk with sand. We drove to Flagstaff & bought some fertilizer. He drove down to the local corral & filled our trunk with horse manure. We pulled out the leftover soil conditioner from the garage. Papaya Daddy mixed everything together with the leftover clay soil in an old plastic wading pool, then returned it to his 3-foot hole. Then he finally planted the seeds we had purchased - lettuce, arugala, and chard. After a week or so, beautiful little green shoots began to appear, and we felt flushed with success.

But do not forget that we are Black Thumbs. This past week, the one we spent away with my sister & family, we forgot to ask somebody to water our cold frame for us. Unfortunately, the lovely warm weather that worked such wonders for the mint, bulbs, and tumbleweed in our yard proved deadly for our poor cold frame plants. When we opened it up upon our return, we were greeted by the pathetic sight of brown soil. When we looked closely, we saw sad little wilted plants. It looks like a handful might have survived, and Papaya Daddy planted new seeds yesterday. But if you come visit us anytime in the next month, I hope you don't expect a fresh-picked salad.

I feel like I've rambled enough for one blog entry, so I think I'll sign off now. And maybe post news of my kids soon. They continue to do and say cute, hilarious, and sometimes completely exasperating things. Before I sign off, though, I'll conclude with a bemused rant that fits this entry's loose theme of growing things.

*I mentioned our yard being filled with nasty invasive species. The main offender is tumbleweed, also known as Russian Thistle (guess where it originated). It's one of the worst plants you could imagine - it completely takes over, it's covered with horrible, needle-sharp prickers that fall off everywhere and pierce your foot if you walk barefoot, and it keeps nice native species from growing. Which is why I was amazed to find this website and farm selling tumbleweed for high prices (especially to Japanese, it seems). What nerve! It's the equivalent of running a kudzu farm & export business in the southeast. The "farmers" actually live in a subdivision, and "harvest" their tumbleweeds by grazing fence lines, according to this article. I have to admit, though, that I admire them - it's entrepeneurship at its best. I wish I had the nerve to sell the tumbleweed around here for $15-$25 each, plus shipping. I'd be a rich woman!

Losing weight on a cruise ship is no fun...

...especially when you're just 1 year old - or 3 - or 31.

Especially if it is caused by five days of vomiting and diarrhea (for the Banana; the Papaya had only 2 days; Husband and I had mild illness).

The first 2 days of our cruise were a lot of fun.

The last 5 nights and days could have been better.

Sometimes the things you dread really do happen.

We spent $25 on self-service laundry on the cruise ship.

At least somebody else was washing our linens every day, and cleaning our room for us.

We gave our cabin stewards generous tips. They deserved them.

We are glad to be home again, even if it is cold and the wind is gusting up to 50 MPH, and you get sand and dust-blasted every time you step outside. The children are even happier to be home.

It will be a while before we cruise again.

It wasn’t all bad. It was beautifully warm and humid in the Mexican ports of call, and we even dragged the sick kids off the ship for the last two stops (Mazatlan & Cabo san Lucas) and managed to have a good time on the beach. We saw a humpback and a few gray whales from a distance, along with several blowspouts (although my hoped-for zodiac trip with Husband was nixed). Our obstructed balcony cabins were wonderful, especially since we were stuck in them quite a bit. Just watching the water of the Pacific was lovely.

The formal night in the Goodwill dress happened before the sickness, and was a lot of fun. Husband and I had portraits taken for fun, which turned out so well that my mother-in-law plunked down $20 for one of them. And despite a clingy Banana, an open-backed stretchy dress, and no bra, I managed to avoid entertaining the entire dining room with another wardrobe malfunction*.

I’m hoping we’ve gotten all the sickness out of our systems, so that the upcoming visit of my sister and her family (from Wazoo Farm in Pennsylvania) won’t be a repeat of either our ill-fated cruise or their visit from last year.

*On our last cruise (two years ago, courtesy of my brother-in-law’s great airline benefits), I wore a silk wrap-around skirt that my mother-in-law brought me from Thailand, with a blouse that just came down to my waist. For the last 20 minutes or so of the formal dinner in the dining room, a tired and bored Papaya (less than 2 years old at the time) snuggled and went to sleep on my lap, kneading his feet into my belly. When we finally got up to leave, I took a few steps away from the table and realized, to my intense embarrassment, that the Papaya’s feet had completely undone the tie of my skirt. The entire skirt fluttered to my feet, creating quite a show for the scores of diners behind me. Since I was holding a sleeping Papaya, I couldn’t grab it, and was reduced to communicating my distress with hysterical laughter. My mother-in-law and husband grabbed the skirt and wrapped it around me as quickly as they could, then ushered me out of the dining room to the sounds of great hilarity from my fellow diners. I was comforted by the fact that at least my underpants were not old, and matched the color of the skirt I had been wearing. My brother-in-law definitely saw a lot more than he probably wished to, but at least my father-in-law missed the show. Happily, there was no repeat offense this year.