Odd years are good years....

I don't know why, but in my own personal numerology I've always had a thing for odd numbers, and double numbers, so 2011, ending in a double odd...I'm expecting good things.

Some of the things that weren't reflected in my big "look back" at last years list o'possibilty, were the major changes that happened in our lives last year. Among other things: I've got a job (part time, but still more than my few hours a week at the yarn shop), and The Destroyer is in school. There were major advancements from Ragnarbaby as well, of course, moving through the whole spectrum of babyhood, from inert lump to walking/running/climbing toddler.

So without further blithering, here it is: the 2011, super fantastic, extra fabu, nifty neato list of things that it would certainly be great if I could accomplish:

1. Plan, and do activities with my children.

2. Write more, watch less.

3. Buy music.

4. Do a pull-up.

5. Subscribe to a magazine.

6. Schedule "studio time."

7. Publish three knitting patterns.

8. Eat something I've never eaten before.

9. Make curtains for the living room.

10. Reupholster the goddamn dining room chairs.

11. Yell less.

12. Journal.

13. Get more involved with "the farm."

14. Plant something in the planter boxes on the back porch.

15. Cook with Isis.

16. Go camping.

17. Make time to spin.

18. Make something out of wood.

19. Read a book that someone else recommended.

20. Write letters to my mother.

21. Brush and floss.

22. Make a household budget.

23. Put some money out of each paycheck into a savings account.

24. Shop local.

25. Keep up with the push-ups.

26. Drink less.

27. Take the kids for nature walks.

28. Figure out a way to get both of the little ones on the bike.

29. Visit someone out of state (not my parents).

30. List something for sale on Etsy.

31. Keep in touch with my brother.

32. Hang closet rods.

33. Give presents.

34. Be deliberate about sugar.

35. Get a tattoo.

36. Clear off the top of my dresser.

37. Settle Ragnarbaby into a "big boy" bed, also known as "reclaim the sleeping space."

38. Get camera fixed.

39. Get better at taking pictures.

40. Sing.

41. Balance the bank account.

42. Go to a concert.

43. Weave.

44. Get in shape. Instead of "become a babe" like last year, this will be known either as "become a goddess" or "become a warrior princess." I'm undecided so far.

45. Use the phone to keep in touch with far away people.

46. Laundry. Don't let it eat the house.

47. Practice swimming.

48. Preserve food.

49. Chore schedule...make one.

50. Go to an improving lecture.

51. Explore the idea of writing for a local news outlet.

52. Try to appreciate the "boyness" of my boys.

53. Write the birth stories, both of them.

54. Try not to be so bossy.

55. Practice jumping rope.

56. Clutter....just don't do it.

57. Be serious about "stuff," what I need, what I want and what I can do without.

58. Experiment with savory pies.

59. "Run" (or walk really fast) a 5K.

60. Continue with book binding experiments.

61. Clear out the backyard enough that I'm not worried about the kids playing out there.

62. Mural a wall in the house.

63. Eat more fish.

64. Make some kind of shoe.

65. Read a non-fiction book that is not about gardening or food.

66. Read with the first born.

67. House friendly knitting storage...think of something.

68. Dance.

69. Do more gleaning with the food bank folks.

70. Go to a play, take one of the kids if possible.

71. Install kitchen drawers or engineer having them installed by someone else.

72. Go to art openings, at least once in awhile.

73. Cook outside.

74. Send birthday cards.

75. Invite people over for Sunday Brunch.

76. Buy a sewing pattern from an independent designer.

77. Trade or sell unused craft supplies.

78. Make a tool kit for the house so I don't have to borrow a hammer from Manimal every time I want to hang a picture.

79. Make a sewing kit for the house so I don't have to run to the studio for every minor repair.

80. Find out more about curing leather.

81. Make a monthly meal planner.

82. Make a stuffed animal toy for Ragnarbaby.

83. Eat local meat.

84. Take the boys to a parade.

85. Host an out of town guest.

86. Find "sweet tooth" stuff that's not 100% bad for you.

87. Dry clothes in the air instead of in the dryer....this might involve rigging a clothesline.

88. Keep 0n working on the "mostly plants" part of Micheal Pollan's food advice.

89. Keep track of my blood pressure.

90. Wear more dresses.

91. Beg, borrow or steal to acquire a pair of really awesome boots.

92. Use human powered transportation whenever possible.

93. Get a calcium supplement and remember to take it.

94. Buy flowers for myself whenever I feel like it, even if I can't exactly afford it.

95. Draw portraits of my children.

96. Make "mixed CD's" for friends, and hope that they make me some in return.

97. Forage.

98. Knit from the stash.

99. Try not to buy anything new (with reasonable exceptions like art and underwear).

100. Have a garage sale.

Good-bye, old year that was.

For the last couple of years I've gotten in the habit of making a list of 100 goals/ambitions for the new year. I don't call them resolutions because there's not really any resolve. I guess it's a "power of positive thinking" thing. Why not start the year off with a huge amount of gung-ho?

The only problem is that I do feel a need to check back, oh, right about now, and see how I did.

So....here it is: the list of things that I did or did not accomplish in 2010.

Duh-dun-dat-dat-dun!

1. Remember that your children are CHILDREN, cut them some slack, woman.

Hmm....definitely need some work on this one.

2. Organize the crafting supplies so that they are no longer in danger of swallowing the house. Just because it's a horizontal surface that doesn't give me a license to pile yarn upon it.

Uhm...no comment? I do periodically haul bins of yarn over to the studio, but it always come creeping back.

3. Follow Michael Pallon's simple rule about eating: Eat Food, Not too Much, Mostly Plants. I will be concentrating a lot on that middle one: not too much!

Still working on this one, but getting better.

4. Do as much shopping as possible at the Lansing City Market, which is a walkable 2.5 miles from my house.

Utter fail. I think I've been there maybe 3 times this year.

5. Write Petoh's birth story.

6. Write Ash's birthstory.

Fail, fail. Whoa, not doing so good.

7. Work in the studio.

Well, I did work in the studio...maybe even half a dozen times.

8. Keep track of knitting and sewing projects, with an eye towards finishing things and not starting new projects until others are finished.

I do think I've made progress in this area. I haven't brought (too) much new yarn into the house, and I've finished a couple of projects that have been dogging around for awhile.

9. Strength train.

Well, I didn't start it until about three weeks ago, but I have been doing my push ups and sit ups.

10. Finish the Red/Orange spinning project.

DONE! Unequivocal success. Take that 2010.

11. Eat locally...Michigan is my local and doesn't that make me lucky.

I think we've done pretty well with this lately, although I've been backsliding recently because, well, it's winter, and I still like broccoli.

12. Make To Do Lists. Somehow I seem to get a lot more done when I can put an efficient little check mark next to something.

Not so much.

13. Take the kids to plays or concerts, or cultural somethings or other.

Fail.

14. Work with Abby, Katie and Brian on the knitted stuff into clay project.

15. Also the quilt blocks into tiles project.

16. Landscape the yard...at least plant some grass or something.

17. Write an artist's statement and resume.

18. Get the Viking Hat Pattern edited and ready for distribution on Ravelry.

19. Make soap.

Fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail...man. This is...uh...very inspirational in terms of getting my shit in order for next year.

20. Teach a class.

Done! Thanks Thursday night ladies.

21. Take a class.

I'm pretty sure I did take at least one class this year.

22. Find out about selling things at the farmer's market.

23. Make a chore schedule.

24. Go camping.

25. Make computer time more constructive. Updating facebook status and playing solitaire, not constructive. Updating blog (assuming it's a real update and not a glorified facebook status) and editing knitting patterns, constructive.

Fail, fail, fail, fail...

26. Commit to cloth diapers. I've gotten a little lax about using cloth, since we keep a packet of disposables around for nighttime (and when we are running errands and when I'm too lazy to wash diapers, or worse yet when I'm too lazy to take the clean diapers out of the laundry basket...it's a vicious cycle).

Not only have I failed at this, but since returning to work I've switched almost entirely to disposable...the ones we have are just too worn out for an active toddler, and our washer doesn't get them clean enough. Stinky leaky diapers...yeah, sorry mother earth.

27. Make clothes for the kids.

Fail

28. Make or acquire some dress up clothes (the imaginative kind, not the formal wear kind) for Pete.

Fail.

29. Get involved with some of the amazing stuff Lansing has to offer.

Fail.

30. Knit a sweater for myself. I finished my first "for me" sweater last year. It's boxy and not that flattering, and made from itchy wool (handspun!) but I LOVE it and I wear it everyday. I think knitting one sweater for myself every year is a great goal. Rogue, I'm looking at you.

I'm wearing it right now. It's not the Rogue, but I have cast on for the Rogue. Average of one new sweater for me each year? I can handle that.

31. Bind books.

Yes! I've learned my first binding stitch and I've made notebooks out of old coffee cups and postcards.

32. Edit the toy collection with an eye towards imaginative play, and less banging.

Well, they just bang with whatever is left, be we have culled the toy collection down to a manageable mess...and the awesome play kitchen that Grandpa built sees a lot of use, and only some of it is as a jungle gym.

33. Keep up with laundry, both mine and the boys.

34. Alternatively transport. Walk, Bike, Bus and only as a last resort Minivan.

Fail, fail. We haven't managed to work out a bike transport system that works for both of the boys. I have high hopes for next summer though.

35. Become a babe. This is my amusing way of saying "get in shape." Somehow it's more motivating to say that I worked on becoming a babe, than that I remembered to exercise.

I have lost 5 pounds in the last month and a half.

36. Get rid of clothes I don't wear.

Success!

37. Cook with Ragnarson. Ever since the day I came downstairs to find him elbow deep in flour and broken eggs, I've been meaning to compile some "easy" recipes to make with him. Banana bread and guacamole have lots of smashing.

Fail.

38. Etsy store...everything, banner, name inventory. Sheesh.

Fail.

39. Go to spinning guild meetings. This means babysitters.

Well, if I had been smart and said "meeting" instead of plural I would be able to say "success!"

40. Preserve food. I am looking for a dehydrator if anyone has one gathering dust in their closet.

Success! I dehydrated pineapple, fruit leather, and tomatoes. I froze broccoli, kale and green beans, rhubarb, peaches, raspberries and blue berries., and I canned tomatoes, jam, apple and pear butter and peaches.

41. Reupholster the dining room chairs.

42. Weave.

43. Write. There was a time when this space was used for witty little essays instead of lame excuses about why I wasn't writing in it. I'm not promising to blog more but I'm acknowledging that I miss doing some more "conscious" writing. Facebook, you have made me lazy.

Fail, fail, fail.

44. Trillium Gallery...Kalle will sell my stuff, if I get her stuff, so I have no excuses.

I am sorry to say that the Trillium Gallery has become another casualty of Michigan's economy. We miss you Kalle!

45. Get something ready for entry into Art Prize

46. Plan crafts to do with Ragnarson, Play-doh, watercolor, etc.

47. Make an effort to get out of the house.

48. Ween Ragnarson off of Youtube. We don't have a television, but somehow I've fallen into the trap of letting my kid sit in front of the idiot box. It's harder to make supper with a toddler underfoot yes, but I'm getting sick of listening to "I want TV" temper tantrums.

Fail, fail, fail, HUGE fail...now we're streaming Netflix and we've all turned into zombies.

49. Be deliberate about acquiring new things, clothes especially. I would like to stop supporting a disposable culture.

Moderate success. I had to buy some work clothes, but I mostly like the one's I have. I think the only off the rack clothes I bought this year were tights and underwear.

50. Edit the photos on Flickr, there is a lot of crap that can just be deleted and a lot of new photos that haven't been uploaded.

Fail.

51. Encourage Ragnarson the Younger to nap in the carrier as opposed to on my lap. When he sleeps in the carrier, I get work done, when he sleeps on my lap, I watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns on Hulu.

What a difference a year makes. Ragnarbaby regularly takes two hour long naps in bed, and has been know to sleep through the night...miraculous.

52. Get better at taking photos of my work, process, completed objects. The whole sheebang. Exploit Kat's generous offer of help.

Fail. The camera has been broken for about six months.

53. Tackle the toy storage problem. This will probably require making or buying some sort of shelf system.

Moderate success. Plastic bins it is.

54. Make a cover for the duvet so that it doesn't get all funky like our last...several.

Fail.

55. Grow some houseplants. We need more oxygen in here.

We now have two, three if you count the bean that Pete planted at a friend's science museum birthday party. Better than nothing.

56. Post projects on Ravelry, Craftster and Instructables. A curved piecing tutorial would probably be a good place to start.

Fail, success, success.

57. Enroll Ragnarson in some sort of active class or activity like swimming or gymnastics.

We are starting swimming for both kids on Saturday. Better late than never.

58. Eat less sugary crap. Quality Dairy donuts, I'm looking at you.

Lately, pretty good. Over the whole year? Not so much.

59. Experiment with new grains in cooking. Rice, I like you, but you are starting to get boring.

Success! Millet, barley, and qinuoa have all graced our table.

60. Read longer, more complicated stories to Ragnarson.

We did really well at this in the beginning of the year. Pippi Longstocking, Stewart Little, Henry Higgins...but then Ragnarbaby got mobile and bedtime became more complicated.

61. Defeat clutter.

How about moderately contain clutter by stuffing it in a closet or drawer?

62. Sew curtains for the house.

63. Hike a half marathon.

64. Be more active in seeking "finishing" work (I sew people's sweaters together for them) and more timely about returning the work that I take on.

65. Use the Postal Service for more than paying bills. Doesn't everyone love to get mail? Send birthday cards.

Fail, fail, fail, fail....sigh.

66. Salad, it tastes good. Eat more of it.

Success!

67. Dye.

Success...walnuts, onion skins, random black berries that I thought were elderberries but I don't think really were and sumak have all imparted their pigment into my yarn this year.

68. Refresh my knowledge of accounting. I think keeping a ledger for home and for Manimal's business would go a long way towards sorting out our money problems.

Did really well at this for Manimal's business for the first six or so months...then...not so much. Still haven't implimented a household accounting system.

69. Brush. Floss. Seriously.

Seriously, fail.

70. Barter with my artist friends. I'd like to have more work on my walls by the people I love.

Fail.

71. Use an apron.

Moderate success.

72. Invite people over for dinner. I'm specifically thinking of other couples with children, since I'd like Manimal to get to know the parents of some of Ragnarson's friends.

Success.

73. Make a "kitchen inventory" shopping list. What do we like to have on hand. What are we out of? Where do we buy it? I think this will cut down on impulse buying.

I started this, but never finished.

74. Make "parents night out" a priority.

75. Schedule some "unschooling" time with Ragnarson.

76. Work on self promotion.

77. Make a realistic and complete household budget.

78. Stick to the budget. This is going to require some help from Manimal, but I think he's on board.

79. Make time to "play" with Rat Girl. I spend too much time utilizing the "free babysitter" aspect of living with a 12 year old, and not enough on "having fun."

80. Sew clothes for myself. I have some nice wool that wants to become a skirt, I'll start there.

81. Write a children's story.

82. Sketch.

Fail x 9.

83. Find a place to garden. I am getting very frustrated with the community garden, because the poaching is out of control.

Huge success. Some wonderful friends bought a small farm and we're involved with a gardening co-op. Really hoping that I can be more involved this year now that Ragnarbaby is walking and won't be strapped to my back.

84. Stencil something.

Not just fail, but what the hell was I thinking? Stencil? What is this, Martha Stewart?

85. Gaze adoringly at my babies.

Success! I love those guys.

86. Build a wood oven in the backyard.

Fail.

87. Drink wine.

As we speak...

88. Have a girls' night out.

And it was fantastically super fun, and I need to have more of them.

89. Start to rebuild the book collection. It was decimated during the remodel.

Fail

90. Go to the dentist for a cleaning.

Success! Still haven't got my cavities filled, but, babysteps.

91. Start or join a knitting group.

Do Thursday night classes count? Sorta?

92. Make a quilt for one of the beds in the house, maybe Ragnarson's so we can have our quilt back.

How about, piece about a third of a quilt?

93. Make a dressform...assuming that my size stabilizes at some point. There was really no point in pursuing this last year, since I was PREGNANT. I did ask Nancy once if I could host a T-shirt and Duck tape party at the shop and she was (at that point) unopposed to the idea. I'll have to make her cookies and ask again. Kyle: I'm totally taking you upon your offer of help.

Done! I even have a shirt halfway tailored on it...of course I'm trying to lose a whole bunch of weight this year...we shall see.

94. Go to the beach.

Done! And it was fun.

95. Etch some glassware.

Fail.

96. Knit from stash. Documenting stash on Ravelry should help with this.

I knit from the stash, but I did not document it on Rav.

97. Set up a mail program such as outlook, so that my website email actually gets checked.

Fail.

98. Limit brain rotting activities, such as watching television on the computer and reading crappy novels.

Huge, mega absolute fail.

99. Find some new things to cook, middle eastern maybe?

I've actually gotten less adventurous cooking...BUT we have been eating at home a lot and I have two kids who make that difficult, so if I've come to rely on some version of fried rice or noodles and sauce...who can blame me?

100. Make ice cream.

Fail.

Rambling and disjointed rant of a vaguely feminist nature:

Remember in the beginning when I didn't have children and my blog updates consisted of these rambling insights into my self-indulgent little world? Indeed I enjoyed a lovely two month period in which this here blog was the number one hit on a google search for the words "self delusionment." That could be because I made up the word delusionment, but never the less: NUMBER ONE!

And it seems that things have settled down somewhat around here, because in between stopping my infant from repeatedly turning the stove on, and my pre-schooler from playing his favorite game "tow truck" which involves pulling his brother around by the neck (but he is a broken car momma!), I have had a few minutes to start thinking about me. The thing that I've been thinking is: man it sucks that none of my clothes fit, that my blood pressure is sky high, that I'm starting to suffer from chronic back pain and that I feel like poo all the time.

So I decided to do something about it. I've joined a gym and I've been showing up on a semi-regular basis for a bit of hamster-wheel action on the tread-mill. I've also been counting the dreaded calories and it's ever so slowly starting to pay off. I can fit into my pants again at least.

But here's the rant.

Maybe it's because I'm a nice mid-western girl who never takes the last cookie, and responds to every compliment with a "poo-poo it's nothing" wave of the hand, but if someone does happen to compliment my (slightly) improved figure, I have caught myself feigning surprise and responding with something trite like "Oh? Well thanks, it must be from chasing after those pesky children of mine." Well...no. It's from doing my sit-ups, and spending an hour on the treadmill every chance I can get away. It's also from skipping those delicious cookies that contain an average of 650 calories per ounce.

So...you know what?

Thanks! I've been working really hard, and I appreciate it that you've noticed.

And you know what else?

You should take credit for your hard work too. Own your fabulousness. Don't just take compliments, demand them.

Ragnar... is fucking sexy damn it.

Lazy Sunday morning...

The fantasy: a lazy Sunday, no alarms to go off, no children to drop off at school. Everyone gradually waking up after a good night's sleep and slowly making their way to the family bed for a little snuggle time before getting up for some made-from-scratch breakfast to be shared around the table.

The reality: Sunday morning. The children are hardwired with some sort of hint-of-daylight sensing circadian rhythm which causes their eyes to fly open at 7:15, and they belly flop into the parental sleeping space. Their motors are set on maximum, recharged by the six hours of sleep which seems to be all they need. The baby grabs his brother's hair. The Destroyer is using his father's (who is playing dead and hoping that they'll eventually give up) face as a stepping stool. After 15 minutes of listening to the parents say things like: "Ow, stop kicking me in the face," "Your brother's ear is not a handle," and "If you can't lay still you have to go back to your own bed," The Baby will get tired of being trampled by his elder, and decide that if the whole family is here in bed, then that means that the toilet is undefended and now would be a good time to get in a little splashing. Reluctantly the Mother rises to shut the bathroom door before collapsing back in bed, thus diverting Ragnarbaby's attention to the dresser, which he systematically empties. Sensing that he is missing out on fun The Destroyer joins his brother to make a nest in the pile of clothes. When the parents still fail to rise, the blankets are pulled unceremoniously from their bed and added to the "fort" which is being assembled in the hallway. Realizing that if she doesn't get some coffee soon, her spawn might not live to see another pre-dawn morning, the mother stumbles downstairs, hampered by her children who have latched on to her nether limbs as soon as her feet hit the floor. "I want trick or treat candy for breakfast!" The Destroyer yells over and over again.

Ragnar...hey, we slept in for a whole half hour, right?

Ragnarbaby blogs...

Hey guys! So...I'm almost a year old now and I thought that I'd just take this opportunity to let you in on some of the exciting new things that have been happening to me lately.

Walking. Walking is pretty great, well...maybe not the walking part because that involves a lot of falling down on your butt (diapers are like a built in crash cushion!) but the standing up is simply awesome. I can reach so much stuff! Like the knobs on the stove for instance. Did you know that if you turn the stove knobs that they make a neat clicking noise and then, I am not even kidding here, FLAME SHOOTS OUT OF THE STOVE. It's like having a superpower! Also, I can take food off my brother's plate and boy does he hate that. It's hilarious!

I've got a whole bunch of teeth now, 8 all together, and they work really well for biting. I like to use them to rip off chunks of bread that I can stash around the house for later on when I get hungry. I find that a few days of "curing" brings out a subtle earthy flavor. Also, may I highly recommend stale cheerios, if you haven't already had the pleasure. If there's nothing edible around the next best thing to bite is people. You get this instant reaction that is just hysterical! And it happens again and again, it's like...cause and effect or something.

I've got to wrap this up, it's almost time for me to chug a whole bottle of milk and then pass out in a puddle of my own drool, but before I go I wanted to clue you in to this amazing thing that I've recently discovered. They're all over the place, but no one seems to understand how much fun they are. They're called "toilets" and they have this hinged lid on them that is great for banging up and down, and then when you get tired of that they're full of WATER. I know right? How much fun is that? And then if you get tired of splashing in the water, there's this handle that makes them go all swirly. I could seriously play with toilets all day long, but Mom, also known as the Fun Police, has started shutting the bathroom doors! I can't QUITE reach that doorknob yet, but I am working on it, let me tell you.

Okay, gotta go, there's a bottle of soymilk on the counter with my name on it.

Ragnarbaby...pretty much not a baby anymore.

Want to get a babysitter so we can....

Just in case there are any of you out there who haven't had kids yet, I wanted to relate this conversation that I had with another mom today.

She was talking about how she's dropping her year and a half old son off at daycare twice a week, and how it's very exciting because one of those days is going to be "just for her." She felt guilty though, because it seemed unfair to her to drop her son off with strangers so that she could live it up without him. The thing that she did while he was in daycare? The fantastically fun thing that she was so guilt ridden about? The thing that she described as her "best day ever?"

Going with her husband to the Secretary of State's Office so that he could renew his driver's license. One blissful half hour in the waiting room of the DMV, where she could sit peacefully and knit while her husband read a new book that he'd been looking forward to. Incidentally this was also the special thing that they did together to celebrate his birthday.

Which of course prompted me to tell the story of how Manimal and I had recently had to hire a babysitter so that we could go to our insurance agent's office to get a new quote on our home owner's insurance, and how it just felt so great to relax and have a conversation with another grown-up without having to worry about my kids.

Then she told me about an a day when she was at her wits end and consoled herself with the thought that no matter how rotten her kid was being at that moment, that she would get some time to herself when she went to her dentist's appointment that afternoon.

This is what passes for fun in the world of parents with children under four. Renewing your driver's license, getting quotes on new insurance policies and having your teeth cleaned. Whoo hoo! We're living it up now!

Ragnar...party animal.

PS...Don't forget that Talk Like A Pirate Day is only two days away.

PPS...If you "like" me on facebook you'll be entered in my random crap give away. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Domestic-Piracy/124629280904163?ref=ts

Please listen carefully as our options have changed...

Hello, you have reached Ragnar's phone. Obviously I'm not available or I would have answered the phone. I'm probably having a massage or a walrus placenta facial, or possibly cleaning out three years worth of grime that has accumulated since the birth of my first born son. It will undoubtedly be days if not months before I can be bothered to return your call, so please amuse yourself with our automated phone system. I patterned it after the one that I've spent so many happy hours with at Blue Cross Blue Shield of Michigan.

If you are calling from my son's school to report the fact that he has bit, punched, sat on or otherwise molested one of the other children, you are a big fat tattle tail and you can press one.

If you are the parent of some child from my son's school who is calling to report that your angel was bruised, offended or somehow inconvenienced by my child, let me be the first person to tell you that the world is a terrible unfair place...and you can press two.

If you are calling to compliment me on my son's knowledge of and proficiency with American slang and profanity then you can fucking press three.

If you are calling for any other reason, then hang up and call my real phone number because I never check these messages, it's a false account that I set up when I dropped The Destroyer off at his first day of school.

Ragnar...has to confess that her first born has so far exhibited nothing but exemplary behavior at his school.

Galley Tales...

For those of you who question the "piracy" and think I focus a little too much on the "domestic" I want you to know that Manimal came home unexpectedly a few nights ago and found me scooping weevils out of the rice cooker with a tea strainer.

In retrospect it isn't really possible to defend one's choice to feed weevily rice to one's nearest and dearest, so I know that when I say "sleep deprivation" "new school/work schedule" "two babies with stuffy noses" and "they should be happy I bother to make dinner at all, nevermind the weevils" that you will all say: "But Ragnar...bugs...in food. UGH!!"

I had just filled the rice cooker and measured out the water when I noticed something crawling up the side of the container. At first I dismissed it as a fruit fly, but then I realized that it wasn't the right shape, and that there were more of them. BUT THE RICE WAS ALREADY MEASURED! If I scrapped it then it would have meant that I'd have had to come up with a whole different plan for dinner! And the water was already in my hand, and I figured that the weevils would float (and they did!!) and that I could just scoop them out, and that what the heck the whole thing was going to be boiled for an hour anyway. Did I mention? I'M A FUCKING PIRATE OKAY? What's a little protein between family?

Which is how it came to pass that Manimal found me, tea strainer in hand, standing over the sink swishing weevils down the drain. Like six weevils maximum, maybe a dozen at the most. If this was a recipe on one of your Dear Old Granny's batter stained recipe cards it would read "a pinch of weevils."

But...as it turns out, Manimal is a bit of a pansy when it comes to weevils. Red handed, strainer poised I answered his quizzical "Just what the hell are you doing with that strainer Ragnar" raised eyebrow stare with an innocent "How do you feel about weevils?"

Green is not his color.

"So...that's a no on weevils? I'm scooping them out and it's going to cook for like, an hour."

"Uh...no...I'd rather not have any weevils."

Then I noticed that he'd brought someone home with him from work.

A Witness.

Which, of course, is when I realized that there is really no excuse for trying to feed your family weevils, pirate crew or no.

Uncooked weeviley rice does clean out the garbage disposal amazingly well.

Ragnar...eat your sea biscuit darling.

Of cusps and thresholds.

Life is changing around this old pirate ship. The Destroyer manages to get away with some pretty crazy stuff while my back is turned but so far "turning into a preschooler" is his greatest prank to date. No kidding, he's starting school in a week and while there is a certain part of me that is wringing her hands and wiping tears out of her eyes, there is another somewhat louder part of me that's saying "Hell yeah! That's six hours per day of my life back." The prospect of all that free time was so perplexing that I had to go and get a job just to fill up the void in the middle of my day...except that then I realized that only one of my children is going to school, so that still leaves me with one. Ragnarbaby is the easy one, but something tells me that they are going to notice if I try to show up for work with him strapped to my back. I guess that means some sort of childcare for him as well.

Which brings us to the truly terrifying, impossible thing which is boggling my mind: establishing a morning routine. Seriously. How the hell am I supposed to get two uncooperative toddlers (Ragnarbaby isn't actually toddling yet, but it seems a meaningless distinction at this point) up, dressed, pottied, fed and dropped at their respective repositories so that I can get my butt into work by 9 o'clock in the morning? Functioning members of society how do you accomplish this feat of scheduling razzle dazzle?

Here's the thing about the current routine at our house. There isn't one. Manimal goes to work sometime between 5am and noon. The kids and I wake up sometime between 7am and 10. It takes us anywhere from .5 to 3 hours to eat breakfast and unless we have someplace special to be we mostly wear our pajamas all day...or in the case of The Destroyer, his birthday suit. Somehow I think the nakedness thing isn't going to go over all that well at pre-school.

So stay tuned. It'll be like reality television.

This morning we learned that getting the destroyer dressed before sitting him down to breakfast is pointless since every stitch of clothing will have to be changed after he paints himself with yogurt.

Ragnar...is not a morning person.

Quotable toddler.

Ragnarbaby has only one word in his vocabulary and is pretty well satisfied that "Mama" is the only word he will ever need, and why would he bother learning anymore. When The Destroyer (new title...same Ragnarson) was young he never really rocked the "Mama" so it does give me a little zing every time I hear it, although I realize that in Ragnarbaby's world Mama means "food."

Son number one, on the other hand, is a talking fool. I know for a fact that every child accumulates quotable sayings that will come back to haunt them later in life, but since I had never done the making a child from scratch thing there were a couple of months there when I was pretty sure that The Destroyer would go through life relying on the subtle variations of "ball" and "vroom" to get him through. I imagined him like the prototypical American tourist, using volume and insistence to make up for lack of language: "Ball, ball, BALL!! VROOOOOOOOOM!!!"

And now of course he blathers constantly, and I confess that sometimes I long for a simpler time.

During our perennial dinner argument one evening The Destroyer cut off my repeated "Sit down and finish your dinner," pleas with the simple but effective: "Chomp, chomp. I am eating you. You don't have a head anymore." "Destroyer, sit down." "You need to stop talking, you don't have a mouth anymore."

After telling him that I had to "Quick, run up to the store," I was told. "NO! You need to WALK to the store. If you run really fast you will fall down and get a hole in you and blood will come out of it."

When I try to encourage independence by asking him to pick out his own clothes or perform some other simple task he says "You can do it Mom, I know you can!"

Manimal found him sobbing, unable to find his second flip-flop (which he was sitting on). "My flip flop went on an ADVENTURE!"

His favorite food is "Meat, with no yucky stuff."

His favorite activity is playing with the dirt in our front yard (there might have been a few blades of grass struggling through the construction debris, but they have been long since plowed under by a variety of dump trucks and diggers). His second favorite activity is badgering anyone who happens to walk past. "What is your name? What is your name. My birthday is in August," (calling after them as they walk away) "My BIRTHDAY IS IN AUGUST!!"

He went fishing with Grandpa during summer vacation and was thrilled to discover that "Fish are full of MEAT!"

Ragnar...proud mother of the extremely verbose.

PROJECT...fruit fly trap

It seems unfair that the rabbits tied up the "breeding like" cliche when the fruit fly is the obvious, hands-down champion. Half an hour of hot weather and they show up everywhere. The worm bin has been banished to the back porch until the temperature becomes more civilized. The garbage disposal requires constant attention. Don't even talk to me about the dirty diaper pail because that's just...ugh.

And since I despise the little boogers. every season is a chance to try out another fruit fly death chamber, and after several summers of tweaking I can personally vouch for this model as having the highest body count.

Gather your materials: you will need a container, something for bait, dish soap, a plastic bag with a square bottom and a rubber band. For a container I use a jelly jar, but anything with a fairly large opening will work. For maximum gloat factor pick something glass so that you can hold it up to the light and exclaim with delighted disgust over all the dead flies. For bait you need something fermented, since fruit flies are attracted to the vinegar fumes given off by ripe fruit. I get good results from wine vinegar, although you could use beer or wine.
Cut one corner off the plastic bag, high enough up that will fit over the jar opening, and snip the tip off the corner to make a tiny little fruit fly sized hole. Pour about an inch of vinegar or beer into the bottom of the jar and add a small dash of soap. The vinegar lures the flies and the dish soap prevents them from riding the surface tension, and sucks them under to a vinegary grave.

Fold the bag over the top of the jar and secure it with the rubber band so that there are no gaps around the edge for fruit flies to escape from. The "corner" of the bag should hang down inside the jar like a cone. I like the big fat rubber bands that come on broccoli.

And hey presto! A fruit fly trap. I keep a couple of these on the counter in strategic locations and change the liquid every week or so.

Ragnar...avenger of ripening fruit.

The awful truth about baby carrots.

Okay, it's not awful, but that seemed like a catchy title. Some others might be "Baby carrots, not Babies at all." and "Baby carrots, used to be cattle feed."

Have you ever grown a carrot? If so you've probably noticed that the single, long tapering root is not the only, or even the primary form that carrots favor. At least as likely, sometimes more depending on the density of your soil, is the "octopus" carrot as Ragnarson calls them. And yet, when purchasing carrots in the store the octopus carrots are nowhere to be seen.

Except that they are: whittled down into little baby carrots. I imagine some sort of carrot whittling machine in the carrot bagging factory somewhere, where the monster carrots, the misshapen mutant carrots are dumped into a big hopper and then (grind, clang, clash) out the other end come scrubbed, peeled an appropriately whittled down baby carrots. And over all I think this is probably a good thing. I think that carrot consumption has risen considerably since the advent of the baby carrot. They're so CUTE after all, those little rounded nubby things, and so convenient for snacking and (I suppose) cooking (although the taste degrades significantly in the whittling process, I think). No washing, no peeling. And before there was a baby carrot whittling machine, those mutant carrots were bound for the carrot scrap heaped to be juiced, or mixed in with animal feed, or (gasp) trashed. So hurray for baby carrots.

But can I just say, that as a mother who struggles to get her son to eat anything remotely vegetative, that I can definitely see a market for "monster" carrots. My truck crashing, gun-out-of-toast-making, little-brother-walloping manchild is much more excited about eating something that looks like it might be related to the creature from the black lagoon than he is about eating a neatly whittled, domesticated "Baby."

So lucky for him there's a lot of clay in our garden soil, and mutant carrots abound.

Ragnar...mother of monsters.

Itty Bitty Knitty

I do still knit. There are fleeting moments when both of my "angels" are asleep...occasionally they are both engaged in some activity (for Ragnarbaby this is crawling around on the floor finding stale cheerios, for Ragnarson it's playing in the dirt in the front yard and screaming at passing pedestrians "Nice to MEET YOU! My birthday is in AUGUST!!") and I can squeeze in a few rows. Due to the time constrictions I mostly knit very very slowly. While this has cut down on yarn purchases it has also eliminated that feeling of accomplishment that you get when you pull the yarn tail through that final cast-off stitch...another one bites the dust, well done Ragnar, your family will be warm this winter.

Enter: very small knitting projects.

The Sons Ragnar are soon to be in possession of a spanky new play kitchen made by their Grandfather, and so I thought it would be fun to stock it with food.

A lot of our eggs come from the farmer's market, or from friends with backyard chickens, so that's the look I was trying for. This is the pattern I started with, but I added a few rows here and there, made some eggs more pointy...etc. so that I could get the mismatched dozen. The yarn is Cascade 220, and the color variations come from coffee, tea and walnuts that Ragnarson collected for me from the backyard.

This was a fun project, and I love that I can actually finish something.

You'll probably be seeing a lot more food around here for awhile.

Ragnar...why not knit it?

Communication...

We're having a bit of a communication breakdown here at Chez Ragnar. Ragnarbaby's increased mobility has made it a bit more complicated for me to protect him from his older brother. Used to be that I just carried him around in a backpack or sling (which I still do..WAY too much of the time, oh my 28 pound son) but lately he is very insistent about getting down on the floor...or rather, crawling up the stairs. This leaves him open to all sorts of "affection" from his brother.

Things that I have caught Ragnarson in the act of doing to his brother:

Picking him up by the neck to try and put him in his Bumpo chair

Rolling over on top of him a'la steamroller

Poking him in the eye

Feeding him pieces of the train set

Hauling him off the stairs/out of the cupboards using his leg.

Trying to lift him into the playpen

Trying to lift him out of the playpen

"Reading" to him by pressing his nose firmly against the pages of a book

There are more, of course, we experience approximately 30 or so of these "incidents" per day. For awhile I was trying to enforce a strict "Do not touch your brother" policy, but I've since realized 1). That this is just simply never going to happen, and 2). That Ragnarbaby is usually smiling and giggling while these various mother-hysteria-inducing things are being done to him. So for now we're working on "Don't hit your brother," and hoping for the best.

The problem is that Ragnarson has personally defined so many different types of physical touching that just telling him not to "hit" someone is completely ineffectual. He's a big fan of the onomatopoeia. So far this morning he has "tonked" "splunked" "splatted" and "twished" his brother, but I haven't so far gotten him to admit that he's "hit" him. Our ad infinitum interactions go something like this:

"Don't hit Ragnarbaby."

"I TONKED him."

"Tonking is hitting, don't tonk him or hit him."

"I SPLUNKED him."

"Don't tonk him, or hit him or splunk him! Or twish him or plunk him or splat him."

"I will SPLAT him!"

"NO! You won't. Don't TOUCH him at all."

But we all know that's not going to happen. So we're just feeding him up as much as we can, and hoping for his own sake that he's a durable little chap...we have yet to see the inside of an emergency room with this one, so here's hoping.

Ragnarmama...have you seen my wit's end? I seem to have misplaced it.

Good bye, Louise.

I want to veer slightly away from the "norm" of this space a take a turn towards the serious for a moment. On May 31st the woman in the picture above died of a heart attack at age 98. Her name was Louise Bourgeois and she was a defining influence on me as a young artist.

I think that it's safe to say that almost everyone has heard of Picasso, Monet, and Van Gogh. There are some 20th century artists that are so recognizable that they have become part of the crossword puzzle lexicon of our lives. We know the Beatles, we know Picasso. It makes us well rounded consumers of popular culture.

Name some 20th century women artists. If you can get past Georgia O'Keefe and Frida Kahlo then more power to you.

It might get a little lost in the shuffle here at the old D. P. but I (sometimes) am an actual (really, I have credentials) artist. There are times when I whine a bit about how my chosen medium (fiber) causes people to take me less seriously than some, but I have the privilege of living in a time when my gender doesn't immediately disqualify me as an artist with important things to say. Even though many of you haven't heard of her, I owe that honor in a large part to Ms. Louise.

I'm finding it unexpectedly difficult to write this (Manimal came home a few minutes ago to find me teary eyed over the keyboard). I hope that you will all take a few minutes to honor the founder of "confessional" art. (Is there another kind? Really? I had no idea...).

Ragnar...is sometimes an artist who owes a lot of her bravery of self expression to one L.B. dead at 98.

Shameless begging disguised as a blog post.

Long ago, maybe two years ago, long in internet terms anyway, someone sent me an invitation to join Twitter.

I laughed out loud. I seriously thought that it was a joke. Someone had realized the ridiculousness of every suburban nobody publishing their excruciating lives in microscopic detail, and thought "ha! wouldn't it be funny if we took this one step further and had up-to-the-second blogging?" I figured that they sent it to me because as one of those self publishing "twits" I was in a unique position to realize how ridiculous it was. Ha ha, I get the joke. Now seriously, let me get back to my blog, I was about to update about the color and texture of my newborn's poo, and how at first I thought it meant he was dying but now, after extensive googling I've decided that it means he's gifted.

Then I saw a "twitter" side bar on someone's blog and realized that, no, it was a real thing. Then I banged my head against the table several times and loudly wailed "what is the world coming to!??"

So I felt superior for awhile, because I wasn't going to get involved with anything so blatantly absurd.

Then I accidentally joined facebook (seriously, it was a slip and fall sort of thing, I'll tell you about it sometime) and was seduced by the "status update" format of internet expression and the blog languished. I mean, of course, every so often there would be a poo so monumental that I just couldn't not blog about it, but for all those normal everyday poos it was just so much easier to type "Ragnar's baby's poo was within normal range for smell and texture, although color was a bit on the greenish side."

Shortly after that I started thinking of Twitter as a party that I'd dis-invited myself to.

And here I am. The goth kid in the prom dress. The nerd on the cheerleader squad.

Ragnar. A twit. You all knew it was inevitable didn't you? Just play along and act surprised okay?

@MamaRagnar

I'll feel less redunculous when I have some followers.

Ragnar...my pride, it's stuck in my throat, the Heimlich, quick somebody!

Three times a day...

At some point it will sink in, and I will no longer be tempted to say things that are basically a variation of "Wow! This baby is different than the last one."

Food is on our minds here at Chez Ragnar. I am exploring my yearly urge to plant and harvest, and Ragnarbaby is discovering the exciting world that is food from a spoon. When Ragnarson was a wee one, I gave him some experimental "solids" at 5 and a half months in a misguided attempt to encourage the "sleeping through the night" which it turns out he is simply not capable of. My first born is many things, but a sleeper is not one of them. Conversely, I decided to wait on solids for as long as possible with Ragnarbaby, since the last thing I feel like doing these days is preparing yet another meal (that would make three...one for Manimal, Rat Girl an I, one for the picky-pants Ragnarson and now...sigh...a freezer full of puree for the baby).

Someone had a different idea.

It started with squash, and then sweet potato. Then we moved on to peas, parsnips, beets, avacados, applesauce, cheerios, teething buscuits and soup. It's been a busy three weeks.

You know the great thing about feeding your baby beets? Zombie baby pictures.

Next time: my misguided attempts at the cultivating of food.

Ragnar...eat eat eat, three times a day, everyday.

PS. Thanks to those of you who have mentioned that you've missed seeing regular updates in this space. I love feed back and I'm really happy that you're enjoying these posts...but for Goddess sake! why don't you comment?

PPS. Apologies for the crap pictures, but my "real" camera is crapped out and I can't face the Nikon "warranty" department.

PROJECT..."scrap paper notebooks"

If you actually read that huge list of things that I proposed to do during the year of 2010, you might remember that submitting a project to instructables was one of my goals. For those of you not familiar with Instructables, it's an awesome site. Members post step-by-step instructions for just about any project you can possibly imagine. Way way way in the dark and dusty archives of the old D.P. there is a post where I linked some instructables projects, such as hooking LED's up to your bike wheel to make a lighted picture while you're riding...I of course would like to pimp out my spinning wheel, but haven't tackled electronics as a hobby just yet.

One of the things they do are contests, and they are running a contest right now for uses for paper coffee cups. I drink a lot of coffee, and I do occasionally come in contact with a paper cup, so I thought I might be able to think up some use for the garbagey things.

Voila! A scrap paper notebook. The only "new" thing in this project is the thread. The covers are of course, coffee cups, and the pages are messed up bids from our construction company, which we have a lot of, because apparently I haven't learned my lesson about proof reading BEFORE I print.

Super easy, super quick and super cool. All of my friends and neighbors will be getting "garbage" notebooks for solstice this year.

Ragnar...dumpster diving is the new black.