Lessons learned (and yet to learn)

 

Today the Bubbles and I headed back down to the creek after we finished our schooling for the day.  We all started out by lacing up some waterproof boots.  Check!

And she was no sooner laced, then Gregorie was off.  Alex eyed the muddy slope, picking her path carefully.  Ya, me, I picked my path VERY carefully.  Stepping frequently on the exposed areas of sleeping sage bushes, knowing they would hold me.

 

 Down, down she ran.

 With Alex not far behind.

 They waited for me and we headed upstream.

 With the dogs running along.

 Criss-crossing our way.

 With me still falling in to my knees!

 And then Alex saw something shiny in the water.  And had to head down to get it.

 Had to reach her arm into the icy water...

 To bring back her prize.  Um hum.  Now she has an icy cold arm.  Which eventually sent her running up the hillside and into a warm bath with rosemary and eucalyptus Daddy Bubble ran for her.

 She lasted long enough to check out some freshly budding shrubs.

 And while the light today was nothing special we did manage to capture some beauty.

 Before trodding back downstream.  Before Gregorie found out that parts of the stream are deeper than her boots are tall....

The Yeastmaster

My husband brews beer, good beer.  He understands yeast, how to feed it, how to rinse it, how to re-use it.  He has flasks of starters hanging out in the refrigerator, spinning on stir plates in the laundry room...

He also makes pretzels.  And pizza.  And pitas.  Yeast and he are friends.  Yeast cooperates with him.  He feeds it and it does its "thing."

Ya, well.  Yeast and I, well, we don't get along.  That's okay most of the time.  You know, as a woman, I'm happy to say... well, I won't say it but other women know what I'm thinking.  I breastfed two kids for 40 months with no thrush.  I had IV antibiotics for weeks this summer without issue.  Yeast and I don't co-exist.  Cool.  Kind of.

But I have tried.  And tried again.  To.bake.bread.  We don't eat a lot of bread but when we do, we like really GOOD bread.  And sometimes we buy a nice (pricey) loaf and half of it gets thrown to the bears.  Or made into bread crumbs.  And I think, "If I could just BAKE some damn bread...."  And I try again.  And it looks beautiful.  But could be used as a lethal weapon.  Or to build a bomb shelter.  Or, it doesn't even look good... 

So, I said to Husband, "How about you try to bake a loaf of bread?"

Ya, well, fu-- him.    His first try.

I mean, that's just wrong.  It's not supposed to be that easy, is it????

Uncertain Bargains (or, it's all fun until it just isn't)

One the Bubbles' favorite outdoor activities is hiking down to the creek and then along it up past the waterfall until the fence that borders the highway halts our progress.  But with 4 feet of snowfall between Dec 21 and sometime mid-January, limited days of thaw, and the crazy steep slope that leads down to the creek, we hadn't taken our hike in some time.  (Gregg and Alex did try it once in snowshoes but it was pretty tough going.)  The last two days have brought sun and highs close to 60 so we figured we'd give it a try this afternoon.

Here are the Bubbles before we headed down.

Don't they look excited???  They did not want to pose.

 I didn't attempt to take the camera with me, despite suspicions that there would be lots of beauty to capture -- I figured that between the steep, the deep (snow), and the slick (mud), the camera would be happier here.  I did, however take a Lagunitas Sucks -- prudence does have her limits.

My first observation as we started out was that my children are mountain goats.  They navigated the rocky hillside adeptly despite the snow and mud conditions -- crisscrossing to scrub their speed as they basically dashed down.  But me?  Well, I was about a dozen steps into the descent when I scrubbed all my speed, as my boots slid in the mud and I landed on my butt.  Falling on my booty was not part of my plan for sure.  Two weeks ago I took a wicked spill at Northstar, waiting for Alex to snowboard to me, on the hardpacked bunny slope, right on my tailbone.  OUCH!   Still OUCH!  Somehow this slip managed to land me on an ample cheek and spared the bone, the only damage to my confidence and my cords (not a drop of beer was spilled - I know you're relieved). 

By the time I got to my feet, Gregorie was at the creek.  The creek I can hear rushing like a freight train at night.  With snow and mud and uncertain banks and how deep is that creek?????  I yelled to her to wait.  Alex yelled to her, "You don't want to fall in there again.  I'm not there to help you out!" (When did this happen?)  I quickly determined that the best way down was to follow the tracks of the 6-year old.  She is mountain wise.  Except she weighs 45 pounds.  And me, well, about 100 more.  So, when the snow got deep she floated over the top.  And every second or third step I sank to my knee, or higher.  Made for slow going.  Finally Alex (who was so concerned about her poor old mother and waited for me, offering to hold my hand -- wasn't it just yesterday I had to help you?  Oh, no, wait, that will come again...) and I reached the creek bank, where Gregorie gave us the "What?  Why am I waiting for you slow pokes" look, before she ran off along the water's edge, up and down the bank as needed (the creek has carved a pretty steep ravine).

And instantly I knew I should have brought the camera.  The creek is ever changing and always beautiful.  I love the play of sun and shadows in the girls' hair as they run along, shouting, "Look at this!  How cool is this ice!  Hey, here's a neat pine cone!  Mama, can you carry this moss back up for us.  OOOH!  Look at the waterfall!"  The dogs ran along by our side, until Echo had to go chase the poor cat who only wanted to come too.

Eventually I got tired of navigating the banks and put my waterproof boots to the test, walking up the creek itself.  I caught up to the girls just down from the waterfall and seeing me in the water, they joined me.

Remember what I said about prudence?  Check the first picture.  Those are NOT waterproof boots. 

Echo was only too happy to jump in and splash her way toward home.  Stella, with the benefit of years and the disadvantage of a shorter coat, stuck to the banks.   We found the cat, safely, and dryly,  and I suppose, prudently, up a tree about halfway back.  By the time we reached the Easiest Way Up, Alex was whimpering.  Gregorie was dashing ahead, sensing that it was only a matter of time before her feet felt as bad as her sister's.  "Mama!  Hold my hand!  Help me up!  I can't feel my feet!"  Ah, so now you need me, eh?  Of course, that did not stop her from pausing to restack some rocks on the fallen tree.  Certain things just have to be.

It hurts!

Gregorie almost sat on this log, next to Alex above.  Alex yelled, "Don't sit there!  Sap!"  Prudence has her moments.

So does prudish.

Overtired

I dated a guy in college who thought the expression "overtired" and the concept to which it related were, basically, bull shit. 

I wonder if he has children now.  And if he does, if he sings a different tune.

Says the mother of two exhausted children who are running around with dog toys in their mouths, barking to raise the sheriff, and trying to sniff one another's butt.  Ya, they are definitely OVERtired. 

Directions

Looking west.

Looking west.

Looking east.

Looking east.

Looking south.

Headed to Northstar (which is actually south of here!).

Of Gatos and Perros

I love morning conversations, snuggled in a warm nest of wool and down, with my girls.  This morning Gregorie, now 6.5, the Baby Bubble, also known simply as B, and I exchanged these thoughts while Poodle, aka Alex, 8, slept in a bit.

G:  Mama, when I grow up I'm going to have lots of cats and dogs, lots of kittens and puppies.  LOTS of cats!
M:  A lot of cats means a LOT of cat poop.
G:  That's okay.  They will go outside to... you know... Like Traveler does.
M:  Oh, okay.  Well, I hope you live on a farm or in the woods or something. 
G:  Ya, I will.  But well, the little ones, maybe they will have a litter box or something.
M:  So, who's going to clean all that poo out of the litter box?
G:  Well, me of course.  Because I'm going to live alone.  I mean, no husband or anything.
M:  How many cats are you really thinking you'll have?
G:  Like maybe 20.
M: Oh, so you'll be a crazy cat lady?
G:  No.  Because I'll have dogs too.  [pause]  Mama, are cats allowed in Thailand?
M: Yes.
G: And dogs?
M: Yes.
G: Are you sure?
M:  Yes, I'm sure.  I told you how when Aunt Kelly and I were in Thailand we stayed in a hut on the beach for a couple weeks and we had a dog who lived with us.  Remember?
G:  I remember.  [pause]  Do they have pet stores in Thailand?
M:  I think they probably do.
G: Do you think it's hard to learn Thailandish?
M:  It's just called Thai.  They speak Thai in Thailand. 
G: Do you think I could learn it?
M: I'm sure you could.
G: [thinking]  I think maybe I should go to Mexico first because I already know a little Spanish. 

Random bits and pieces of a happy life

Since I "founded" this blog this past summer, when we relocated to our little mountain home, nestled on the cusps of the Sierras and Cascades, I have had swirling ideas of what I would say in my inaugural post. These potential posts were mostly composed while driving the 30 miles to the girls' new school or back, never while I was in front of a screen or sheet of paper with the time to write them out. But one thing I have come to know about trying to BE a writer at the same time you ARE a full-time, stay-at-home mother: if you wait for the intersection of great inspiration and free time, you'll never write anything. So my visions of grandeur are dancing off with the sugar plum faeries of the holiday now past and I resolve (wow, I made it all the way to January 5 before uttering that word!) to just write it down, the little things. The little things pile up and make the big things anyway!

So following are some random pieces of our little life.

 Every night the beer comes in; every morning the beer goes out. The simple rhythm of this routine pleases me. The overnight temperatures are too cold for the little kegs to stay out but natural chilling during the day and making space in the laundry room/pantry work for us. [I guess I should insert here that Mr. Bubble is a brewer. He is working out recipes and hopes to someday open a nano-brewery. In the meantime, the tasting is fun!] Here is the beer out. You'll have to wait for nightfall to see the beer in.

I am engaged in an unending battle with pet hair, two dogs (one of whom is a "fluff") and a cat, in a small space. Hair hair hair. Especially on the microfiber couch and the wool armchair and ottoman. I have tried all sorts of lint brushes -- those velvety red ones, a thick rubber bristled black one, the ones with sticky rolls of tape (wasteful much????). I have tried my handheld Dyson. But my efforts have had the success of Operation Market Garden in WWII. But I have discovered that a rag -- old, not fuzzy terry cloth seems best (I'm using a baby wash cloth from years gone by) -- dampened with warm water works like a charm. How did I get to 46 before I realized this simple truth? Well, I never had the fluff before.... Ah, the hair free (or close to it) furniture!

More random images of moments worth collecting:

Sunset with icicles.

Full moon over fields.

Lamb chop ohm.

Walking it back up, to ride down again.

 

And not all moments are captured in images; there are words for collecting too.

 For example, the oft-uttered, "Poodle, let's play!"

or my favorite of late:

"I'm having trouble sleeping at night; Saturn is SO bright this week!"







I always try to hold onto the little moments, because nothing lasts: