Fall

Let me tell you a little something about myself. And I'm not proud. I may need medication. Or an intervention.

Every year in August the kids go back to school. Like clockwork. And sometime shortly thereafter I go to "Back to School Night". This year I went to four "Back to School Nights". And I, like clockwork, feeling delightfully rejuvenated and full of myself after a nice sunny summer, was ready to conquer the world.
 Halloween Party? Sign me up.
The kindergarten Harvest Festival? Sure, I'll do that. Sounds fun.
Yearbook? Why not? - I already take a million pictures.
Volunteer in the classrooms? Yes.
Help with the Golf Tournament. You bet.
You need an Airband Chair Person? I can do that.
Team mom? Yes.
Brownie leader? Of course.
Anything else? Oh, yeah. This year I thought it would be fun to teach the fifth graders Spanish. (I don't even have a fifth grader.) You know what? Throw in the fourth graders, too. (I don't even have a fourth grader.)
And, then like clockwork right about this time of year, every year,  it all starts falling apart and I start sprouting new gray hairs as I realize I can't be in two places at once. Or three. Like the Third Grade Halloween party and the Kindergarten Harvest Festival and taking pictures of the Halloween parade for yearbook.
When will I learn? But now you know what I've been doing instead of Blogging.

But I will tell you this. Our urban farm has reached a new "egg"cellent level of existence.

I'm so pleased. Happy Fall. 

And here are a few more pics just because I love you and who knows when I'll be sitting here again...

 We went to a beach wedding. 

  Took the kids to Disneyland. Name that ride.

 I'm pretty sure I had those exact sunglasses when I was his age. Loved 'em. 

 We grew this singular, darling fig on the fig tree we planted last spring on our "farm". (Disclaimer: the fig was already on the tree when we bought it so I don't know if we can really take credit for "growing" it. But we did ripen it. And it was yummy. 

Look at my "tough as nails" 8 year old daughter going head to head with a big ol' 7th grade boy!

You wanna know where she gets her toughness? I'll give you one guess...

 Ahh. How sweet is he? He gets that from his dad. Thank goodness. 

Another one from "Team Mom". Feisty as they make 'em. But such a great kid. (Warning: I'm about to brag. Feel free to avert your eyes.) He got almost straight A's on his first report card in high school including 3 A+'s (P.E., Geometry, & Biology). We won't talk about that B- in English. 

 Another one from the Happiest Place on Earth. Name that location...

And to round out the family - another one for "Team Dad" so sweet and gentle (usually). How cute is she at the Harvest Festival? 

Now I'm really going. Hugs, H

Wistful

Don't I look wistful in this picture? That's because it was taken at Cole's 8th grade graduation. (By my girlfriend with her mega zoom from across the gym. Thanks, Erin. It's a lovely picture. Poignant with a hint of sparkle.)

Isn't he so adorable? (And, don't you love Dave's fu-man-chu? I knew I married an outlaw...)



I had barely recovered from that momentous event when BOOM just last Wednesday he started H.I.G.H.S.C.H.O.O.L. And he is quite possibly the most adorable freshman I've ever seen. (He looks JUST like Dave in high school in this picture.)

  And, I really thought I was prepared. I read the books. Got the skinny on teachers and programs. Sent emails. Made inquiries. Requested teachers. Went to the principal's coffee. Did my due diligence. And, when other moms were lamenting over the loss of their "babies" I was secretly rejoicing that my "babies" were no longer such babies. Hallelujah. I was excited to walk this next chapter (that I had been so fond of in my own life) with my son who will CLEARLY eat up the entire high school experience. Let me give an example. The Friday before school started, he and I spent the better part of the day at the high school picking up his class schedule, books, student i.d., P.E. clothes, etc. Lots of waiting in lines. When we got to the front of the student i.d. line the adorable, juniorish girl manning that station asked him what year he was. Without skipping a beat he lifted an eyebrow, cocked his head to one side, folded his arms across his chest, peaked at her from above the rims of his super cool aviators, and said in a voice more befitting a man than a 14 year old boy, "JUNIOR.....No. SOPHOMORE........No. FRESHMAN." My chin hit the floor, but she was smitten. She peered up at him, twinkle in her eye, smiling ear to ear and said, "You COULD be a junior. What's your name, Freshman?" As I gathered my chin off the ground and glance up at my man-child I was somewhat stunned to see the cocky confidence that permeated the very air around him. And I dare say I was proud. Because let's be honest. That's exactly what you need to be successful in high school -- a healthy dose of cocky confidence.

But here's where the story turns south. At least for me. He went to the "back to school" dance on Friday night. It was called the "Freshman Mixer". Which, p.s., I didn't really like that name. It sounded too much like a "Singles Mixer" or something. Anyway, the idea was that the "LINK CREW" (primarily junior and senior kids whose job it is to assimilate the freshmen into high school) were tasked to dance with as many of the freshmen as possible. You know, "make them feel comfortable"; "show them the ropes". Seemed like a nice idea. Although, this is what my freshman boy-in-a-man's-body had to say when he got home, and I quote, "Oh my god. I had the best time ever. Senior girls in short shorts and tank tops 'grinding all up on my junk.' " end quote.

I'll just pause here to let that sink in.

Observations:

1) How great that our kid is still willing to share all of the gory details of his life with us.

2) WTH - Were there no CHAPERONES? If there were, is this permissible behavior at the high school level? If so, I may need to consider homeschooling....again.

3) I'm seething mad. I do not want my kid's "junk" involved in any school time activities, Thankyouverymuch. Call me old fashioned.

4) I'm surprised to realize that I've become one of "those" parents. You know the ones like Dr. and Mrs. Houseman (Baby's parents) from Dirty Dancing. Or Reverand Shaw Moore (Ariel's dad) from Footloose. I remember thinking when I saw those movies as a teenager that those parents were so totally out of touch with their teenage kids. I specifically thought to myself, "When I'm a parent of teenagers I will not allow myself to be so out of touch with what's going on and what's 'normal' with the teenage crowd. And yet, here I am. Completely out of touch and totally appalled by this behavior. I'm calling Shaw Moore.

5) Who is looking out for these girls and their self respect? This "grinding" seems largely degrading to girls and women. Again, where are the chaperones? Who is the teacher advisor to this "Link Crew"?

6) Dave says, "It's no big deal. This is all part of growing up. At least he's talking to us about what's going on." Yes, that's true. Am I overreacting?

7) The good news: Cole told us that there was one girl that caught his eye.
       Me: "Was she a senior?" (gulp)
       Cole: "No, she's a freshman, and she's in my G.A.T.E English class." (Thank God.)
       Me: "Did you dance with her?" (gulp, gulp)
       Cole: "No. I didn't want to dance with her like that." (Thank God.)
So at least our moral teachings haven't past him by. Hallelujah. But it's still irritating to feel like the school is working against us as we try to impart on our son the importance of getting through high school without engaging in nonsense. (Read: without having sex -- or doing drugs.)

8) I'd like to send an email to the principal, but I hate to start off my high school career (yes, mine - I'll be in high school for the next 12 years. Sigh.) with a big honkin' issue like this.

9) Please advise, my dear, brilliant colleagues in parenting. What to do? How to handle?

One of "those" parents,
Mrs. S

I'm In Love with a Chick

Here's Cole with his choice - a Speckled Sussex.

We're having way too much fun with our new baby chicks.

Emerson went with a Sussex, too. 

Mommy and Soli lovin' on a little Dominique. 

Evie chose a white Silkie. 

Soli and her black Silkie. 

Silkies grow up to be super fluffy with feathers on their feet.  And they're a bantam breed which means they'll be smaller. 

I let the kids choose from breeds that are known for being good pets and are known for being quiet.  This is a Speckled Sussex and she'll grow to be a normal size hen. This breed is also known for being good "layers". 

We ended up with 2 Speckled Sussexes, 2 black Silkies (like this one) and 1 white Silkie.  Because the Silkies are a Bantam breed they can't be sexed. So we may end up with a rooster (or two or three) which we'll have to find a new home for. Against HOA's. It is an URBAN Farm after all. 

Here are the girls making use of their doll slings from Guatemala. I'll give you one guess as to what they're carrying around. 

On my Urban Farm all pets are required to get along. Here's Zona meeting the Sussex twins.  Do you see the other one nestled under her chest? So stinkin' cute. And she didn't even try to eat them. 

Jett, on the other hand, was licking his chops immediately. See his tongue and how Dave is keeping his hand between it and the chickie?  He'll be so busted if he eats one of my chickies. Forget that whole "Circle of Life" thing. 

Soli and I enjoying our sunny farm. You can't really see them, but my little brood is cozied in behind my back. 

We've been taking our babes out to the garden to let them scratch amongst the veggies.  They're completely contained in the raised bed and they are so stinkin' cute pecking around for....I don't really know what they're pecking for. We have to keep them in a box with a heat lamp in the kitchen until they are a couple months old. So it's fun to get them out of their box and into the sunshine. Hopefully the dogs will be used to them by the time they are ready for the coop and to be "backyard chickens". 

And here's our newest addition to the family. We should have named him Rowdy.  Or Naughty.  

And it's a good thing he's so cute because he is Trouble with a capital T. 

Here he is "herding" Soli. It's hard to tell from the picture, but he's actually moving her with his body. He is a cattle dog after all. 

Thankful...

...for sun kissed skin and knees with band-aids. 

And for this girl who adopted us 4 years ago today. Happy Gotcha Day, Princess Peanut Butter Cup!

...for polyester bell bottoms from Good Will.
And kids who are brave enough to wear them on stage for Airband and rock Stayin' Alive.
(Check out the YouTube video HERE. They won first place. We're so proud. )

...for a fall sport other than football and soccer.

And this second son; so much like his dad.

...for wigs.
And the kid with the mullet who's as tall as me.

...for hair scrunchies that match their soccer uniforms.
And this girl; my very best soccer player.


...for this Stewart Marine shirt that used to be Dave's.
And these grandparents who drop everything to come play with us.


...for waterpolo.
And this hotty who, at 41, still rocks the Speedo.

...for neighbors who take great pics of my kids.

And toothless grins. 

...for this awesome catch. (Click to make bigger.)

And a football season with no broken bones. 

...for roadside Taquerias.
And a lunch date with this Grandpa.

...for a strawberry, an Alice, an Earp, and a bling. 

And for these kids; still excited to dress up on Halloween.  

...for da Bulls and da Broncos. 

Can't we all just get along? 

...for six weeks in Mexico. 

And coronas with lime.
(We'll be home for Christmas.)

...for kid sized waves at Lancha.
And this surfer girl.


...for the sweet silence of the sea.
And this boy; he makes my heart smile.

...for the splendor of our Earth. 

And sharing it with magnificent creatures like this. 

...for sting rays whose stings hurt like a mother but don't do any permanent damage. 

And this boy who taught us that; the hard way. 

...for the Christmas picture; done for another year.

And for another year with this amazing family of mine.

Feliz Navidad,

Dave & Heather

Cole, Emerson, Eve & Soleil

Arizona Vs. The Stupid Smelly Bus*

First, let me say, I love the fall!! I love it! I love sweaters, and golden leaves, and tree ripened apples, and pumpkins and dressing up! I love to dress up! Maybe more than my kids do.

But this is a post about our doggie Arizona and how she hates that stupid smelly school bus. (*Evie and I just read Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus.)

You may remember that Arizona (we call her Zona for short) came to us two summers ago when we were on vacation in Arizona. She just showed up in the yard of the house we rented. She wouldn't let anyone approach her and she was obviously exhausted (like she'd been wandering for days). She just slept in the shade of the mesquite bushes getting up and moving to another shady patch whenever anyone tried to bring her water (it was like 118 degrees - do you remember that heat wave and that crazy monsoon that blew through Scottsdale in late July 2009, Karen and Steph?). Anyway, long after everyone else had given up on her, Cole finally won over her affections with a combination of undying patience and a package of hot dogs. From then on she has been his shadow. It's quite possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen. She does not leave his side. She sleeps next to his bed, she follows him everywhere (including the bathroom) and pretty much only tends to her own needs (ie; eating, pottying, etc.) when he is asleep or at school. And she's extremely protective of him. When he and Dave play "rowdy" she prances about them barking and complaining as she moults under the stress of it all. It's reminds me of Lassie - a boy and his dog. And he eats it up. He loves her undying loyalty and adoration. She's his favorite thing in the world. Of course, that will all change once girlfriends show up on the scene, but until then...

With back to school entirely upon us I am reminded of a story that I thought worthy of sharing. It actually happened late last spring when we first got back from Mexico and the kids went back to school.

Cole rides the bus to the middle school every day. The bus stops almost directly across the street from our house which is very convenient... usually. This one particular day started out normally. The bus putted to a stop across the street, and we all sounded the usual alarm, "BUS!" Cole bounded from the bathroom smelling of Hollister cologne, grabbed his backpack and planted a kiss on my cheek as I opened the front door for him to run out. Being that I was a little rusty on my back to school routine, I was half a second too late in shutting the door, allowing a small window of opportunity for Zona to scamper out the door after him. He was nearly to the bus when she caught up to him. He turned around to bring her back to the house, but the bus driver was waiting so I said, "Go get on the bus. I'll get her." (In hind sight, a critical mistake on my part.) So he turned and ran to get on the bus as I called for Zona to "COME!" in my best "Imeanbusiness" voice.  Only she doesn't listen to me because I'm not her boy. She looked at me for a second but then turned to follow Cole. Finding the door to the bus already closed (I swear she would have jumped on that bus after him) she circled around the front trying to find another way in. Panicked that the bus driver didn't see her and would run her over I ran out into the street screaming and hollering to the bus driver not to drive away. I was a sight to behold, let me tell you: still in my pj's, with monster bed head flapping behind me as I ran across the street in my bare feet, waving my right arm over my head while holding my boobs with my left so they didn't bounce right out of my top, and screaming, "Stop! Stop! Don't go!" (note to self: buy pj's with built in boob support).  Did I mention this was the bus to the middle school? Filled with middle schoolers? Oh, the horror. Zona took one look at me and decided there must be one heck of an emergency and that it was up to her to take drastic measures to ensure that the stupid smelly bus did not take her beloved boy away. She circled around the front of the bus once more and then tummy crawled right underneath the beast and lay down with a look in her eye that clearly said to me, "Over my dead body!" By now I had reached the bus and, still holding my boobs, I stretched up with my free hand and knocked loudly on the driver's window, screaming "Don't go! Don't go! There's a dog under your bus!!" Ok, let's take a break here to discuss those stop signs that pop out from the side of the bus to stop traffic so kids can cross the street safely. You know the ones? Yeah, well during this entire fiasco the stop sign was out.  There was now traffic stopped in both directions bearing witness to, what quite possible amounts to, the most embarrassing moments of my life. Did I mention how cute I looked? I looked even cuter crawling halfway under the bus on my knees and one free hand (remember the other was busy consoling the twins) trying to reach Zona's collar, to no avail. I finally gave up, crawled out, and hollered for Cole to get off the bus and come get his dog. He did just that and as I waddled awkwardly back to the house, boobs in one hand, dog collar in the other, I just hoped that my bedhead would hide the crimson shade of my cheeks.

Recently, I met a gal whose child is in Emerson's class, and as I introduced myself she said, "Oh! We've never met, but I know you! Yeah, I was stuck in traffic one morning on the way to school, and you were crawling under the bus to get your dog!"

Awesome. That was me. Nice to meet you.

13 Years Ago Today...

...I awoke at 2AM to what I would quickly realize was a contraction. My first child had been due 3 days before, on January 12. I remember January 12 had been a Sunday that year (1997). Dave and I, after realizing that we weren't likely to have a baby that day, had gone garage sailing to pass the time. At one sale, the woman had glanced at my ginormous belly and asked when I was due. She recoiled from me slightly when I exclaimed eagerly, "Today!" I was 20 (soon to be 21, but who's counting?) and Dave was 27 (and a half - as long as we're counting). We lived in a sunny little house full of windows on a darling little hill covered in oak trees in Prunedale, California (yes, they used to grow prunes there - I mean plums). Our street was called Via del Sol (By Way of the Sun) - I loved that address.

It must have been about 2:30AM or so when we called the midwife (AKA "Mom" and soon-to-be-known-as "Gramma" and eventually-known-as "Mimi"). Yes, my mom was our midwife when Cole was born. And, yes, it was kinda weird - sorry, Mom. Anyway, Cole's Birth Day went something like this (I have the exact details written down in a journal and locked away in a fire-proof safe among my other most valuable posessions ie; love letters - I mean letter - from my husband, baby books, and a stack of 8 mm video tapes - remember those? - from before we went digital. No I don't have any heirloom jewelry in there. I keep those in plain sight on my dresser, of course.) But, back to the story for today...Cole's Birth Day:

*2AM - awoke with contractions
*2:30 - called Mom
*3AM - got in the tub
*3:30 - started singing that creepy caterpillar song from Alice in Wonderland (p.s. I just watched that movie with my girls, and I'm pretty sure that caterpillar is stoned. Pretty sure.)
*4AM - barfed in the trash can in the bathroom. Dave got in on video. That video tape is in the fire proof safe, of course.
*5AM - laid back down. Dozed for a while. Cuddled with Dave. Listened to the rain on the roof.
*6AM - mom arrived with Aletha (the other midwife)
*7AM - barfed again. Dilated a centimeter - 6 centimeters now.
*8AM - got back in the tub. Sang some more.
*9AM - imagined floating down a river during contractions - I remember the very vague sensation that I was headed toward a waterfall. Interesting.
*10AM - paced in the living room with Dave
*11AM - barfed again. Dilated to 8 cm.
*12PM - did some squats in the living room. I remember hearing my mom laugh on the phone and I thought to myself, "What the &*%$ is so funny!?" Nearing transition no doubt.
*1PM - felt a switch flip and had the sudden and overwhelming urge to push.
*2:10PM - baby's heart rate slows. Mom says, "Time to push him out." Felt the collective power of all women who had given birth before me and felt my unmistakable connection to them. Felt the "bigness" of what was happening. My connection to the "whole" - way beyond physical.
*2:20PM - Our baby boy is born - a little purple. Tactile stim. A good strong cry.
*2:25 PM - We think about nursing, but my little guy has other plans. He stretches his little turtle neck up, tilts his head back and, with big blue eyes, looks up at me - directly into my eyes. Into my soul. Dave got a picture.
*2:30 PM - You're kidding. I have to push again? Felt a little sorry for myself but pushed anyway. Back into my physical person. The placenta was born.
*2:45 - Dave holds his son. I take a shower. Someone makes lunch.
*4PM - Aletha heads home. We let Morgen in to meet the baby. She'd been wining outside during the birth, worried about me. We have it on video.
*5PM - Mom and the gang head home. (My siblings and my dad were at Cole's birth, too.)
*6PM - Dave makes dinner. Cole and I rock by the fire and nurse. My nipples are on fire, too.
*7PM - Dave tucks us in and then does the dishes. Mom calls.
*8PM - We all fall asleep. Nursing. A new family of three.


Happy Birthday, my darling 13 year old boy. Still a baby. Always my baby.

Jesus is Dead in Mexico

We have the darlingest little plaza here in Sayulita and it has the darlingest little church you ever did see. I walk by it every day on the way to my morning cup of happiness. Pathetic, I know, but my morning coffee simply makes me smile. But, back to Jesus...

Often, the girls will accompany me on my jaunt around the block, and when we pass the church they will invariably ask, "Mama, can we pleeease go in and see Jesus?" And, as I am usually on a mission for a "cafe Americano con leche, por favor", I will dissuade them by saying, "Maybe on the way back."

So, on the way back, they will again plea for a peak at Jesus. And, if the coast is clear, we'll go in and sit in the stillness for a few minutes on the first pew. The other day as we sat in the church, gazing at the statuette of Jesus on the Cross, I was reminded of a time when Cole had just turned four...

Dave and I had taken the boys (Emerson was 18 months) on a camping trip down Baja. We had stopped in the charming little town of San Ignacio. There is a very beautiful, old mission there, and we had stopped to check it out. When Cole saw Jesus on the Cross above the pulpit he asked:

"Mom, is Jesus dead?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Jesus died a long, long time ago; almost two thousand years ago."

"Oh no. Mom, can I borrow your cell phone? I have to call Kieran* and tell him Jesus is dead in Mexico!"

Poor kid. He was honestly beside himself, and it took quite a while for him to grasp the concept of 2000 years ago. But Dave and I had a good chuckle, and I smiled to myself on the first pew as the memory played out in my mind's eye.

Kids say the darndest things...

What's the funniest thing your kids have said??

*Kieran is our neighbor friend and was the center of Cole's universe when he was four.