Brooke

simple. and perfect. a vacation for four.

since weekends are pretty work-filled around here -- can you say: real estate and vacation rental management and an events-driven industry like pr? -- we decided to take advantage of spring break and have a little mid-week fun!

there were a few criteria to planning the trip:

1) within 3-5 hour driving distance

2) warm and (hopefully) sunny in april

3) unstructured play opportunities for the kids

4) water of some kind, preferrably ocean

5) fun excursions & outings nearby

6) mellow and relaxing

7) no lines or waiting

after an abandoned attempt to pull off Venice Beach + Disneyland halfway through planning (see # 6 and 7 above) matt suggested the central coast near los osos where he lived one year after college.

so later that night, after the kids were in bed, we opened a bottle of wine and started researching our trip - me on my laptop and matt on his ipad. within the next hour, we had our whole trip planned and hotel reservations made! (and had fun planning too!)

it was, by far, the least thought-out and quickly-thrown-together vacation we've ever planned. and in the end, it was one of the best trips we've ever taken! i can't say enough about spontenaeity, flexibility, lowering expectations and just going with the flow.

we settled on avila beach as our homebase and got mid-week steals at an oceanfront property with pool & hot tub. we had a large porch facing the ocean with sunset views over the mountain. at night we slept with only the wooden shutters closed so we could enjoy the salty night air and the sound of fog horns. we were literally steps from the beach and protected by a pedestrian walkway along the boardwalk where the kids could run wild. the kids really loved the hotel breakfast where they could make their own mini waffles in a belgian waffle maker :) we'd make breakfast and then eat poolside each morning, taking a hot tub while the fog rolled out and the sunshine came in.

the beach was so nice we could have just stayed right there for four days and had a blast, but we did a bit of adventuring too and headed each day to see something new.

on our way south we visited the freakishly dilapidated winchester mystery house and we bookended the return leg of our trip with the extravagently retro hearst castle. in between we filled the days with sand dunes and picnics, volleyball and sand castles, fish shacks and pubs, waves and wind, hot springs and walks, sunshine and beach towns, salt water taffy and sea salt cookies, sunsets and dinners with views, plaus the very lively san luis obispo farmer's market where we watched jugglers on unicycles, ate kettle corn and listened to live music.

perhaps the highlight for the kids was 'bubblegum alley' in slo - a recommendation from my mom who found this through national geographic kids. this is an alleway near the mission in downtown slo filled with gum from back in the 1960s. it was both cool & gross...the perfect combo for kids.

on our drive back north, we decided to enjoy the whole day as part of the vacation (which we rarely do, rushing home to start the work week instead) so we stopped in a cute beach town called cayucos for sea salt cookies (yum) and then made our way up to san simeon where we visited hearst castle. (i'd never been and it was beautiful - especially the underground roman pool!) aftewards we drove up highway 1 and through big sur watching the waves and catching a setting sun.

we came home feeling rested, relaxed and - best of all - really connected as a family. four days never felt so rejuvinating.

beachfront boardwalk at sunset

 

beach and pier all to ourselves

 

relaxed (that doesn't happen often enough!)

 

boy wonder. (it's pretty much true. and for the record, when he realized what it said, he decided that this tshirt is embarrasing.)

 

the beach is the perfect place for this girl! she shines, wild & free.

 

road trippin...one of my favorite things to do.

 

a cardigan and a bathing suit counts as 'dressed' in pismo beach.

 

now that this boy loves to read, harry potter even comes to the beach.

 

golden days.

 

babe-n beauty

 

fresh from a game of volleyball with satch

 

 loving the sunshine (even got a little sunburned to prove it!)

 

what trip to the ocean is complete without some salt water taffy?

 

fighting seagulls for our lunch at morro bay (fish & chips...yum! and the birds knew it too)

 

$3 on souvenirs never went so far!

 

fascinated and horrified in bubble gum alley (but we left our mark!)

 

the backstreets are worth a walk in san luis obispo

 

behind the nightclub

 

sunset

 

crescent moon and new orleans jazz band at farmer's market

 

morning under the pier

 

wave runner

 

the road home

 

hearst tower

 

morning cuddles, happy family style - back at home and trying to keep vacation alive.

 

Two whole hands. A decade.

Dear Satchel,

For your birthday, I’ve been trying to write the story of you. Of who you are this year, what you like, who you are becoming. You are 10 afterall. A milestone! 

But for the first time since I’ve been sitting down to write your birthday letter, I have more questions than stories.  It is fun, this change. How exciting it is to watch you become a truly separate person. At 10 you keep your own stories – in the polaroids you take and journals at school and drawings and hobbies…and in your knowing, daydreamy places that are yours alone. 

You are a great mystery unfolding…What do you know? What do you love? What are you hoping for? Who are you becoming?

I vividly remember being 10 and well on my way to storing impressions of the world inside the sacred vault of my own truth. I was building my library of memories and experiences, heartbreaks and fears, joy and curiosity. And so too are you.  You are the narrator of your life now. 

I see you absorbing this world. I see your meditative, daydreaming gaze. In the wonder and escape of the storybooks you read silently to yourself, exploring exciting worlds all on your own. It is in your wild giggles as your run free with your friends, laughing about things I cannot hear, making jokes that are only funny to other 10 year olds. It is in your stoic acceptance when hard lessons or disappointment come your way - the resolve of your chin, the piercing realization mirrored in your soulful brown eyes that the world is not always magical and happy – but that it can let you down too.  That is part of life. You forge ahead, walking solidly into the life that awaits you.  Always with your joyful, boundless, ‘curse of happiness’ spirit.

Knowing how real this is, how we have passed an era and enter a new one, this makes big sobbing gulps stick in my throat. I am stunned by the quick and relentless passage of time. The sheer beauty of our moments together moving along at a speed I cannot fathom…launching the joyful days of your childhood into the future. Sand truly slipping through my fingers, a blur of happy days with my boy as he grows.

Mothering you is like any other exquisite moment of beauty that won’t last. The unavoidable human condition of trying to contain fleeting beauty while we can. Childhood so precious because it is a shape-shifting, evaporating, transcendent moment that we never, ever get back. Neither the child nor the mother. Sacred motion. Nothing to be done but surrender. And celebrate all that we have.

When I held your tiny body, so wiry and warm, when your wise and ancient eyes met mine for the first time, it was the most perfect moment of my life. I was ready to be your mother. Holding you was a memory of what I had always known. Oh, it is you! I vividly remember thinking to myself.

What I couldn’t fathom in those early days though, was how glorious it would be to also mother you at 10. How mothering you would only get better with time.

The primal recognition I felt when you were placed in my arms, when we touched forehead to forehead and I smelled your primordial newborn skin – some of you and some of me mingled together - I felt complete.  Innately one being, a connection so powerful it made me a raw and pulsing creature, fragile and broken wide open to divine love.

As time moves on, you become more dear …and more of a mystery. Your karmic story is unfolding. You are the master. I have done my best to hold your hand and guide you and honor you, I have gone from your being your beating heart to your milky nourishment to your protector to your teacher to your witness. Not realizing in those very early baby days how powerfully achey my heart would be watching you grow up, stand apart, walk away.  

This is destiny, what children are meant to do. Parents? We hold onto that record of our oneness while you become the explorer of your world.While I will always belong to you, you only belong to yourself.

There is the saying to new mothers nine months in and nine months out.  Recognizing the vastness that a mere nine months can be.

And now you have passed the nine year mark. You are a whole decade old. Two whole hands. Do you know this snuck up on me? Where did 6, 7, 8 and 9 go???  Now we only have nine more years together until you are officially considered an adult – less time ahead than we’ve shared from birth til now. 

I snuggle in to watch you here in this liminal space – between child and teen. I watch you for the light in your eyes. To make sure that I can help explain things when you need me to and to let go when it’s best to stay silent. I struggle to know what you need and try to meet you there. Trying to trust myself now the way I always have when it came to your needs. Trusting that you chose me and I am good enough.

We’ve entered new territory. Thoughtful territory. As Steiner says, the mother is the child’s veil for the first three years. That, for me, was an easy part of mothering. Intuitive; a constant conversation between us as if we were two parts of one being. And then you became this delightful child. Happy, cheerful, polite, exuberant. That too was easy. Next, you were a good student. Helpful, kind to others, eager to learn. I’ve heard from other parents that 10-12 are the golden years before adolescence. Lucky for me this is another happy phase for us. I’m enjoying it all, enjoying you, so very much.

You continue to trust the goodness of this world, trust that we travel with you and are always here for you. You giggle when I tell you to stop growing, proud of yourself for becoming so tall, for nearly outgrowing me. You are enjoying life so very much.

In my heart you are and always will be the age you are now and the tiny seedling that took root within me – a love like nothing else.  The only love that would actually be my undoing. A love that made me become a new person. A love that makes me always want to be better, kinder, more patient. You are a gift Satchel. A precious and amazing gift.  You are a bright soul and an example for me. Your kindness and compassion and gentleness inspire me everyday.

Thank you for picking me to be your mama. I think we are a pretty good team.

(Thank you to Sophia Metzner for the beautiful images of Satchel!)

The archaeology of clothes - a family history

Seven piles of tiny clothes, and seven more of bigger ones. Stacked towers of seven outfits each for our seven day road trip, ready to be packed.

 

skirts - denim, taffeta, transparent layers of sequined chiffon – in her pile, the silk and ribbons making it a bit unruly to keep neat. His, a nearly grown man’s stack of denim and corduroy and flannel taking up more space on the couch than I am prepared to accept – his clothes the same size now as my own.  

 

The most recent load of laundry is still warm and sweet smelling as I dig through searching for his favorite ‘dude’ tee shirt and for her striped kneesocks.

 

An outfit for each day set out in advance just like we do for school each night before we go to bed. Lined up together on the couch they are a riot of colors, a chidren’s palette of magenta dots, green sleeves on a baseball shirt, a Bengal tiger on a yellow background, hot pink and neon yellow stripes, purple tie dyed undies with white lace trim. Artifacts of their childhood, of this age right now,of their fancies and their preferences and the beginnings of their assertion of their own tastes over mine.

 

I’m a sucker for keepsakes, for the memories evoked by the newborn sweaters my  mother knit for each of my children. I ache over the tiny cloth diapers neatly packed away in transparent storage cubes and stashed in the attic. The infant gowns with drawstrings at the feet. The first pair of pants with holes in the knees, the shoes with worn down toes.

 

Looking at these piles of clothes about to be packed in duffle bags and stuffed in the back of a rented minivan, I realize that - though they seem large now - soon enough some of these too will be packed away in their keepsake boxes.

 

While details fade over time, these little clothes will remind me of Temple just as she is at 4 and a half. Dresses only, no pants. No tights either. So we compromise on knee socks to keep her legs half warm.  That she changes 4 times a day and creates the most outrageous combinations of fur and satin and ruffles and lace. That she truly feels strongly about her clothes and how they are worn and with what.

 

At nine, Satchel is nearly as tall as me and his brown leather Chelsea boots will be mine as soon as he outgrows them. This will go down as the transition year where our clothes were the same size - he borrows my sweatpants, my Frye motorcycle boots, my denim shirt, my wool fedora; I steal his hoodies and his flannels and his down vest. As the top of his head approaches my eyebrows I can’t imagine how his body has grown so much without me realizing that it was happening.

 

When Satchel was almost two, I took him on a roadtrip by myself. We went to Oregon for a friend’s blessing way and I still remember the antique brown leather suitcase my grandmother had given me and how I filled it with five complete little outfits – planned in advance and packed in tidy little stacks. It was winter and there were knit sweaters and hats from my mother, tiny jeans,  a pair of red & brown leather walking boots thoroughly scuffed at the toe. Things he wore every day. Mundane. Simple. Worn and washed and dried and stained and spilled on. A record of his artwork, his nature walks, his digging in the sandbox. I remember unpacking his things in the second floor bedroom of my friend’s farmhouse, light streaming through the window as I realized just how many memories could be awakened by a these simple daily items. All of those memories living in the fabric of my memories, of my heart, of his clothes. Take these for example - his newborn dragon tee from a store in Berekeley and then, at three during his naked phase. (I did keep those boots!):

 

About 5 years ago my mom cleaned out her garage and gave each of her children one huge keepsake box from their childhood. Memories flooded back for me – of my crocheted baby blanket, of my floral pinafore, the Christmas dress that matched my sisters both trimmed in black ric rac, my cheerleading letterman’s sweater – but as a mother myself now, I knew that each of these items had a different set of memories for my mother…how long it took her to crochet this while she was pregnant with me, where she found the pattern and bought measured fabric for the dress, what inspired her to make us a little house on the prairie bonnet.

 

The clothes in my keepsake box speak of an era – my era – and they say so much about who my family was, where I came from, who I grew into as I made the choices about how to dress and what I was interested in and who I would become. I am so grateful to have these tokens of the past.

 

Today’s laundry - the endless washing of taekwondo uniforms and party dresses and tee shirts cool enough to be worn to school in front of a jury of peers - this will become a record of their past. A quick glimpse through one lens of who they were, how they played, what they loved.

 

My sister once asked me which hand-me-downs I wanted back, which ones were important? I told her that I’d saved my few favorites from every age and the rest are better shared and well loved and used to create more memories.  Some of our favorites were handed down to us and likewise, I have no idea which of my kids hand-me-downs just might end up in someone else’s keepsake box. It makes me very happy to think about it.

 

 

a new year

Lately I’ve been stunned wide open by life. By the brilliant yellow lemon zest in my chicken noodle soup and the disarray of legos on my coffee table, strewn perfectly in 9-year old intensity; by the piles of dollies laid to rest earnestly here and there by a 4-year old throughout the house and underfoot, always covered tidily with a blanket and usually snuggled in groups of two or three. By Matt’s clothes shed nightly by his side of the bed, a dark and wrinkled puddle to find the next morning, still smelling of him – a sweet gift of memory and desire as I carry them to the washing machine.

 

After 4 years of struggling to find my place, lately I’ve been a housewife who happens to also have a job that allows me to work from home. My days are filled with errands like dry cleaning and check cashing (thank you universe for clothes to clean and checks to cash), with making a pot of slow-cooked soup full of black eyed peas, kale and the ancient rinds of parmesan dug from deep in my freezer. But instead of stopping there, I punctuate my chopping and stirring by writing a story I will get paid for, by planning an event that will advance the success of my client. This is an unexpectedly happy swing on the pendulum after so many years of desperately scrambling to figure out just where I might land. What balance I should strike.

 

Working from home means that my ten minute coffee break can be spent in our backyard hot tub, immersed up to my neck in slick warm water, breath steaming, while I watch squirrels navigate ancient oak branches above my head, a frozen lemon sun peeking through the trees while winter roses defy the cold and offer brightly colored spots of surprising beauty amidst the empty sticks of long-dead summer vines.

 

January has brought an unusual cold snap to California. A very cold winter for wine country where the mornings mean I need to scrape my windshield of ice before driving the kids to school. Where the roadside is crusted with a white dusty sheen that stiffens the blades of grass, the muddy ditches made pristine with frost.  The weather bright and clear like a beacon, cold enough to make us alert, to make me straighten my spine and take note. This moment, right now, is important.

 

The icy brown sticks, the sun setting later as the solstice moves towards a spring equinox, the cozy slippers on our feet, the hush while green buds simmer waiting to burst, while lambs wait to be born, a fire crackling still in our fireplace. The Christmas tree only just dismantled even though it is mid-January. Games played as a family to while away the long evenings – Boggle, pick up sticks, Catch Phrase, Headbands. Chapters from Little House on the Prairie read aloud. Harry Potter and Native American stories like Pasquala for Satchel’s 4^th grade curriculum and a book report due next week.

 

We hunker down. Make popcorn sizzled in coconut oil, doused in kosher salt, chili powder & cumin. Matt’s birthday comes and goes – a chocolate cake of course. Presents he never anticipated, dinner with his parents – long-divorced but united by some invisible string that sometimes keeps distinctly different humans lovingly connected because they created another human being together.

 

Days weave in and out. Only two weeks into the new year and life is steadily creeping, trudging, beckoning us along. The kids go to bed at 8:30 because there is school and they need sleep…and we need adult time. Cocktails and HBO series rented on Netflix – Boardwalk Empire, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad. We twist ourselves up in dramatic stories, enjoying the thrill of well-orchestrated catastrophe. Later we giggle and celebrate how we’ve avoided being so fucked up.

 

Lack of sleep was a brutal torture for a long while now. It’s been better. I drink less & eat less at bedtime. Somehow going to bed empty helps. But also I’ve rached a certain mastery in my new careers, the to-do lists actually doing their jobs. And I trust myself to get my work done. To get it all done rather than awake in a panic and obsess all night. I’ve also fallen in love with a magnesium sleep aid that really works wonders! Sweet sleep. It makes me whole again. A new woman.

 

Hot coffee in the morning is the first prayer of the day. And then there are hugs and kisses for the children. Devotion of its own kind - the intoxicating smell of sleepy heads, each one hiding a secret mystery in the fragrance that hovers at the base of their skull.  And each one so different. I dream of a third child – wondering - what would their own smell be? Their secret infinity that will take a lifetime to unravel and understand?

 

But the alternate reality hits me too:  Here we are, the four of us and everything is just as it should be. Just as it is. The four of us.

 

Briefly, in the bustle of lunch-making and breakfast-eating and coffee-sipping, we find each other…I steal a warm snuggle from Matt. Leaning into his warmth, his tallness, his sturdiness, solid and true. His unspoken promise that he will always be here. We rest briefly together - lots to do, a day to start - but my cheek finds his heartbeat under the tender light over the stove where French toast is cooking. Nothing too bright yet, just a gentle beginning in the midst of making sure the kids brush their teeth and the smell of browned butter from breakfast and an 8:15 school bell waiting to be met.

 

Let’s welcome the day. It’s a beauty. It’s a gift. Good Morning World we all say – a remnant of my own childhood, a tradition bestowed by the mothers in my family. Good Morning World. As we peek behind the curtains, lifting our eyes to the morning outside. A greeting that says we are in this for the next 24 hours – in it for much more than simply getting by. We are here to live.

 

Thank you 2013 for welcoming us so gently, so hopefully. This is what it means – I think – to live the good life: a peaceful and contented heart.

 

 

catching up before the new year is upon us

last year i made hoppin' john for new years. friends & family rolled by. we sat around a roaring fire and had lots to hope for in the year ahead. hope springs eternal and this year, the good caught up with us in greater measure than the icky, the stressful and the sad.

 

i'd say that 2013 looks grand but i'm superstitious and i don't want to jinx myself.  so let's just stay i continue to be hopeful. and grateful for health and family and joy.

we've had a lovely couple months. november and december were just plain ol' fun in so many ways. here are a few glimpses of november (3 birthdays, an annivesary, thanksgiving and visits from my sister's family & our awesome vancouver friends) and december (a 10th anniversary trip to nyc and a merry, festive season!)

winter boots

peas in a pod

pals

i call this couple 'party in a box' because you could rent them to make an party an instant success!

autumn art project

he-man

fall feather project

satch and his great-grandmother

birthday fun

baking with busha

"autumn leaf" biscuits

 

beautiful leaves...already gone

treats for school

board games with cousins

dress-up with cousins

abundance abounds

communal art projects

swedish fish martinis

did i say that november was the birthday month around here???

birthday couple = love!

...always.

this...the world's perfect baby...just might trick him into doing it one more time :)

it's that time of year again.

morning reader.

waiting for st. nick

christmas in new york!

view from our honeymoon suite

first lunch in new york...oldest dim sum restaurant in china town.

wildlife in the village.  this majestic falcon was epic.

along the way from lower east side lunch at katz's deli to shopping at bergdorfs.

waiting for the subway.

anniversary dessert at jean-georges nougatine

christmas in new york - is anything more spectacular?

turkish coffee on a cold day

9/11 memorial

a moment in time.

christmas jammies

christmas jammies in action

girls lunch

winter moon

coloring with dada

magic

christmas party

union square, san francisco

gingerbread house party

 
big brother. little sister. one of each. lucky doesn't even begin to describe it.

christmas eve morning...delivering presents to friends.

sparkling elf. (or is that 'elfe'?)

santa suave-eh

christmas dollie.

in training for burning man.

first tea party.

all good mommies sparkle.

on our way to see the lionking

first limo ride.

i see more limos in this kids future.

stocked up!

 

and we prepare to say goodbye to 2012. you've been good to us.

 

bring it on 20-13!!!!

 

wishing you all a happy new year!

happy clowns.

 

happy new year's everyone.  may it be joyful & blessed!

autumn 2012

even though spring is the season of birth - when the world is reborn and green, when both my babies decided to come earthside, when hope rises like the sap in trees - i think autumn is my favorite season. because what i see (and feel) is another kind of birthing. the birth of the underwold, the birth of wisdom that comes from beyond, the time of ancestors and of holding both the abundance of harvest and the decay that quickly follows.

autumn is a time of appreciation for a season well-lived. a life well-lived. it marks the moment of gratitude for the past and releasing to the unrelenting future. of surrendering to the forces greater than us. i see beauty in this decay.

the wet and rotting leaves. the empty vines in the vineyards around me. bare and tangled branches. a moody grey sky and cold damp that creeps into your bones. brilliant bursts of gold and red outlined against the steely colors of a dying world.

winter solstice is the time of inner knowing. of the internal flame. but fall, it is the liminal space between here & there. between life & death. that fleeting moment of equilibrium. isn't there a fullness in that? a perspective of fate that we all must accept even if it frightens us. to me it says: seize the bloom. this moment is alive, live it.

satchel in leaves

shalom

this fall has been particularly special. the full moon at halloween. the cleansing rain. the gloriously warm days. a sense of peace in my heart. an exhale and a letting go of a heart that has been so tight for so long now. so many good days. moments. heartbeats. memories.

 

deconstructing

sunset on date night with matt at greens in fort mason

cozy morning

first skinny peppermint mocha of the season

waiting for matt to come home from work

finger math

dinner with friends

today over breakfast the kids and i talked about samhain and the pagan new year. we talked about dia de los muertos and our ancestors.  while they ate i named all the gifts our ancestors had left us...papa calvin's humor and strength and sense of honor. gramma shirley's love of encyclopedias and world travel. my busha's hard work and generous heart and kindness. on and on it went as these loved ones came to life for my children.

maybe it is the thinness of the veil between here & heaven today, but the kids were inspired by these stories - their eyes sparkled and a sense of knowing came over them, of recognition. there are traditions of setting a place at the table for our departed loved ones, to honor them -- today i felt like there was one at our breakfast table.

dia de los muertos on our chalkboard wall

halloween this year was simple but fun. i've mellowed a lot about making things perfect. we had 6 or 7 pumpkins but only got around to carving 3. temple wasn't into touching the pumpkin guts and she isn't really ready to do the actual carving so instead of creating an assembly line and cranking them out, i gratefully accepted my mom's help with temple's one witch pumpkin and let my sister and her boyfriend finish it up.  satchel did two of his own and is a really good artist. at 9, he can do the whole thing by himself. the battery-operated pumpking carving saw helped too. i mean, he's a boy and and any power tool is his friend.

jack o' lanterns 2012

while they carved jack o lanterns and ate caramel apple suckers, i made 'swamp soup' with kale, pesto and turkey sausage 'eyeballs.' after not having a tv for more than a year, we finally got a new tv last week so the world series was on and there was orange and black everywhere. i'm not much of a sports fan, but i do love the giants and i have a son who really loves baseball. having the game on tv made me realize how sports can make a household festive. each of us involved in our own activity like carving jack o lanterns or cooking a pot of soup or folding a load of laundry but all of us in one room being together at the same time, with something to cheer for. it was nice and reminded me of the days when my grandfather would listen to the game on the radio or we'd all lie around on a cozy sunday to watch the 49 ers play football. there is a solidarity in this. a homey feeling that is nice.

the rain came in last night just as it was time to go trick or treating. other than getting a little wet and not being able to see the nearly-full moon, it wasn't bad. my scary, living-dead boy and little maharani princess were happy to lead our crew of 10 through the streets of sonoma, knocking on doors, 8 or 9 doting relatives in tow...2 grandfathers, a grandmother, an aunt, a boyfriend and two family friends. Now that is dedication.  Especially in the rain.

satchel as the living dead. halloween 2012. (9 years old.)

temple as a maharani princess. halloween 2012. (4 years old.)

last saturday we went to a halloween party and we all dressed up.  even me. it made me realize that adults who dress up in costume are one of the many things i love about halloween. here is a list of a few more halloween traditions i really enjoy:

*caramel apples

*an early dinner & trick or treating with our big, crazy family

*candles flickering inside of carved pumpkins

*the month-long process of deciding what the costume is going to be

*our chalkboard wall with a list of ancestors' names

*incense and candlelight

*soup in a pot on the stove

*chili in a pot on the stove

*darkness coming earlier each night

*daylight savings

*the last brilliant leaves and berries

*enjoying the first rain puddles

*enjoying the last hot, sunny days of indian summer

*getting ready for my birthday

*examining the loot from trick or treating and then trading candy

*putting on our autumn pillowcases and adding blankets to the beds

*cleaning out the summer clothes and bringing out winter coats

*taking it one holiday and special event at a time...enjoying each one completely before moving onto the next

today the rain has passed through, leaving the world feeling swept clean and sparkling. reminding why i love this season so much.

and here they are, my two little hobgoblins, the morning after:

hawkeye

baby blues

 

 

the ache of gratitude

i'm sitting here on a glorious fall afternoon, my life as good as it's been in awhile and it reminds of how precious life has been feeling lately.

always one to 'make love to life,' something urgent is waking me up to savoring more minutes in my day. it is making me say yes to going back into the art cupboard getting yet another piece of tape for temple's art project. yes to a trip to the dollar store for even more art supplies. yes to a matinee movie. yes to cuddling in bed, reading another book, yes to piggy backs and just yes to as much as i can. (i didn't realize how much i had started said no! and for no really good reason than just, ugh.)

maybe it is my grandmother meeting the end of her days and the loneliness i sense in her heart as she reviews her life. i want to feel full up when my time comes. maybe it is just me noticing the speed with which my babies are becoming these tall human beings with minds of their own. maybe it is the way my marriage is about to meet its 10th anniversary. or my birthday just around the corner...

i hope it is that list of things and not my intuition feeling something else, something darker. last week i sent an email to a friend and as i went with my rambling thoughts, this came out: where am i? that would be a very long email on its own :)  but in short, i am good. life feels amazingly, wonderously precious to me these days. i am full of gratitude and inspiration to live more fully present and awake. after feeling broken down the past few years, i am waking up to wonder. that's the only way i can describe it. on the flip side of that though  there is this feeling of foreboding. that my life is going to crack wide open with beauty, but it might be a tragic darkness that shows me the light. i can't put my finger on whether this intuition or fear, but it is there and has got me very curious.

even the stories i've been hearing lately feel prophetic. the beautiful, ragged, heart-wrenching stories of moms dying from cancer. children dying from cancer. my throat clenches. i gag. i hurt for them and i get scared. and then i realize their gift to me, in sharing their stories, is that - at least for right now, today - we are all healthy. i have the choice to enjoy a life not hindered by pain or illness and what a tremendous gift this.

when i think of it, it is overwhelming. the gift of health. the gift of precious loved ones. the gift of this:

and this:

in gratitude for this beautiful, glorious day - it is time to go out and make sidewalk art, lounge in the backyard, start up the grill for an outdoor dinner. and just hug my babies as much as i can. enjoy their smiles, their weight in my lap, the smell of their hair as they sit with me. carve pumpkins, give them a bath. and drift off to sleep filled up with memories of a sweet, simple day.

here are a few of my favorite finds from the week

i'm soaking an enormous amount of raw cashews for this recipe and this one too.

these videos make me smile. so much. tiny dancer at 2 years old & 3 years old.

loving this line of bags. and i think i like this one the best.

they are calling her america's worst mom, but i think she is onto something. you can see her interviewed here.

this milkshake sounds insanely good.

a brand that understands how to compliment a woman's curves.

his astrology reports are awesome for general astrological patterns. (thanks aunt sue!)

and if the state of the universe has you wondering what your own planets are doing, pj is the woman to call. (btw, she's the person who performed our wedding ceremony in 2003. i love and trust her *that* much.)

i think this song is romantic.

their story of young love, art and passion reminds me of what the early days with my own teenage parents must've been like.

a book i've been wanting to read for months, reviewed on my favorite celebrity gossip site.

i still have a huge design/family crush on these people. someday i want temple to have a room like their daughters'.

last week i tried the gluten-free lemon coconut torte from this bakery. soooo good.

isn't her apartment/workspace darling?

cannot wait for tomorrow night...family date night, popcorn and this.

the power of little things

for a long while now i've been neglecting the little touches that have always made my house a home - the flowers, candlelight, notes on the chalkboard wall, homecooked meals, bubble baths for the kids, cleaning the fridge every monday, purging the kids clothes & toys by season, throwing parties, making playlists for the ipod...and i hate to admit it, but even saying blessing before dinner. 

at first it was a kind of freedom - i was now a busy working mom with more on my plate than i used to have. it felt good to give myself permission to let some things go. to let homemaking habits slip while i cultivated working habits, while our family shifted and got used to our new routines.

but lately, it was making me sad. the lack of colorful blooms, the unmade beds, the scroungy mess of art supplies, the disorganized cupboards...the feeling that our home was becoming a place of function rather than a cozy and peaceful retreat that was a pleasure to come to.

with this realization, i started to put more effort in this part of my life. i've started to get my home back in order.  it started with a scented candle i was given in may...a nice little luxury that i put in the hall bath and left burning most of the day.  i enjoyed it and when both kids commented on how nice it was, i realized how important these little touches are. tiny pleasures like this were something they had grown up with and probably missed without knowing they missed it. when i replaced that first candle with a new one i'd purchased in town, satchel told me how very much he liked the new milk-glass candle holder it came with. once again, he noticed.

next, i brought home several bunches of cheap flowers from trader joes. temple shrieked with delight at the tulips in her bathroom and proceeded to carry a bunch of pink gladiolas to the nature table/altar in her bedroom where she placed them next to her framed baby photo. it was like i had given her a present.

for the first day of school, i promised the kids a pot of sunshine soup - one of their favorites. when satchel thanked me several times for making it and ate it for lunch 2 days in a row aftewards. same for the happy first day of 4th grade! sign on the chalkboard wall and the early morning bubble bath today.

their appreciation of these small efforts reinforced what i myself had been feeling and the important realization of how much we all need little pleasures and snippets of beauty in our days.

fall is a great season for celebrating simple, small pleasures which i still remember from my own childhood. my mom would simmer a pot of cinnamon stick & vanilla on the stove...such a lovely smell! hot oatmeal in the morning. sweet notes in lunchboxes. afterschool treats.

back to school - as much as i resisted it this year, as much as i wanted more summer and extended sunlight and morning lie-ins - is the perfect opportunity to build our days around rhythm and beauty. so i'm excited to pour a little more creativity into this part of my life.  if you are feeling inspired too, please share! what do you do in your house to bring beauty to your days? i'm not ashamed to say that i am easily inpsired and will steal your great ideas readily :)

let them eat cake (slightly edited & reposted)

over the weekend i gave myself the gift of baking several cakes i'd been wanting to try. i had to be at home to work anyway and the kids were hanging with me and it was our last weekend of summer so i emptied the pantry onto my kitchen counter - 2 flours, 3 types of sugar, vanilla beans, butter, poppyseeds, balsamic & champagne vinegars, cream of tartar, baking powder, kosher salt - then i told the kids to wash their hands and we proceeded to measure, mix, blend & stir in between emails and phone calls for the next few hours.

baking can be a lovely way to pace your work day, as the smell of cakes in the oven and a lick of marscapone can bring a touch of sweetness to the otherwise single-minded focus of work and to-do lists and chores. it's also a lovely way for kids to weave in and out of their own play while spending time with mom between.

the first cake, while the best tasting in my opinion, was a disaster on the plate.  after many attempts at rescuing the presentation, i changed plans: i whipped up a batch of vanilla bean pudding and turned it all into a trifle. then the pudding was only so-so and i wished i'd just let it be an ugly cake which would have been more delicious. so this cherry cornmeal upside-down cake i took from smitten kitchen will be repeated.

(batter poured on top of black cherry & balsamic reduction)

(out of the oven - the bottom of an upside down cake)

(so ugly on the plate. not even humble or homely, a true mess.)

next, inspired by this cake, i tried to figure out a way to use the bag of plums someone had given me last week to create a french tatin. this was temple's favorite cake of the three and i brought it to a party on sunday where a chef told me that my cake was restaurant-ready. well, that's what you get when you use any ina garten recipe!

this poppyseed number by not without salt was the one i was most looking forward to making. here in sonoma we have the most amazing strawberry patch. i visit the patch at least once a week may thru october because the berries are *that* good. the kind of strawberries that are red all the way through the center. so with the strawberries playing leading lady to the poppyseed's best supporting actor in this recipe, i knew i had to give the cake a try while strawberry season was still in its prime. the cake was easy to make, quick to back and delicious. i also have visions of this cake in many other variations.

(you can see the layers here but i can't turn the image right side up!)

(marscapone frosting with strawberry and lavender)

after a lovely weekend with our family and a pool party and overnight guests - and lots of cake - i prepared myself for a tough week ahead. now in the middle of the tough week, it is turning out harder than i expected. on top of an excessive amount of work and our employee being on vacation all week, there is family drama. 

my grandmother is going through a very difficult time after her life savings "walked off" while my mom and i were away living in vancouver and chicago. this week we are supporting her through legal proceedings and it is tough to watch an 89 year old dealing with such heartbreak. (edited - sorry i can't go into more detail but there are legalities i must adhere to...someday i can finish this story.)

the cake though, the cake. it was a sweet swan song for the end of summer.

today, satchel started 4th grade. i told him that i met his dad in 4th grade...maybe he will meet his wife this year. which of course totally grossed him out.

after a summer of growing, he is so tall the top of his head is above my nose but still sweet enough that he fell asleep holding my hand last night. this age is incredibly bittersweet. so tender and innocent but growing so quickly. i've been tearful for days now.

(back to school lunch date with mama.)

temple asked me to dance with her this morning to a really sweet song and of course, i started crying. this song makes me so happy i'm sad too mama.  she gets it already, how joy can be its own agony. she understands that beauty can overwhelm us and in knowing the beauty, we also feel its absence.

i look at my children, our life, their joy, the amazing gift of their lives and our days together, and in this beauty i feel its absence too. their growing up does this to me. 

someday i will be that old lady in a wheelchair, almost all of my living behind me, and there will be so much joy gone and only absence ahead. these moments, in the summer of my life, i try to capture moments like the old children's book frederick where the mouse soaks up memories and colors and joy to sustain him through the winter.

weeks like this one - with more to do than can really be accomplished and the extremes of life experiences happening at once and deep emotions pulling hard - there is only cake and sleep and the warm hands of your children holding yours as they fall asleep at night to see you through.