New Pictures

I got a new camera, another Nikon Coolpix, but many generations newer than my old camera. The old camera turns on, but not off (unless you remove the batteries) and doesn't take pictures. In a few weeks, when it has had time to completely dry out, we will try again, but I have no real hopes it will work. If it does, well, Arabella will have a digital camera ...

Daddy with the Bean.


Arabella, out of focus because she is lunging at the camera. Always in motion ...


Sabine, exploring.

Sabine has been introduced to some more foods this past week -- slices of peach and nectarine, wheat bread, things she can gum. She seems to have decided that eating "real" food is much better than puree, but not having any teeth I'm a little hesitant to give her anything with texture.

The last picture

The last picture on the compact drive for the old camera. Arabella in her "Easter" dress from Nancee, before church on Sunday. Sabine was wearing her matching romper that day, but was either crying or sleeping whenever I was ready to take a picture.

I should have a new camera sometime tomorrow. Knowing myself, it will take about a month for me to figure out how to take a picture. I'm sending thanks to our friend Walter, who is manager of a camera store in Virginia, for giving me information on brands. And thanks to my FIL to listening while I ranted about nothing important.

No New Pictures ...

... because last night I put a bottle of water in my purse without checking that the cap was screwed on tight. And my camera, my much loved Nikon Coolpix, got totally wet. I dried it as best as I could, waited awhile, but it hasn't decided to come to life. I think it's done for.

I guess the only good news is my phone was in an outside pocket, and so didn't get so much as humid.

Dad heads home

I dropped off my Dad at the airport this morning, and immediately got all weepy. Although he plans on returning before Christmas, I just missed him as soon as I drove away. Even though this entire trip I was exasperated. There is nothing we can talk about that he doesn't turn into a political editorial (gardening, weather or water = global warming hoax; gas prices, food prices = corn into Ethanol is bad; an ad for nurses = how illegal immigrants are ruining the health care system and socialized medicine is a terrible idea, etc). He never makes a comment about what I am doing except to criticize, to tell me how I should be doing it.

And that was instructive, since I find myself falling into that trap, both as a parent and a teacher, and I don't want to be that way. I want to focus on the positive, find my children's / students strengths, coax them to grow. So I am searching for ways to do that, both through reading and through introspection.

When Michael and I lived in San Diego I met a college ceramics professor named John Conrad. John has a PhD in glaze chemistry, and started the ceramics program at Mesa College back in 1966, before I was born. He built a lot of the equipment in the college studio from odds and ends, including a hydraulic extruder and a sander on a throwing wheel for grinding the bottoms of pots flat. He wrote books on ceramics back in the 60's, on glaze chemistry and art, when intelligent books on the art of ceramics were rare. Several older potters in California have confided in me that John's books were the best guidance they had back when they were students. Even now, "retired", John is still publishing books, running a tool manufacturing company, and teaching classes, besides making pots. I was never his student, but I wonder how my life might have been different if I had met John when I was 16 or 18 instead of 30. Would I have still chosen clay, and art, as a career? Would I have made the choices I have?

But the thing about John that has been the most instructive for me is that John never speaks ill of anyone. Never. No matter what kind of things they may have done or said. He is never anything but supportive of anyone. Even me.

I need to learn how to be more like John Conrad.

Other things:

1. I have resolved to return to a decent weight (for my height and build) before I turn 40, which is only 9 months from now. I was feeling pretty good about this altogether because the scale said I weighed only 13 pounds over my goal. But then last week Michael, who has been going to the gym and using their scale weekly, stepped on our home scale and announced it is 10 to 15 pounds off. Too light. Arg! I have 25-30 pounds to lose.

2. Knitting is going well, I am nearly finished with the second Victorian fingerless mitt, and the gigantic alpaca shrug is reaching completion for the first (and longest) stage.

3. Sabine is cruising now, and even walks a little bit while holding onto my hands. But she really gets around by crawling. She loves gnawing (toothlessly) on peach and per slices, and tried to grab my pizza last night. She may be ready for "real foods" before too long.

4. Arabella planted 2 avocado pits in the back yard, she is looking forward to having avocado trees. We haven't told her that they won't survive the freezes. She already misses her "Grumpy".

It's all true

Dad had a great morning Wednesday, weeding my garden and trying to get Arabella to join him, when all she wanted was for him to give himself a heart attack pulling her in the little red wagon or pushing her on the swing.



Yesterday we went to the zoo, to pet sharks, see koalas, watch the dolphin show, see the butterflies. Unfortunately at least a quarter of the population on Indiana and a portion of our neighboring states had similar thoughts, because it was packed. There were more people than animals, a state I have never seen at our little local zoo.

I pet a shark, Dad pet a shark, but Arabella ...

was sure it would bite her arm off.


Dad and Arabella hanging in the shade, near the Emu paddock.


Arabella mugging for the camera. Check out the cool retro dress.



About those quirks, you know ... the thing that is both scary and funny is that it was a trick question. All those things are true. (Some have argued about the generosity thing. He's a jerk, but he can be very generous, even when it not expected or even welcome).

Dad has an air rifle that he uses to shoot squirrels which he freezes and then bbq's when his wife is out of town (what do you know! she won't eat them!). Even though his parents and grandparents were Texas natives, he didn't learn English until he went off to public school at age 7. He has no identifiable accent, so no one would ever guess he's not a native English speaker, and it's not something you expect of a Pole from Texas.



His hobby, for many years, was antique jewelry, especially diamonds, and he is very good at identifying the quality of diamonds. I picked up a little of this, and have had jewelry store staff either very amazed or very annoyed by my skill. I have actually had one job offer that way.



Dad lived in Saudi for 25 years, most of that time in Riyadh, and his villa was blown up in the al-Qaeda attacks on 3 housing compounds in May of 2003. He was mostly unhurt, but the guys living next door (and further from the blast) went to the hospital. I was pregnant with Arabella at the time, and yes, he strongly lobbied for me to name her for a Dutch prostitute who he said "was a really classy lady." Right. That's a story I want to relate to my offspring.


And all the rest. True.

And some people think I am strange!

My Dad

Dad is coming today, for a week of visiting his grand-daughters. I don't talk about Dad much on my blog, because he makes me absolutely insane. And no, I am talking euphemisms here. I feel my brains leaking away when he visits, and Michael has forbidden me to go to the grocery store with Dad, because we come home with 2 tons of bratwurst and other bizarre things.

So just for fun, I thought I would have another game, this time about my Dad. Here is a list of really fun quirks, please tell me which of these quirks are made up.

1. He shoots squirrels in his backyard and barbecues them.
2. He has bad skin from being dusted by a crop duster as a kid.
3. Despite being a third generation American, he didn't learn to speak English until he was 7.
4. He is very generous with his time and money.
5. He suggested I name Arabella for a Dutch prostitute he once met.
6. His house was blown up by al-Qaeda.
7. He had a parrot that only said "shut up, you little shit."
8. He can identify precious gemstones, and evaluate diamond quality.
9. He is allergic to cats.
10. He bears a resemblance to Saddam Hussein.

I'll send a knitted mug to the first person to get this right. My mom (because she was married to him, fercryinoutloud) must recuse herself from this quiz. I'll send her a mug just because she's Mom.

So Dad arrives tonight. The good thing about having kids is it takes some of the pressure off of me, not because he looks after them (are you kidding? I had palpitations the one time I let him take a 2 year old Arabella on a walk to the store one block away. And I don't think he has ever changed a diaper, despite his claims), but because he has less attention to criticize me when he's playing with the girls all the time.

I love my Dad, but sometimes I think a normal dad might have been nice.

I've been tagged! Again

Jen tagged me instead of cleaning house.

1. Link the person who tagged you.

2. Mention the rules in your blog.

3. Tell about 6 fun quirks about yourself.

4. Tag 6 fellow bloggers by linking them.

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

I make no promises about how fun these quirks are. My quirks:

1. I don't like eggs.
2. I don't like getting my hair cut.
3. I love Pre-Raphaelite art.
4. I can sew, I learned from my grandmother Mimi and her friend Lily.
5. I can weld, arc and oxy-acetylene.
6. I can drive a stick-shift, but not very well

Now for tags:

Cara Mama

Black Hockey Jesus

Fire Lizard Studio - Cara

Only 3, sorry.

Yummy grilling

Last night I tried out a grilling recipe from the latest Better Homes & Gardens magazine, and it was divine. You can get the recipe from the BH&G recipe page, but I'm posting it here for those of my friends too lazy to go find it ...

Top Sirloin Kabobs and Avocado Sauce

Meat: 3 # to sirloin, cut into 1" pieces.

Marinade, mix and marinate meat for at least 30 minutes:
3T olive oil
1/2 T powdered garlic
1/2 T powdered onion
1.5 t dried Oregano
1 t black pepper
1/2 t salt
(I added the juice from half a lime)

Sauce (blend in food processor until nearly smooth):
1 avocado
1/2 of a cucumber, seeded and peeled and chopped
1/3 cup sour cream
2 T lime juice
1 t salt
1 t ground cumin
(I added a few fresh mint leaves)

Grill skewered meat with slices of red onion and bell pepper, and serve with sauce. Garnish with fresh mint leaves.

This made enough for 4 very hungry or 6 normal people, and was really good on a tortilla.

Name that bruise

Last Wednesday my friend Becky came by to pick up Arabella to take her to her granddaughters house to play. In the pouring rain I ran out to the van to get Arabella's car seat, and in coming back I slipped (our gravel driveway is not flat, but slopes toward the center, and is dangerous in slick or icy conditions) and my butt/hip landed on the neighbors slate wall. As you can see it made a lovely bruise.

*********

Last week, Michael turned to me in the midst of a grocery shopping trip and said "I think it is finally time for us to get ... a grill." I have been lobbying for a grill since we bought a house. Along with a lawn mower and washing machine of our own, it seemed we needed a grill. We love the grilled burgers and chicken with our friends Walter and Wendy at the cottage each summer , and I really wanted to grill at home too. Nothing fancy, just a little charcoal grill... but Michael wasn't interested, I think he thought I would expect him to cook on it. And as anyone who knows Michael knows, his cooking skills are limited. So his Father's Day present is a grill and wifey cooking with it.


I went to Wal-Mart and picked up a cheap charcoal grill, and all the accouterments (tongs, fork, spatula, basting brush, cleaning brush, lighter, lighter fluid, charcoal), as well as some brats and corn on the cob. After assembling the grill (which required help from Michael), I filled it with charcoal and tried to get it going. The first two times I didn't use enough fluid, because it flared and went out without ashing, but the third time I got a nice big flame going, big enough that Arabella ran inside to tell Michael that mommy was burning the house down. I think I used too much charcoal, because we could have grilled a half a cow (in small batches), it stayed hot so long.


But I don't want to share the cooking, playing with fire is just too much fun!

********

OK, now for the cute.


Daddy and Sabine sleeping on the sofa.


"I keep kissing her, but she won't come out to play."

New Info: Michael and I are now on Facebook, friends, come visit us.

Lullaby and goodnight

We are driving home from the Woodruff Flea Market, and Sabine, tired but unwilling to let go of consciousness, is screaming. Arabella begins to sing:

Rock-A-Bye baby, be quiet baby,
Rock-A-Bye, Rock-A-Bye, stop crying, Sabine.

Stop crying, stop crying, be quiet, baby.

The screaming stops just as we turn down our street, Sabine is asleep.

*******

I had promised to help out with the Woodruff Flea Market, a once a year event which is really a big yard sale, but spread over 6 blocks of one of the most beautiful neighborhoods of Indianapolis. One of our preschool families lives in Woodruff, and we all donated stuff with the proceeds of our sale going to the preschool. Last night it rained, and rained, and rained some more. The rain finally cleared off at 12:30 this afternoon and I went (with the girls) and dumped what must have been a ton (really. As in two thousand pounds) of clothes on tables. I probably emptied about 30 bags of clothing. It was bargain basement prices, $5 for a paper grocery bag filled. There were also cribs and car seats, strollers, movies, toys, furniture,even a functioning snow blower. I even bought a bag of clothes, mostly for myself, but some for Sabine. There were not the hordes I usually see at the Woodruff Flea Market, but from the moment we began putting things out there was a steady stream of customer, most leaving with at least one bag of stuff. Yay for the school!

On the way back to the van, Arabella begged for a bag of popcorn, not understanding that it was kettle corn. I got a small bag, which is huge, the size of a small pillow. She was so excited, until we got home and ate it. She doesn't like it. I already know Michael doesn't like it. I'm going to be eating a lot of kettle corn.

Sabine and sleep, again

"Mangia, mama!"

Over the weekend Sabine was running a fever on and off, especially at night. As her room gets very warm and the weather had turned hot and humid, I was dressing her in a onesie at bedtime, so she wouldn't overheat. I blamed her poor sleep over the weekend on the fever, but even after her fever had gone, she wasn't sleeping unless I was holding her or had her cuddled up next to me in my bed. As soon as I laid her down she was awake and howling.

On Tuesday night I realized her legs were chilly to the touch, and recalled she was sleeping next to me (I am a human furnace, I throw off huge amounts of heat. I think my ancestors were bred, like those Chinese foot-warming dogs, to be human hot water bottles), but waking whenever she lost contact. So at 11pm I was dressing a half-awake screaming infant in a long sleeper. She fell asleep, and when I put her down she grunted, rolled over, and continued sleeping. She didn't make a peep for 4 1/2 hours. Score!

*******

On Arabella and ballet class: as long as Arabella enjoys it (and the number of times she says "I love ballet class" outnumber her saying "I don't want to go to ballet") and the teacher will allow her back, we will continue to go. And Michael says no to hockey because he likes Arabella's teeth where they are.

Ballet and Truth

Mike Adamick at Cry it Out wrote a very touching piece, and I commented there that he must find strength and joy in all aspects of his daughters personality, even those which seem frustrating or saddening.

And then I bundled Arabella off to ballet class.

I did not sign Arabella up for ballet because I expect her to become a ballerina. I have no delusions that the baby who growled at the breast will grow up to become gentle, graceful and demure. I suppose the best that can be hoped for is for her to channel her physical exuberance into something ... well, something. Arabella has been like a rampaging water buffalo since she learned to walk (at 10.5 months), knowing no fear of physical obstacles. She is very into the princess girlie thing, which made ballet, with the little fluttery skirt and powder pink leotard, perfect. I hoped that she would enjoy the girlishness of ballet, the physical challenge, and take to it. She made friends, she loved her costumes, it seemed all perfect.

But watching Arabella today, the last (and openly attended by parents) class of the current session, is unspeakably painful. Arabella has now taken 5 sessions of ballet, approximately 35 weeks altogether, and she acts like it is the first time she has ever been in ballet class. She pays little attention to what the teacher is doing, instead watching everyone and everything else. She constantly fidgets, fiddling with her tights, cuddles with her buddies even when they obviously are concentrating on their foot position, whining if she doesn't get the teachers attention. In fact, I think she may act up in class to get more attention from her beloved teacher, not that it works very well. At the end of the last session I told the teacher that "Arabella obviously makes up for her lack of skill with her enthusiasm." It kills me to watch her in class, goofing off and as attentive as a goldfish. I have to wonder if she will ever be ready for kindergarten, if she will ever read, let alone do math. Tracy reminds me that I must realize that Arabella is acting and developing normally for a 4 year old, but its difficult when I see her peers perform so much better, be so much more focused.

And there is where I have to take my own advice. Find joy and strength in all aspects of her personality. Arabella notices everything, but truly marches to her own drummer, even if that drummer is Animal from the Muppet Show. She may never be half-way good at ballet, but she enjoys her time with her friends, her pretty outfits, her teacher. She loves doing something physical. She does a pretty decent Arabesque when she doesn't know I'm watching. She is naturally dramatic, both in positive and negative ways. And if she ever finds some grace her sheer physicality will make her a strong dancer.

In two weeks, the next session starts, Intermediate. She should have been able to sign up after 3 sessions of Beginner, but I kept her back because I knew she wasn't ready. I wonder now if she is ready, if I continue classes for selfish reasons (I have made friends with mothers of her classmates, and enjoy hanging out with my ballet bunch buddies), if I should let this summer be the end of ballet and find something more suitable for Arabella's temperament, like hockey or free-form mania. I have a month to make that decision, so for now I'll just have to remind myself to find strength and joy in her goofiness.

Swift, really Swift

Michael made a yarn swift for me. The purpose of a swift is to put yarn into skeins (for washing or dyeing) or for putting skeins into balls (after washing, dyeing, or for yarn sold in hanks or skeins. If you try to knit directly from a hank of yarn, it will tangle beyond belief). I tried it out last night and wound over 600 yards of yarn into balls. It is great! Thank you, sweetheart!

Sabine hasn't been feeling well the past couple of days. She has had a fever that comes and goes, spiking up to 101.5 last night. From being a good sleeper, she has gone to almost no sleep, unless being cuddled. Between trying to keep her cool and keep her asleep, I have been putting her in my bed at night. It is hard, but we are managing. I don't want to say she is teething, but it is possible. But she might just have a little cold.

She has also started crawling this past week (the half-crawl, with one foot and one knee). She keeps making a beeline for the downstairs bathroom, whether anyone is in it or not.