w-w-weird w-w-week

It has been a bit of a strange week for us, kicked off, I suppose, by the spider-eating incident. Here are two bigger developments and a handful of other tidbits. And a few pics.

1. # 1 in the What We're Doing Next category: we decided last weekend we'd go to Alaska for the fall semester. Jason needs to take one class for a Biology degree that has drug on and on (due in no small part to the vagabond thing). School started last Tuesday, but he got permission to show up a bit late. Work here in the Park is letting him off early, and plenty of construction work awaits him in AK. In a few short days, things slam bam came together and we're going for it. Long story short, he'll head north Friday by car, and Zoralee and I will follow by plane a week later, depending on whatever housing sitch he finds. This isn't as sudden as it seems, actually. We'd been considering it all summer but let it slip to the backburner due to other things...
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2. # 2 in the What We're Doing Next category: I haven't posted on this topic, (we can discuss it through personal correspondence), but Jason has been in a massive application process since February for a government job that could initially take him away for several months of training. A couple days after we'd decided on going to Alaska for the fall, he was cleared for hire. Literally anytime we could get a phone call from a stranger, and within a couple of weeks it'd be Sayonara, husband. We're still heading north, because what else can you do? We might not hear from the stranger for months.
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3. We spent some time in car dealerships, which we usually avoid at all costs. We thought it would be the quickest and easiest way of getting rid of our pickup and into a smaller all-wheel-drive car, even if we had to take some loss. It was a bad omen when we were at the first dealership's "big sale" (hardy har) and I got myself a cup of rootbeer from their rent-a-fountain-drink machine. I looked into the cup to see 1/2 beverage - actual substance - and 1/2 foam. Just like the dealers' mouths. Three places offered us deals bordering on hilarity, to where we decided to keep the pickup and sell it privately when we have more time.
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4. My folks were given an emu egg, and while we considered trying to sneak it under one of our broody hens to hatch ourselves an emu, we opted instead (read: Mom opted instead) to cook it. Scrambled egg. Singular. Well, we added a chicken egg for size comparison. The shell was very thick and hard, and when it cracked with a good bang against the counter edge, it was sharp. It smelled blander than a chicken egg and was really viscous. Mom wouldn't eat any, but she did take video clips of Zoralee. Dad liked it. I thought it was alright, but I couldn't eat a lot. It's difficult to explain the texture. It's more dense and yet spongier or springier. It was a nice harkening back to dinosaur days. One very true phrase during breakfast was, "Eat up. There's more."

And now, for the randomnesses that have come in pairs:

1. Last night Jason took for a horseback ride a couple of Slovakian young folk he'd picked up hitch-hiking. This might take the cake.
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2. Two of our chickens are either off in the woods sitting on a clutch of eggs, or they were swiped by an eagle or coyote. One of them is Blind-ey. We're down to seven hens and Six Dolla' Roo.
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3. We have had two extra terrible nights for sleeping on account of little Zoralee teething and/or, okay, maybe I drank too strong of coffee too late during those days. Dangit. I need to write a whole post about shooting oneself in the foot. Anyway, the first night, while I was laying in the dark listening to Z squirm about restlessly, I had three spider encounters, enough to qualify it as a game - two matches of spider throwing and one match of spider seeing on the wall and waking husband to kill it. This is not a happy middle of the night activity. The second night, no spiders, but Zoralee was up playing from 3:30 a.m. until 5:20 a.m. Real nice.
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4. Both Jason and Zoralee have marks on the bridges of their noses where they were hit with forks. How does that happen? Well. Jason needed to tie on his lava-lava, but he had a fork in his hand. So, like anybody would do, he rolled the fork up in his shirt and commenced to tying. Meanwhile, Zoralee came over and pulled herself up on his leg, wanting to be picked up. He bent down, and the fork tumbled out and hit her nose. There was much unhappiness. Jason felt so bad that he dropped the fork from a couple feet above his own head to try and duplicate it. He said it was pretty painful.

Z's sore is healing quicker (quick-rejuvenation baby skin)

overheard at a car dealership yesterday

The dealer comes back into the main waiting room from the little side room where All Mysterious Decisions Are Made and All Car Values And Your Self-Worth Are Determined. He sits down at the table, papers in hand, beside a timid car-shopping lady who is at least ten years his senior. Her 11-year old son is standing between them looking back and forth. The dealer talks in a whiny, condescending voice.

dealer: Mmkay, so what we're gonna need is a co-signer. Mmmkay? And I need you to do that very soon, today or tomorrow, and get RIGHT BACK to me. Can you do that? Hmmm? Can you do that?
lady: Um, yeah, okay.
dealer: Is there anybody you can talk to who could co-sign? Mom? Dad? an aunt? an uncle?
lady: Well, my dad died last year [looks away sadly].
dealer: Awwwwwwwwwww.
kid: [sees price sticker in dealer's hand] So, that car is gonna cost us fourteen thousand dollars?
dealer: [annoyed and dismissive] Umm, no. I've got several people in the building I'm working with right now. [turns back to lady] So, I'm gonna need you to get right on this. Will you do that? Get ahold of anybody you can. Mom. Dad.* Anybody. And call me.


* Yes, he did. Only ten seconds after she'd stated her dad was dead, and only eight seconds after he'd acknowledged it with an extended "Awwwww."

Charlie's prayer

Okay, people. Please adjust to the idea that you're about to spend just under 3 minutes listening to the bedtime prayer of one of my college mate's sons. Do not delay. Click here.

first big girl bath

and the mystery photo is of....

....two spider legs.

They were all that was left in Zoralee's mouth after I heard her gag and then swallow. At first I thought it was a bit of string, because she loves to find those around. But when I held it close to my eyes and saw the tiny hairs, I freaked. "That is DIS-GUST-ING, honey! Yucky! Yucky!" I was instantly ashamed of myself, because I'm the one who said during spregnancy that we should let the child eat bugs as a sort of introduction to world food. Jason had said we shouldn't, since some bugs could be poisonous or dangerous. At that point, I only half-heartedly conceded. But when it actually happened, I sure reacted strongly. And I wasn't thinking a bit about the poison potential but simply the idea of eating a spider.

I was so glad I'd recently nursed her and wouldn't need to again for a few hours. Can you imagine if I'd been nursing her and that spider came crawling out of her mouth? Now that's a horror flick; how's about it, Hollywood?

Funny thing is that earlier in the day, Jason had been getting the heebee jeebees over Zoralee scraping a rock on her teeth (by the way, the second bottom one is coming in). He would go into a full body convulsion whenever he envisioned her tooth cracking. See, and that didn't bother me at all, though I agreed we shouldn't let her do it.

Well, thanks for playing along, friends! What fun. If you missed the photo, scroll down to two entries below.

the domesticity roundup

first canning
oh, nothing
just pitting cherries
just sitting
and pitting
because I'm a canner
yep
i can things
i can can things
i can
i can
i can
and i do

My cousins brought us a bunch of Flathead cherries they'd picked at an orchard. The orchard dwellers were begging regular citizens to come pick before a huge storm ruined the cherries. So, I washed, pitted, and chopped enough cherries to make six (6) jars of syrup and three (3) jars of jam. I read the hot bath canning directions thirty-seven (37) times. I didn't follow the directions precisely, because that really weirds me out. Where's the creativity when you do that? Where's the love? Not in my jars of cherries, obviously, because none of it turned out thick enough. The jam is more like syrup, and the syrup is simply watery cherry bits. Nonetheless, I was proud. It took me an entire day to do this. And so, weeks later, I am still proud.

I had nine (9) jars sitting on my counter, but by now I've sent one (1) home with my sister and one (1) with Joanna and one (1) with Nikki. "There you go now, deary. Take a jar of my cherry syrup, which can be stored in the cupboard and used at a later date, because I canned it and those cherries are now 'put up,' as we canners like to say." When I feel like a dope, it's very good therapy to nonchalantly walk past my counter and notice those jars out of the corner of my eyes. And revel in knowing that I am a real home-maker pretty much.

I love the idea of domesticity. But I really have to work at it. I like doing tasks in and around and outside the house. But I am slow. So I get panicky and start going so speedily I'm not even remotely living in the moment. I'm concerned only about finishing this task so that I can get onto the next one and be the perfect maker of homes.

Not every part of this gig is second nature, you know. It's thirty-seventh nature to remember to water the plants (see Tamie's wonderful blog about forgetting to water plants and, similarly, your own soul) and it's four-hundred-and-eleventh nature to plan meals a couple of days in advance. I never gave a lick about this stuff until I got out on my own. Then I thought, dang, I should've actually watched my mom make gravy. We always had chores growing up: cleaning the house, setting the table for meals, folding laundry, whatever. I also did a little sewing by hand. Why, in second-ish grade I made a jean purse with my name stitched onto it in bright red thread. But I didn't strive to grow in any of those areas until well into adulthood. So these are victories, people. Very big victories.

One day soon I am going to take a sewing class and learn the proper ways of this craft. But I have a feeling it'll take a lot of discipline for me when the teacher's opening line is not, "Welcome, folks! How's about we start right in with sewing? Forget all this boring orientation stuff and learning good methodology. Just go for it, and you'll probably get a decent product!" With that said, here are 3 sewing projects as of late. I will stress that for a person like me who hates following directions, you win some and you lose some.

• 1. Okay, let's start with a clear win. This is a onesie that I cut the bottom off of and sewed a miniskirt onto. Ha ha ha. Who would call this a clear win? I would. That tells you something about my standards. Anyway, it's actually quite useful, and I plan to make more. Pants are easier for EC than sleepers, and leggings are even easier, which she could totally wear with this dress. Why didn't I just sew a whole dress from scratch? Oh, because the top half of a human body is very complex. And I don't read patterns yet. Now, a worm I could sew a dress for.

The following photographs, especially #3, are funny if you imagine that she knows she's modeling.

• 2. This one is pretty okay. It is a boundary thingy bob. I asked Jason to make me a rectangle out of PVC pipe of dimensions that work for one side of Zoralee's sleeping pad, though we don't really use it for that. I purchased netting at the fabric store and used scrap fabric for the edges. We move it around the house, depending on where we want to keep her from. It's bulky for up and down the stairs, and I could probably pick up an adjustable gate at a garage sale for like $3. Still. We're having fun with PVC pipe creations these days. So I'll call this a weird win.

• 3. And now for the total bomb. These were going to be very cute. Well, they are very cute; they're just not functional. They are piddle pads. You lay a baby down on one to change their diaper. They are water-resistant (practically water-proof) on the bottom, because I sewed a thick, tightly weaved cotton layer onto the bottom. Problem: the top layer is polar fleece and doesn't take in water. I was thinking softness, not soaky soaky. They repel water. If the baby does piddle, it will run for the low points, namely, wherever his body is pushing down. It will soak his clothes, his skin, his soul. Or else it'll run off the edges of the piddle pad and onto your bed or couch. So, if anybody has ideas of what to do with them, I'm up.

Thank you.

And how do you like the idea of emboldening the first line of each paragraph? I got that from Don Miller's blog. Otherwise, all this text just runs together and is difficult to read.

guess what this is

Christi just had a photo guessing contest on her blog, and today when I found this, I knew I could simply tell about it or copy her to make it more fun. (Thanks, Christi. Still waiting for the answer to your picture!)

huckleberried bits about family, bowling, music, and helicopters

huckin' with the cousins

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Rachel, Cam, and Dave made a quick trip over from Portland for a couple days of togetherness. I enjoyed our lively discussion about what we'd do with a huge windfall of money. Or even, say, $35. One whole day was spent daydreaming about a nice big commune whereby we could make money doing the things we love and have low enough overhead to be free for family and travel. It's going to be so cool when we ever get that particular dream ironed out. We also bowled, just we kids, while the parents and David went to a wedding. Bowling is something we don't ever do as a family, and it was a pretty good time, not because of the total titillation inherent in bowling, but just because we were together. OH. And we watched Zoralee do stuff. I didn't get many pics, unfortunately, other than of bowling.

About bowling. I know a few people who bowl, and they are nice folks. Really. If you are one such individual and you are reading this blog, I just want to say that I am so hopeful for you. I know that soon your ship will come in, and you'll discover the next step up: crossword puzzles. Hang in there.

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If my kid ever comes home and says, "Ma, I want to bowl. I mean, really bowl, where you go to a sports store and purchase a bowling glove, your own ball, and a bag for it. And shoes that are half one color, half another, to where we constantly do double-takes at each other's feet, thinking everybody's wearing unmatching shoes," then I will have a very icky feeling inside for a good many days. I cannot see getting into bowling. Does it make you jealous and embarrassed when the list of this week's top bowlers up on the wall doesn't include your name? When you're not bowling, do you work on your game somehow? What else could you do but imagine yourself throwing an insanely heavy ball down a straight, long lane until it hits a bunch of tall, peculiar nuggets of painted wood? Do you live in fear of those dark, menacing grooves at the edges? (As if there's not enough evil in the world, they've got to throw it into the game of bowling.) I don't ask these things only to be a jackass. I sincerely don't understand. Enlighten me.

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There was a family in the lane next to us, each member outfitted with their own glove. It was sick, you guys. Of course, they thought we were sick too, with maneuvers like Luke's two-handed toss and me wearing a baby the whole time.

looking forlornly toward a full set of standing pins and a ball that is no more

OH WAIT! HERE IT COMES IN THIS MAGIC BALL-SPITTY-OUTTIE THING.

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We have gotten to spend some great time with my best friend from high school, Kristi, and her hubby, Brent. He writes books, which he can more or less do from any flat surface that holds a laptop, so they're in the area for a long visit. Yay! Who has played the game Carcassonne? I have now. We'll get to play it and see our friends more too, and that thought makes me glad. It always surprises me when I'm amongst people I knew from years before and they're still so them, so familiar. I can't think of an example of that not happening, where you're like, "Whoa! You're not YOU!", but it's surprising still. People are always themselves, even after time and distance and life has happened. Although, this does remind me of a great encounter I had at the grocery store not long ago that sort of disproves my point...

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I saw a girl I hadn't seen since high school, and her first words were, "LORI?!? Oh my God! Your hair looks so....orGAANic! And is that a tattoo?! [grabbed my arm and twisted it for a better look] You were such a nerd in high school. What happened to you?!" Ironically, my hair is virtually unchanged, other than I wore it in a ponytail more back then. And my tattoo is pretty small. We saw each other in another aisle later on, and she apologized profusely for being so forward. I told her I wasn't offended and that hey, people change over 15 years. Hello. But you know, if she'd spent even 10 minutes with me, she would've realized there was like 93% of the same me-ness to me as there was back then. Right? I'm guessing.

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- singing with my brother and grandpa at a memorial service -

This was good to be a part of. Though the three of us didn't know the deceased man, we played with a couple of people who did, including his great-grandson, down from Alaska, where he plays in a heavy metal band. We did a couple of upbeat country church numbers, and Vince Gill's "Go Rest High On That Mountain." One of music's beauties is that, with a basic understanding of how it works and a little proficiency at an instrument, you can create something meaningful with perfect strangers for the benefit of those gathered. It's an odd duty to weave music through a funeral or wedding where you don't know the person/people whose memory/honor it is in. A tad creepy, perhaps. It doesn't happen all that often for me - maybe once every year or two - but I get a real cool feeling of camaraderie with the flute-tooters in Ireland and the drummers in African villages and any other musicians who play at a community's life events.

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Oh! We also had a 10th anniversary in there. We'd considered going on a Caribbean cruise to celebrate but, yeah, we changed our minds and went to a movie.

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Jason has been hard at work, including a couple of fun, special assignments. Today he got to head up the ground crew for a helicopter operation at a remote lake. They dropped a boat and some gear in by long line for a research crew coming this fall, and Jason's crew did the legwork for determining how low the chopper could fly because of the trees, radio communications, and hooking and unhooking stuff from the longline. Here are a couple of pics of that.

the Pumpkin Buns' latest antics and rantics

Zoralee the Academic

Zoralee the Yoga Instructor

Zoralee the Contemplative Musician

um...Zoralee the Normal Baby

Zoralee has changed so much in the last couple of weeks that she's virtually a new person. There was the tooth, yes. But also....

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CHATTER

Especially when we read to her, Zoralee is talking back, mostly in deep, extended, gutteral grunts. It would be alarming coming from a person of any age other than hers. Getting through a book is difficult; you hate to laugh too hard, because she's so very serious.

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SLEEP

She made it clear we needed a change in our sleep routine. Rather than falling asleep by nursing side by side, she multi-tasks, even when she's dog tired. She rolls onto her belly and raises her bum in the air as she tries to stand to her feet. She then unattaches from the breast and starts breathing excitedly about practicing her skills. Right now, the skill is Use Mama's Body to Stand Against, Let Go, and Wobble Around Grinning.

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I lay her back down and we go through the same drill a few times, and sometimes she'll fall asleep. But nowadays, Jason or I will rock her to sleep, holding her tight and talking gently or singing to her. At first, she cried for 1/2 hour, but now it takes her a couple of minutes of fussing (or wailing; let's be honest) in our arms before she settles in and resigns herself to sleep. She does continue to doze in and out for 10 minutes, just because she's such a light sleeper. But then we lay her in bed, and she's good to go. It is wonderful! I love holding her quiet, still little self for a few minutes.

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GLIMPSES OF CONTENTEDNESS
Yesterday while we were rocking, she got relaxed enough to gaze into my eyes while I sang - for a couple of minutes. It was perfectly sweet. Unfortunately, she made the funniest face as she dozed off, and I started giggling. That woke her right up, and she smiled. Pretty soon I was outright laughing. Dangit! So much for that nice, peaceful falling to sleep. Probably won't happen again for weeks.

ATTITUDE

Yep, Zoralee's got one. She turns it on and off like a faucet. A faucet of skin-burning acid.

MOBILITY

She goes up the stairs when anybody will let her. Loves to climb anything. LOVES to dive off the our mattress onto either her bed or pillows I've arranged on the floor. Today she climbed up onto Grandpa's pack box (goes on horses and holds gear), which is even higher than our mattress, and tried to dive to the floor. She's utterly loco.

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Uncle Cam spotting for her

first tooth

Zoralee had been restless and fussy for several nights and was a bit more needy than usual during the daytime. We'd seen the bumps forming on her gums. So, we knew the time was approaching, but of course didn't know exactly when that milestone moment would hit. Life with a baby is like that, man. You're going along with the day, your head in a sort of haze, and you'll look over to see the baby crawling up the stairs or making a totally new expression. It's jolting. To me, that's one of the most fun parts of this whole deal, but then, I like surprises.

We were having a relaxing evening at home with old friends of mine from high school, Kristi and Brent. I was feeling Z's gums and got an unusual poke on the finger. It was such a gleeful moment, and extra fun for having other people around. Just after I felt the tooth, Zoralee bit my arm and left a classic double dimple tooth mark, as if to drive the point home that, "hey people, something is UP."

Here is but a sampling of the dozens of photographs I have taken over the last week to capture this tooth. The big picture up top, Z in her purple dress, is the best, and I finally got that tonight.