Conquering fears and missing ears

The other day the Bubbles and I headed down the eastside of our property, toward the "meadow", and the little seasonal creek (basically a stream).

When we got down to the "the bottom" I found out that this was in fact where Gregorie had "fallen in".

The girls threw some snow in the water and we hiked downstream toward the convergence with the other creek.   Gregorie begged the camera and did her best imitation of Ansel Adams.  Alex found an ear of dried corn and we made wishes as we threw kernels in the stream.

Alex and I finally cast the cob in, making several wishes on the "wish stick" before sending it downstream.  We were following behind it, making sure it didn't get caught in sticker brushes while Gregorie ran ahead.  UNTIL she shrieked.  The most blood curdling scream!  She had come upon....

...a dead deer. 

[to be continued]

Dirty Fingers (or is the whole world just crooked)

As Alex was headed to bed last night, she asked, "Mom, what is that word for the bones of the fingers?"

"Phalanges," I replied.

"Ya, 'plalanges'...." she mused.  "You know that word, phalanges, and the word 'heinous', you know the one that means really awful, well, 'phalanges' and 'heinous', they sound like potty words."

Uh, ya.  They do.  I find it very interesting that 1) she is right on the money and 2) we don't use the expression "potty words".  I am a big believer that no words are off limits for my children.  I tell them, "You can use any word IF you can wield the power of that word.  Words cannot be used to hurt or belittle but they can be used to express your frustration, your observations."

While I was pondering her current observation, I looked up and noticed that some of the framed photos over the bed were not straight.  "Gregorie is crooked," I remarked.

"My sister is NOT crooked!  Why would you call her a crook????"

"No, not GREGORIE Gregorie, that photo of Gregorie.  Now that I look more closely, most of the photos are crooked."  Alex promptly jumped up and set out to setting straight.  She lined them all up; she made their edges all parallel.  But standing back, I could tell they were all now "crooked" to the line of the ceiling or wall.  I left them that way.  We should live life at slant once in a while.

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.