Just a little Easter bling...

Today was our firefighter's birthday.

And he spent it in true firefighter fashion...

on the Interstate, from 2 a.m. on, as part of the Rock County Hazmat team, dealing with a large chemical spill.

So exciting.

And tiring.

And maybe not real festive?

E and I spent the day in a much more mediocre and yet still productive way.

We baked a birthday cake.

So come tomorrow, after naps and naps and maybe more naps, when we execute a full blown birthday-re-do, he will have something a little sweet, a little decadent and more than a little deserved to dig in to.

Breakfast. At 11:26.

Thank you daylight savings.

Now it is once again dark when we get up, I have no idea what time it is or should be or even feels like all day long. My watch says one thing. The car dash another. My cell phone went above and beyond the call of duty and 'Sprung' itself ahead a full 2 hours. 

Lunch happens around 3. Dinner is an "Oh my gosh, it's 7:00! How is it 7:00? We got to get this done and bedtime started" kind of ordeal.

And then bedtime. 

No one's sleepy. Despite the earlier wake-ups and the playing outside and the walks. No one is actually getting to bed any earlier. So why are we rushing dinner?

Yeah. I certainly don't know. The whole idea that we 'gain some extra time' in our day is a joke. All we've done is lie to ourselves.

"It's 6:00 pm and look how light it is!" 

No. It's really 5:00 pm. All you did was adjust a clock. Actually, it really is 6:00 pm. Solar time. What you've really done is just spent half the year living as though 6 is 5 and 5 is 4 and on and on and now that you're good and adjusted and in a rhythm...

reverse-ho.

In addition to being relative and relatively confusing (just Google it. And while you're at it Google solar time and mean solar time and see if you don't get a headache...) the whole thing is a little sadistic. Especially when you have young children. 

In fall; "We get an extra hour of sleep."

Wait, no. No, we don't.

In spring; "Well, the clock says it's 7:30 so you need to be in bed."

Yeah. Goofing around for another hour. Or more. Because you can't fool us. It's 6:30 and who's tired at 6:30?

Dearest E,

Yes. A pink, ruffled, chocolate cake. Is there anything more appropriate for you? I doubt it.

Happy Birthday. You are 7. And I don't know where the time has gone. 

Last year I wrote you a ridiculously emotional letter. And I was ridiculously emotional. I sat at the computer with tears streaming down my cheeks, feeling like 5 to 6 was a huge transition and everything was changing and couldn't you stay 5 for just a little bit longer.

But 6 to 7 is different. So, too, will be my letter.

Things that are true of you, my birthday girl, on your first day of being 7: 

You are a voracious reader, a cat lover, a never-sitting-still ball of energy, a wealth of words. Many of them quite large.

You love cooking. You are still a bit of a drama queen. You can be hilariously sarcastic, with a dry sense of humor that is surprising for one not yet a decade old. 

Your eyes have changed color, from brilliant blue to the same pale, lucid green as your Dad. Your hair is getting darker. You have lost 2 teeth already and 2 more are nearly ready to go. But you are in no hurry. 

You have an amazing imagination. And a desire to know exactly what is happening, exactly when. 

You pay attention to everything. Especially when we hope you are not. You have an innate 6th sense for those moments. 

You can't wait to drive. You think weddings are wonderful. Most days the thing you want to be when you grow up is a mom. 

You appear to get taller everyday, looking right at home with a group of Third Graders on a recent field trip. Yet weight-wise and despite your enormous appetite you may never get out of your booster seat. 

You continually win at Go-Fish, you can sometimes beat me at Memory and you enjoy decimating Dad at the game Sorry. Really, you have no mercy for him. 

But board games aside you have a very tender heart. Like your Mom. You say goodbye to the house when we leave on vacation. You feel sad when Dad throws stuff away, like your deflated snow-tube. And you get teary during prayers.

You sleep with an ever-expanding pile of stuffed animals surrounding you in bed. And no fewer than 5 blankets. Which need to be put on in a certain order. In a certain way. And heaven help Dad when he questions this logic. (Me? I don't question it. Whatever gets you in bed before the clock strikes the magic hour and you turn into a pumpkin is fine by me...)

You are not a picky-eater. Dark chocolate, ginger and licorice are just some of the strong flavors you love. Curry, Cabbage and Asparagus, are some of the others. They only thing you consistently refuse to eat is Watermelon.

You love to be outside. You love to ride your bike. You love to walk over and visit with all of our neighbors. If I ever have a question about what is happening on Columbus Circle, chances are pretty good you know the answer.

You have the most amazing way of sitting on the floor. Never on your butt. Never on your knees. Rather, you squat like a frog. And can do so for an unearthly amount of time. We are pretty sure you are double jointed.

I can not say what changes and challenges the next year will bring. But I know you will continue to grow, you will continue to keep Dad and me ever on our toes and before I know it you will be 8.

Lemons. Fresh from my lemon tree. If only there was a way to blog their scent for you. Because it is unreal. More like a floral-blossom smell than anything else.

Field Trip Day...

...otherwise known as we are sick of winter and sick of being trapped indoors and it's March, for goodness sake, time to stop hibernating so let's do this thing...

We headed to Madison today. Yes. In the snow and sleet and less than stellar road conditions. And we went to see

our state's beautiful, beautiful Capitol building.

At 8 am we were lucky enough to have it mostly to ourselves. 

Full of echoing footsteps, the distant hum of elevators and the smell of coffee it seemed an even greater juxtaposition of relatable and majestic on this gray, damp day.

We wandered on our own for an hour and then took an official tour with a group of Third Graders from a local school. We learned a lot.

Like, for instance, we learned about this, just one of the glorious murals in the Capitol building. 

It actually has nothing to do with Wisconsin but is in fact the illustrated and allegorical wedding ceremony that commemorates the union of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans when the Panama cannel was built.

I think this photo, in the Governor's room, is so amazing. It's like a glimpse into our state's future. Because one day some of these eager little minds might actually sit in these exact same seats and help run things.

The view from the roof top of the nearby Children's Museum. It ended up turning out kind of moody and arty. But mostly I was just trying to get a shot that didn't include the iced-over plexiglass barricades.

On our way up to Madison we dropped our Cat off at a clinic for a surgical procedure. We very much missed her and had a few teary moments, worrying about how she was doing. So drawing a little picture helped.

As did quite a bit of walking, warming up with Chai, Almond milk lattes and a gluten free brownie or two. 

A little iPad art, some Trader Joe's shopping, (found my Medjool dates...you have been updated...) and a good long wander through a Barnes and Noble bookstore didn't hurt either.

By the way, I realized today, that last thing is ten times more fun with a child in tow. Really.

(I love the tongue. You know some serious creating is going on when the tongue is out...)

Things I am going to stop being afraid of:

Throwing stuff away. Or. Getting rid of it. 

Now, really. I know. This is tough. A veritable avalanche of protestations can immediately tumble over you the minute you look at something with that why-is-this-still-around light in you eyes. "What if I need it someday? What about it's sentimental value? It was a gift. My daughter might one day want it. Think of the waste." And on and on. These can be compelling and uncomfortable arguments. They can. Feeling the sheer weight of them sometimes leads to an automatic cry of 'Uncle'. As in Ok. Fine. I'll never consider not possessing all this stuff again. But it is just stuff. And. They make new stuff everyday. In America the potential for new stuff to come into your life is a near daily event. For me, stuff is stress. Bottom line. I don't need to go into the psychology of why this is the case. It just is. So it's either deal with the stress. Or deal with the guilt of consciously ignoring all those valid protestations. I like to tell myself that one day all the "Buts" and "What-ifs" won't pop into my head every time I part with some item. But I think they probably always will. Which, I guess means, that I choose guilt. And that's ok. I can handle guilt.

Dry-clean only sweaters. 

I mean. Does the sweater know? Is it somehow offended and will therefore seek disastrous revenge if I dare clean it at home? I'm not going to douse it in boiling water, rub it over a metal grate, let my family play tug of war with it. I'm just going to, you know, treat it very, very carefully. Like a newborn child. Can they really do more than that at the dry-cleaners?

Not having a logical reason for saying No. 

I think this one needs little follow-up. Because that's rather the point. It's just no.

Changing my hair style. 

Because. It's hair. It's dead. And it will grow back. And I have had plenty of bad hair days with it in various stages of both length, color and maintenance. It seems to make no difference. So. You know. What's the big deal?

Spending 4 weeks away on vacation. 

This is a difficult one for me. Home bound, routine-loving, introvert that I am. But for the past 3 winters my husband has been talking more and more about getting away for an extended period of time. And really, can this be more of a first-world fear? I'm afraid of a VA-CA-TION?!! I just really need to think less. Honestly if I said, out loud, all the reasons I have for hesitating on this one, you'd either fall over laughing or seriously suggest therapy. 

Bleach, detergents and mineral oil. 

I know. The internet is an exploding land mine of reasons these three things should. AT. ALL. COSTS. be avoided. And I'm not saying there aren't legitimate reasons why they shouldn't be your immediate go-to products. But let me tell you three stories: Those internet articles? Yeah. I read them all. I researched alternatives. I mixed up potions and lotions and all sorts of experimental concoctions in our kitchen. My husband just laughed. And called me a hippie. Which I actually find flattering. But. Back to my stories...

First, I have been washing our bed pillows twice a year in a mixture of borax, baking soda and hot water. Pretty effectively, too, I thought. Until a few weeks back when we were changing our sheets. And the sun was actually shining in our bedroom. And I got a real good natural-light glimpse. Oh wow. Yeah, those things went for an immediate bleach bath. And you know what? They now look amazing. 

Second, about 6 months ago I read an article about cleaning your makeup brushes with Vinegar. I did this. And 6 months later? Yep. They still smelled like Vinegar. Despite frequent washing with, no, not more Vinegar, but all sorts of gentle cleansers and even my everything-free shampoos. Having finally had enough I gave in and recently washed them in a name brand, tough on grease, dish soap. And, happy ending, they no longer make we want to gag. (P.S. These are not cheap brushes we are talking about.)

Third, my daughter is plagued, each winter, by dry skin on her hands. Truly. They turn a nuclear red, itch, burn and in general make my knees a little bit weak every time I look at them. We have tried everything. Shy of steroids. Which maybe we will have to resort to. You never know. Each year they get just that much more horrific. Despite, virtually everything you can think of having been, at one time been, slathered on. Almond oil, Coconut oil, Aloe, Vaseline, Vitamin E, Shea butter, name brand hand cream specified for use on extremely dry skin. Probably a good half a dozen others I'm not remembering. No luck. In some cases there was such a lack of luck that she was in tears from the further irritation of her skin. And regardless of all else, we never could get her skin to stop feeling like sand paper. This last week, when the raised and red skin had spread to her elbows. Yes. Elbows. I decided to dump the plant based, "more natural" approach and I whipped up a batch of good old mineral oil and bee's wax. So far, her hands are the best they've been in years.

I guess, in conclusion, while I will always be a hippie at heart, content to predominately use my alternative, homemade and "green" cleaning and personal care products I will be taking the above 3 things off my No-Fly list.

Lastly, but maybe most importantly, living in the moment. 

Because, really, that's all we've got. This moment. Right now. And it's silly to keep wasting it in anticipation or trepidation of moments not even here yet. Moments not even guaranteed.