Pawlene's Perspective

Karolina is three months old

2012-02-09T16:28:00.001-08:00

Let's see. Not a whole lot has changed in the last month. Except that she has recently developed an Iron Grip. Seriously, don't dangle any loose folds of skin near this one -- once she has a grip, she does not let go.

Here is a picture of Peter when he was her age. IDENTICAL!!! Right down to the angle of their little ears.

In Other News

2012-01-25T10:18:00.000-08:00

Karolina is catching up to me. A check-up yesterday revealed that she is now 14 lbs, 12 oz, and 24 inches long. Even her head grew! 15 and 3/4 inches! She's a big girl, but I'm still ahead...for now.

Guest Post from Erika: The Motherhood Olympics

2012-01-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to all the single mamas out there -- I don't know how you do it. I'm only a single mama a few nights a week, and most of those nights I feel like I am competing in the Motherhood Olympics just feeding my children and getting them to sleep.

My friend Tina, who is not a single mama, but is FULL of extremely useful information and advice, always leaves a tip for me on her voicemail messages and I do the same for her. It can be a tip about anything that makes life easier or more enjoyable. My favorite tip was in response to a frustrated rant about some child behavior issue that I had left on *her* voicemail (with accompanying tip, of course). She advised me: when it has been One of Those Days and you are at the end of your rope and you still have to make dinner, just call it a day, make yourself a cocktail, and make breakfast for dinner. Easy, and everybody is happy. l should listen to Tina more often.

In the spirit of good advice, here is my tip for anybody that cooks: READ the WHOLE recipe before you start to make it, or even think about making it. It seems obvious, but I still get myself into a pickle on a regular basis because I ignore this particularly practical piece of advice. This evening was Less Than Pleasant in part due to the fact that I neglected to thoroughly read the darn recipe.

Any of my friends, acquaintances, and yes, even my hairdresser, who put dinner on the table have heard about how my slow cooker has changed my life. It is the only reason my family gets a hot, nutritious meal at least two nights a week. (Thanks, parents, for my new LARGE slow cooker -- life is even easier now.) I recently acquired a new slow cooker cookbook, "Slow Cooker: The Best Cookbook Ever" by Diane Phillips, that has put an astounding number of delicious meals on our table. However, the emphasis in this particular cookbook is definitely more on "delicious" than "quick to prepare", which I have been slow to figure out. The Italian Wedding Soup with handmade meatballs should have been a big clue, but...

I found a recipe for Old-Fashioned Beef Brisket with Root Vegetables, which screamed Comfort Food -- the perfect thing for the rainy/sleety weather we have finally been getting. I put it on the calendar for Monday night, also known as Slow Cooker Night in our household. But this morning (Monday) things did not go as planned. It was raining. Peter had a fever, so he was not going to pre-school. And I had my first Back to Work meeting scheduled for 10:30am, the time I normally put the food in the slow cooker so that it is ready to be eaten at 6:30pm. Did I mention it was raining?

Wonder Sitter Ariana arrived at 8:15am, right on schedule, to watch Karolina, who was still asleep. I stuck her with Peter instead and exercised my option to take a shower. At 9:00am I called my dear mother-in-law, Jana, who is visiting from Prague, and begged her to come over and watch Peter while I was at the meeting and while Ariana was taking care of Karolina. She quickly agreed (yay!). For the first event in the Motherhood Olympics, I picked Jana up, brought her back to our house, nursed the baby, and sped off to my meeting, with time to spare for a much-needed latte. Score!!! Figured I would put the food in the slow cooker when I got home.

Home by 12:00, fed Karolina, and then tried to feed my beloved son, who was feeling spunky for a kid with a fever. He picked up his bowl of soup, dumped it on the floor, and said "I want a sandwich!" By the time I got him to clean up the mess, finished my lunch, read him some books, and got him up to his room to try and get him to take a nap, it was close to 2:00pm. The slow cooker! I finally got around to reading the recipe thoroughly. Chop four kinds of vegetables, put in the slow cooker, rub the meat with spice mixture, toss that in and cook on low for ten hours. TEN HOURS!?!?! That meant we would be eating around...oh my, way, WAY too late. So much for Slow Cooker Monday. Thank goodness there was leftover soup.

Fast forward through the rest of the afternoon, which mostly involved Peter not napping, Karolina napping when we needed to go to the doctor, and a frenetic trip with both kids to the doctor, who determined that Peter has "a virus" (How many times have you heard THAT one, parents?) but at least it's not strep, which is making the rounds at pre-school. Peter made up for the Soup Incident by taking the initiative to wash all of the dinner dishes while I was in the other room, nursing Karolina. He did this by taking each dish, one at at time, to the bathroom sink (he can't reach the kitchen sink without a chair), rinsing it, and bringing it back to the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher. Darling child! Didn't even break one.

As we got closer to bed time, the fever kicked into high gear, just when Karolina decided that it was Play Time. This was the most challenging Olympic event -- I spent a good part of two hours rushing from our room (trying to get Karolina to go to sleep or at least stop crying) to Peter's room (in response to the most pitiful whimpering of "I'm cold! I'm too hot! I'm thirsty! Mama, come here!") and back. It was heart-breaking. As soon as Peter would start to drift off, Karolina would cry and I would race back to her room to rock her and sing her more lullabies. Then Peter would call out in that weak little voice and I would put Karolina down, imploring her to sleep so that I could tend to her brother.

During those precious few moments when both children were quiet, I would sneak downstairs and chop vegetables for tomorrow night's slow cooker meal. For, as I was nursing Karolina, I did the math again. In order to get dinner on the table by 6:30pm on TUESDAY, I would have to turn the crock pot on at 8:30am. In the morning. With all of the vegetables chopped and ready to go. Oh, did I mention that we are going BACK to the doctor's office tomorrow morning, for Karolina's two-month check-up? sigh. Realizing that there was No Way At All I was going to get anything done before 8:30am tomorrow morning after being up all night with a feverish child and a newborn, I decided to chop the vegetables tonight.

It went something like this: Scrape three parsnips, start chopping one, and run upstairs to rock Karolina, then soothe Peter, then sanitize hands and put Karolina's pacifier back in her mouth two or three or twenty times. Sneak downstairs...wash hands, chop another parsnip, rush back upstairs to pick Karolina up and sing her a lullaby. Sit with Peter, get him to drink water, sneak downstairs to wash hands again and finish the parsnips. It was worse when I got to the onions because then I had to wash my hands BEFORE I re-inserted Karolina's pacifier and checked on Peter.

Poor little guy, I asked him so many times today to cover his cough that he was actually doing it in his sleep. I love watching him sleep, but I hate watching him suffer. I think about all the mothers who have sat at their child's bedside, helplessly keeping watch as the poor little things burn with fever. Even now I hear him coughing. It's going to be a long night. At least it's not strep, which the whole family would no doubt get. And at least I'll have a delicious, nutritious and warming dinner on the table at 6:30 tomorrow night with very little time or effort during the pre-dinner witching hour. Let the games begin!

Karolina is TWO months old!

2012-01-08T21:33:00.000-08:00

At over twelve and a half pounds (that's where she was 2 weeks ago at her 6-week visit to the midwives), she has officially outgrown most of her teeny little newborn clothes, including the fleece Christmas sleeper (but we got a lot of use out of it -- thanks, Aunt Brooke!), but now she fits into her Santa outfit!

Favorite activities continue to be: sleeping...

and eating (not pictured).
Pooping comes in at a close third.

The most notable change from last month is in her vocalizations. They have increased in both variety and frequency. I think I heard her first "aboo" today (my favorite baby word).

Peter, too, has changed a bit in the last month, pushing the limits of both good and bad behavior. For instance, on Friday morning the child retrieved his cooling bowl of oatmeal from the counter, seated himself at the table, donned a bib, and proceeded to finish the entire bowl, unassisted and without complaint (this is somewhat rare). Model behavior! So grown-up! So independent! Same boy actually requested MORE vegetables at dinner. Dream child!

However, this very same child was found, later that evening, dancing on top of the coffee table in a puddle of his own urine. Not just dancing, but *spreading* the puddle with his bare feet to each corner of the table. (Don't worry, future guests, I thoroughly disinfected the table.)

Later, he was discovered sitting on the back of the couch with both feet on the chest of his sister, who was lying on the cushion below. Thai massage or testing how much weight her tiny body could withstand? We will never know because he was quickly snatched away and SEVERELY admonished.

These observations all happened on the very same day. Incredible range of behavior. Parenthood is never boring.

Happily, I have finally trained him to retrieve the cat treats and feed them to me on command. Oh, joy! My hard work paid off!

Guest Post from Erika: My Uncle Bill

2011-12-08T19:43:00.000-08:00

It has been a year of death. Birth too, thank goodness, but more people that I know have died this year than in all of my previous years combined. On Sunday, my Uncle Bill left us forever, and without any warning except a premonition that I had at our last visit in September. This death has hit me harder than all the others, partially due to its suddenness and partially because I knew and loved this man my whole life.

How to describe Uncle Bill? He was so many different things to different people. This is what I observed: Fiercely independent, committed to living life his way, for better or for worse. Although he lived alone his whole life, and could be gruff and ornery, he deeply cared for other people, especially those who were at some sort of disadvantage. Walking with him around the tiny coastal town of Pescadero, his adopted home for the last 50 years, he seemed to know everyone we ran into. Most knew him as the school bus driver, but he also regularly drove members of the large immigrant farm worker community to meals, church, wherever they needed to go.

Bill also loved and cared for animals, wild and domestic, especially his dear departed cat, Bobcat. All animals that he encountered gravitated towards his gentle nature. He knew how to be still and connect with them.

He was intensely spiritual, and studied energetic healing for a time. In his youth, he was apparently something of a hippie, studying art at UC Berkeley, riding his bicycle all over California and beyond, and attending Rainbow Gatherings. I learned about these days on the walks we used to take together around Pescadero and down Old Stage Road. Bill could talk your ear off, especially about family history or his philosophical theories, or he could be silent for hours, depending on the situation. At most family gatherings, he would sit quietly except to come up with simply awful puns every once in a while. When I think of him now, I see his eyes twinkling. He wasn't exactly mischievous, but he found the humor in situations.

My cousins and I remember him most for his infamously bizarre gifts. He was extremely generous with all three of us, but we were always surprised by what he would present to us. Our "uncle bill gifts" were always memorable. They were consistently accompanied by a rambling, heartfelt, always poetic note in his elaborate curly cue handwriting. The writing frequently took up the whole card, and beyond, and the content was often as confusing as the gift.

I am sure others have very different impressions of Bill -- these thoughts are just my experience of him. I still can't believe he is gone, and will be processing this loss for a while. There is a hole in my life now.

Fortunately, I have a very tangible reminder that not only does life go on, life is happening Right Now. Her name is Karolina, and she will be one month old tomorrow. I will be sure to tell her stories about her great uncle Bill when she is old enough to understand them.

And just for comparison...here is Peter at one month old. Yep, they are definitely related. And definitely Kosinas.

We Have a New Baby

2011-11-15T13:48:00.001-08:00

Well, through the wonders of Facebook, e-mail, Skype, and the good old-fashioned family grapevine, most of you have heard that there is a new baby in the house. Karolina Annalaura Kosina. Karolina is pronounced Kar like "car" and lina rhymes with Kosina. Anna was the name of Martin's maternal grandmother, and Laura was the name of Erika's maternal grandmother. Laura named her daughter Laurene (Erika's mother) after herself and her sister Irene, so we have lots of female relatives packed into that middle name.

So far, I like the new set up. Erika is not allowed to go downstairs for at least a week while her (extensive) stitches heal, so she spends 98% of her time in bed, which is GREAT for me, not so great for Martin, who is responsible for transporting anything that Erika needs (food, water, dental floss, water for a bath, etc.) upstairs. Luckily, the midwives are letting us hold onto the birthing tub and the potty chair for the foreseeable future, so we have created a lovely temporary bathroom on the second floor. My bathroom was re-located to Martin's office (Are you starting to think that Martin got the short end of the stick here? Yeah, me too.) But at least he did not have to push an 8lb, 11oz baby through any of *his* orifices. Hmmph.

We have been blessed by many visitors over the last few days, and the master bedroom has been converted into a sort of cocktail lounge/dining room for the duration. Last night we hosted Aunt Brooke and Tony for champagne, beef stew (thanks MOM!), and chocolate cake (for Karolina's birthday). Here is the set up:

And here is Erika in her standard position:

What? You said you didn't come here to see pictures of people eating dinner? Where the heck are the cute baby pictures? Ok, ok...
Here is Karolina's second bath (the first one was not fit for photos due to all the screaming):

And here she is sleeping:

And we still think Peter is pretty cute, even when he is doing his fake, hammy smile:

Guest Post from Erika: Many Hats of Peter

2011-11-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

Well I have a lot of time on my hands lately, and only one child (so far) to occupy those hands. So here is...MORE about Peter. It's fun to try and figure out what he is going to be when he grows up.

Fire fighter?

Kitty cat? Or maybe this is Actor?

My vote is for artist, like his Papi:

No Baby Yet

2011-10-27T12:37:00.000-07:00

The late stages of pregnancy can do funny things to a person.

Erika just started spontaneously cleaning out the refrigerator, a task she has *NEVER* willingly undertaken in her adult life unless there were thousands of dollars in rent deposit riding on it. You would be amazed (horrified? sickened? disgusted?) to see what she found lurking under the vegetable drawers.

She has also developed a near-insatiable appetite for cheesecake, a dessert she formerly despised (except for Junior's Cheesecake of NYC for some odd reason). She traces the strength of her original aversion back to the day her father presented her with a plate of cheesecake but called it "banana cream pie" (one of her very favorite desserts) in an effort to get her to admit she actually liked cheesecake. She realized his deception after that first, unexpectedly sour bite, and never forgave him. Also never liked cheesecake. Until the third trimester of this pregnancy. And now she can't get enough of the stuff, especially the newly in season pumpkin variety.

We are hoping to make it through Halloween before baby moves to The Outside, if only to take advantage of the many unique costume options available to extremely pregnant women. Basketball and Jack O Lantern have been suggested, and Erika came up with the very clever "Pregnant Lady!" Ok, maybe not so clever. She is going with her favorite suggestion (can't remember who suggested it -- another curse of late-stage pregnancy): Black Widow Spider! Think all-black with a strategically placed red hourglass cut-out.

She is really tempting fate, though, by purchasing theater tickets for Friday night for a "Last" date with her dear husband. (Is there dating after a second child? Inquiring minds want to know...) A Streetcar Named Desire, directed by one of Nevada City's finest theater people, and playing at the Nevada (formerly Foothill) Theater, a venue she grew quite familiar with on trips to Nevada City in her youth. Couldn't resist.

And now she is off to a much-anticipated pre-natal massage, but not without one for the English majors out there. This will probably only be funny to English majors who are familiar with California's Central Valley (Andrew? Are you out there?) but here goes. Found in the advertisement section of AAA's Via magazine: Experience the "wonders" of Solvang!

All About Peter

2011-10-17T12:32:00.000-07:00

I blame The Bump, but the amount of neglect this blog has gotten over the past few months rivals only the amount of neglect *I* have been getting lately. Erika can no longer bend down to pet me, and when I try to make up for the lack of petting during daylight hours by making myself un-ignorably PRESENT in the pre-dawn hours of the night, I get shafted. Swept off the bed. Removed. Unloved. Ignored. This will all change when breast feeding starts up again -- those were the days! At least 20 minutes of good petting while the baby gets fed, and every few hours!

And then Peter will learn what it means to share the spotlight, the attention, the undivided love that used to be all mine before he arrived. And so, this blog post is devoted to Peter and Peter exclusively. It's probably the last exclusive blog post he'll get if this baby shows up in a timely manner.

Peter is officially three and a half years old! He stays busy in pre-school four days a week now, while mama gestates, writes, and tries to get healthy food into Nevada County schools. The kid LOVES trucks, especially fire trucks and dump trucks that he can load with whatever is handy. He also loves dental floss. Not sure where he picked that one up, but upon departing his first Real dental cleaning with a balloon, a new tooth brush, stickers, and a container of dental floss, he said: "Mom, I have ALWAYS wanted to have dental floss!" Whatever kid, keep it up.

He is constantly in motion, but has a gentle, sweet side and is finally learning how to pet me properly. He also has a great sense of humor. He frequently cracks himself (and mom) up (see dental floss quote in previous paragraph).

Here he is flying his Barbie plane.

And here is how he used the dozens of ink stamps at the shield decorating activity at the Children's Fair. Mom still says no tattoos until he is 40.

He almost learned how to swim this summer -- next summer for sure. Hopefully he will be potty trained by then as well. Sadly, he didn't get to spend as much time in the South Yuba as he did last summer, as mom was having a hard time clambering around the rocks. But he had a lot of fun weekend days with dad and a picnic from SPD.

The family did get a couple of mini-vacations late this summer, one to the beach in Pescadero...

Where we met up with Peter's San Francisco buddies Mateus and Carter AND Uncle Bill (not pictured).

And another to Pagalonthia, an epic festival with a bunch of other families, on a secluded private lake in Mendocino County. Peter got to hang with another San Francisco buddy (Paxton) and hone his fishing and painting skills. Not napping for five days took its toll, but it was worth it...

Here is what Peter will look like in 60 years or so (There was an actual BATHTUB at Leonard Lake!).

And finally, we had a nice birthday celebration for mom with Nevada City friends "LindyPiper" (Amy, Lance, Lindy, and Piper). Don't be fooled by the innocent smile -- look where his fingers are.

Peter seems ready to become a big brother -- he gives "his" baby lots of hugs and kisses and kind words through mama's belly, and has volunteered to share several toys and outgrown pieces of clothing with his little brother or sister. We'll see what happens when Baby is actually on the Outside.

He notices more and more about the world around him (the leaves are changing colors!) and has become quite articulate, when the dreaded whiny voice has not taken over his vocal cords. He loves to tell stories about his day, what happened, what he learned. And he LOVES music. He makes requests now, for the "Hello Song" on his Music Together CD (ad nauseum) and for "angry" or "sad" songs. Mom introduced him to a capella and then punk rock the other day. He is very interested in which instruments are present in each song he hears, but he seems to prefer banging on a drum (or several of mom's pots and pans) to any other form of musical expression.

Mom is getting a bit nostalgic about her time with Peter and just Peter, especially now that she is able to take him grocery shopping, and out to restaurants almost without incident. But life goes on, and that's a good thing.

Guest Post from Erika: Martha Stewart Outtakes

2011-08-26T20:48:00.000-07:00

I have a brilliant idea for a new (reality) TV show. Outtakes and Bloopers from Martha Stewart. Call it schadenfreude, but wouldn't it be satisfying to see one of those "good things" turn into a complete disaster for a change? And the parting shot would be Martha slugging back a glass of cheap Chianti.

That's kind of what my evening looked like tonight. Single-minded, gorgeous culinary vision meets hubris. I blame Martha. And Barbara Kingsolver. Ever since I read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle", I have sought to emulate her family's Friday night routine of taking random bits from the garden and turning them into beautiful, healthy pizzas. Pizza night! Never mind that my husband does not eat pizza, nor does he, with his current work/commute schedule, have dinner with us on Friday nights. Despite these realities, Friday night pizza is something I have been trying to instate for years.

And so, on the hottest day of the summer (so far), I decided to turn the oven up to 500 degrees, and bushwhack my way through my terrifically overgrown vegetable garden in the 95-degree heat to select some choice vegetables for our pizza. Peter amused himself by transporting a large portion of our winter firewood from one side of the house to the other, using his stroller as a sort of truck.

I excavated several feet of potato vines to find quite a lot of kale left underneath. Perfect to saute with garlic and top the pizza! I ignored the earwigs on the pepper plant and harvested our first two tiny purple peppers. I removed one dessicated ear of corn from our stunted, dried-up corn plants. Not sure what happened there. I ignored the legions of rattlesnake beans and green beans that are surely getting too tough to eat (beans on a pizza? no.), and snipped a few basil leaves from the tiny plants that have been overtaken by the enormous tomato trees.

I had to force my hand through the deer wire from the outside of the garden fence to collect a precious few cherry tomatoes. The other cherry tomatoes, sadly, are quite inaccessible to anyone over three feet tall because the plants are so huge that they butt up right against the fence on two sides of my poorly designed square of tomato plants. Unfortunately, Peter refuses to enter the garden ever since the squash plants scratched his little legs, and so the majority of the little Sungolds remain tantalizingly out of reach.

I returned to the house to find the dough rising well enough, which was surprising since I definitely did not get the water warm enough to activate the yeast. It even smoothed itself cooperatively over the cornmeal-covered pizza peel. Perhaps a bit TOO cooperatively, in hindsight. Peter had moved on to amusing himself by filling the already full of water wading pool with dirt and firewood. It will certainly dry out by the time winter arrives.

Next, I raided the refrigerator for a serendipitous selection of leftovers: Kalamata olives, feta cheese, and Parmesan cheese. I mixed up a little garlic oil and began to put together my masterpiece. When it was assembled, I was so pleased with myself that I took a picture. Little did I know that I would be using it as a "Before" picture:

This all, of course, took MUCH longer than I expected, and I'd gotten a late start. It was suddenly much later than we normally eat. So, perhaps I rushed the next step just a bit. Visualizing a quick, graceful slide from pizza peel to pizza stone, I opened the blazing hot oven and tried, with a practiced jerk, to deposit the pizza on the stone. It did not budge from the peel. Not even an inch. A few olives toppled onto the oven floor and hissed.

Wiping sweat from my eyes, and from a few other places that it now collects on my seven-and-a-half-month pregnant body, I tried again.

Nada.

Desperate, I racked the kitchen utensil drawer for some tool to assist. In the end I just shoved the ingredients from the peel to the stone and all over the oven floor with no regard for aesthetics. I optimistically thought that it might turn out to be an inventive sort of half calzone, half pizza-ish creation. It was a disaster.

I've been surprising monk-like throughout this pregnancy, avoiding alcohol almost completely, except for a few sips on Easter and four ounces of very good wine on a recent date at a surprisingly good, almost-local (Auburn, 30 minutes away) wine bar. But tonight I opened a bottle of wine, and poured myself a half glass. I think Martha would have approved.

Peter sat down at the table. "What is this, Mom?" I brightly replied: "It's pizza, honey! Yum! Bon Appetit!" He tried it, ate a few bites. "Mom, I don't like this kind of pizza. I want another pizza." Actually, it wasn't bad for what it was. The crust turned out very nice in most places. And the good flavors were all there, at least the parts that didn't burn to a crisp on the bottom of the oven. But so much for family pizza night and garden bounty. I think I'm over it. Next Friday, we're going out for pizza.

Abandoned Cat Sulks, Neglects to Post on Blog While Family Vacations Elsewhere

2011-07-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

Oh, neglected blog! Well, I've been neglected too while the Kosinas gallivant around San Francisco, Pescadero, Washington, France, and who knows where else.

At least I have some pictures to share.

Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands of Washington state! Who knew? Stunningly beautiful, fantastic food, even pretty decent weather. Here is how it looks from its highest point:

That's Peter and BFF Lindy running around down there, with mama Amy + baby Piper, and dad, of course. Here is a close-up of the cuteness.

Peter had to bring his lovey on the hike, of course. See it there in his hand?

And the family Kosina, with Erika fighting a terrible cold, trying not to look like death warmed over. At least the view was beautiful.

Peter enjoyed hunting for sea shells with dad on the beach...

But mostly he enjoyed all the BOATS! On the whale watching boat (no, we did not spot any whales):

On the ferry to Victoria...

And, DRIVING the ferry to Victoria! (Do you drive a boat? Sail it? Well, he was steering anyway.)

Not much else to report, other than hot, hot, HOT in Nevada City. Summer has finally arrived.

Guest Post from Erika: More Things I Learned Living in the Country

2011-05-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

Life is definitely a learning experience, even for perfectionists like me who would so like to get it right the first time. Today I learned that the random contents of a refrigerator sometimes yield The Best Frittata Ever. This morning I threw together green garlic, leftover salmon, capers, and sour cream with some really incredible pastured eggs from Nightingale Farm. It was...uplifting. As I raved about it to Peter, he yelled back: "Don't talk about my salmon!". Ah, three-year-olds.

I have had two very important teachers in the last ten months. I'll save the best for last. Let's start with:

What I Learned From the Squirrels.

Actually, it can be summed up in two sentences:

Squirrels are smarter than we think they are.
Squirrels will do almost anything to get to food.

In the last few weeks, our bird feeders have been completely abandoned by the birds. I haven't seen a junco or a nuthatch in ages. Instead, we witness up to FOUR squirrels at a time frolicking in the seed, nibbling, spilling, hanging, and being generally amusing but still, I miss the birds. I received a beautiful bird book in the mail this week from my dear Aunt Brooke, and that was the last straw. I want my birds back.

A while back, I thought that maybe getting the squirrels their own, easy-to-access feeder would keep them away from the BIRD feeder that they do gravity-defying acrobatics to take advantage of. They pretty much ignored the new feeder, unless the regular bird feeder was empty. Squirrels: 1, Erika: 0.

Recently, I got serious about keeping them away from the bird feeder, and started with the most aesthetically pleasing approach. I selected an appropriately shaped object from our antique "rust collection" and affixed it to the bird feeder in such a way that I thought might deter the squirrels. They climbed right over it: "Nice antique! Thanks for the grub."

Next, I carefully cut a piece of screen to fit as a sort of baffle over the top of the feeder. It was a little spiky on the edges and acted as an umbrella over the main attraction. I was sure the squirrels couldn't get past it. They bent it down and resumed feeding: "What's this thing? Oh well, more tasty sunflower seeds!" Squirrels: 3, Erika: 0.

I've now given up on aesthetics. I crumpled the screen in such a way that it presents a spiky, hopefully annoying ball of wire on top of the feeder. In addition, I have cut a large yogurt container to fit around the main branch leading to the feeder. It looks like one of those giant collars that animals are forced by the vet to wear when they aren't supposed to lick or scratch some tender part of their body. Not so attractive, but I can't imagine how those little buggers will get past it. If they do, the Ball of Screen should stop them. We'll see. Stay tuned...

My most influential teacher since moving to Nevada City has not been the squirrels, it's been my new friend, Amy. Amy is too many good things to list here: thoughtful, smart, patient, curious, generous, and consistently positive, even when faced with a toddler who has put lotion "shampoo" all over her hair and a screaming infant. Simultaneously. She's that good. Here are the top five things I have learned from Amy:

1) Think positive. It is such a pleasure to be around someone who always looks at the bright side, even when things are pretty cloudy. Amy is cheerful even on 3 hours of sleep. I really don't know how she does it, but a it's a good goal to work towards.

2) You really don't need to carry as much as you think. Amy has two children under the age of three. And yet, whenever I see her, she is carrying...her car keys. That's it. Whereas I am lugging a huge bag packed with snacks, two water bottles, diapers, wipes, diaper mat, my wallet, my phone, my keys, and god knows what else. When you think about it, all you really need is the car keys. Everything else can stay...in the car! Brilliant. I haven't quite been able to give up my crutch of a purse, but I am thinking about it...

3) Focus on the other person in the conversation. When I first met Amy, she was hugely pregnant. We had talked about having dinner or a play date, and so one Sunday I called her to make plans. As it turns out, she had just given birth! Like, hours before. But instead of focusing on her baby, her birth story, the miracle of what had just happened and how her life had profoundly changed, she wanted to know all about how we were doing. ??? I was stunned. How did she even have the presence of mind to ask how I was doing? She is consistently curious about me and my life, and sometimes I am embarrassed to realize that I have been ranting about something for 20 minutes before I remember to include her in the conversation. She sure knows how to make people feel important and heard.

4) Accessorize! As I mentioned before, Amy has two small children, one of whom has only recently emerged from the larvae stage to the impossibly cute stage. Before Amy leaves the house, she has to make sure these kids are dressed, fed, and poop-free. For those of you who do not have children, this can be (and often is) a monumental task, even with just one child. But Amy always looks fresh and pulled together (again, even after only three hours of sleep). I have recently started scrutinizing her appearance, wondering how she does it. And I think I have discovered her secret -- accessories! Even a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt looks polished when you add earrings, a necklace, a scarf, and a pretty hair clip. Of course, it doesn't hurt if you are gorgeous to start with, as Amy is, but seriously -- accessories have the ability to transform, and they only take a moment to add. Try it.

5) Be on time. This one is simple, but it's another one that I have gotten worse and worse about. It is so easy to find excuses with a preschooler in tow. There was a last-minute blow out! We couldn't find his shoes! He threw his breakfast on the floor and it spread out to a radius of five feet in every direction! These are all commonplace occurrences with a baby or preschooler. But Amy is always on time. In fact, she is usually early. It's respectful to be on time. It's the right thing to do. If Amy can do it with two kids, I can do it with one. And hopefully with two as well. I'm going to try to be better about it.

Thanks, Amy, for showing me that another way is possible. You are an inspiration, and I am glad to know you!

Easter 2011

2011-04-30T14:09:00.000-07:00

We're on a roll! Two blog posts in two days! Here are some pictures of our Easter festivities -- I did manage to get some extra petting from our two guests, Aunt Brooke and Uncle Tony, but I stayed out of the main action and let the holiday center around the ~~little~~ big guy.

Brooke and Tony arrived on Saturday, and immediately presented our lucky little guy with a giant Rabbit, which he named Tata. Tata and the loon (all the way from Minnesota) quickly became fast friends.

Brooke ("Gigi") and Tony ("Gagi") were a great help dyeing Easter eggs with Super Peter (pictured in cape). Martin tried something fancy involving a needle, onion skins, and a candle wax, while Peter stuck to the tried and true Paas kit.

Easter morning dawned rainy, but the Easter bunny did deliver. He cleverly hid the eggs *inside* the house so that none of us had to get wet. Peter found all of the eggs, which ended up all pretty much the same color. These photos were all taken pre-chocolate binge. The aftermath was not so pretty.

Luckily we had "Gagi" there to keep Peter entertained while "Gigi" and Erika cooked.

Martin also kept us entertained with the Czech tradition of forming whips out of decorated branches. These whips are used to chase the girls and demand eggs. Luckily Brooke and I were fortified with plenty of jelly beans. Note Peter's super cool Skoda shirt, a present from Babicka Jana in the Czech Republic.

Jelly beans are now banned from our house. But at least we got one cute family portrait out of the day.

Peter is still Daddy's Boy. Good thing Erika has me.

Guest Post from Erika: More About Food and Feeding

2011-04-29T16:44:00.001-07:00

I can't believe it's been over a month since anybody updated this blog! Pawlene has been catching up on her sleep and cautiously venturing out into the weak sunshine while I have been happily working on a number of projects, including a new, paid, contract position as the Program Coordinator for Live Healthy Nevada County's Food and Nutrition Action Committee. My task: get healthy foods into Nevada County's schools in the form of garden stands and an alternative school meal program. It's my dream job.

Oh, and then there was Easter and happy visits to friends and relatives and delightful visits FROM relatives and a week-long birthday celebration, culminating in a visit to the California State Railroad Museum, for my THREE-year-old son, and goodness, life. I wouldn't say spring has actually sprung (we've been fooled before), but life is certainly happening in a very active way for us.

So Peter is a big boy now. He tells us this at every opportunity. He can take off his shoes All By Himself. He can go pee pee in the potty, when prompted. And he is full-on into the "Why?" stage, meaning you can't read two sentences in a book without him asking why something is the way it is. Example:

We are driving down Highway 49 through Auburn, when we spot a giant pickle on the sidewalk, waving a big sign selling who knows what.

Me: Look, Peter! There's a giant pickle on the sidewalk!
Peter: Why is there a giant pickle on the sidewalk?
Me: Good question!
Peter: Because if he was in the street he would get run into by cars!

Smart kid. At least he answered his own question that time.

We are three weeks away from our last winter vegetable delivery, and I am out, out, OUT of ideas for parsnips, swiss chard, black radishes, cabbage, and leeks. No more, please! Today, as Peter napped, I was agonizing over how to ~~get rid of~~ utilize the latest crop of winter's bounty. When Peter woke up, demanding a snack, I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I quickly chopped and steamed both last week's AND this week's cauliflower, and threw in a bunch of seasonings inspired by my dear friend Amy's family recipe for whole, steamed cauliflower that she so generously shared with us a few weeks ago. I put it on a plate, and set it in front of Peter.

Peter: What's this?
Me: Cauliflower! Yummy! Like broccoli, but white!
[Peter shoves a floret into his mouth.]
Peter: Like Broccoli!
Me: You like it?
Peter: It's yummy!
[Vegetable overabundance problem solved!]

He vacillates between being an extremely adventurous eater, and a frightfully capricious picky eater. I never know what is OFF the list, or when it will be perfectly acceptable again. And so I keep trying.

In addition to my overabundance of winter vegetables this week, I also ended up with an overabundance of goat meat. At least I can freeze goat meat. How in the world did I end up with five pounds of goat meat?, most sane people might ask. Well, it was kind of the like the grapes in Buffalo, New York, when I was a silly young 20-something who had moved to the East Coast to row for the summer. If Shannon Kopplin is reading this, she is laughing right now. We (Shannon and I) were grocery shopping in some random market, and when I asked the cashier how much I owed him, he answered "$14.83, without the grapes." When I naturally queried him: "What grapes?", he pointed out a display near the register and told me how delicious they were. So of course, we had to buy the grapes too.

How does that relate to goat? Good question. Back in January, the aforementioned Amy invited us to tour her landlord's farm, as baby lambs had just made an appearance. We had a wonderful time, and Peter loved the lambs:

Fast forward to two weeks before Easter, when I had not yet found a local source for my traditional Easter meal of leg of lamb. And then I remembered the baby lambs... One phone call later, and we were back at the farm, getting spoiled by the farmer. First, she served us the most divine fresh sheep's milk yogurt...then she found the perfect size leg of lamb (organic, grass fed, blah blah blah) and gave us a GREAT deal. But then she continued to dig through her freezer. "Ever tried goat?", she asked us. Uh...no. Needless to say, we left with five pounds of various cuts of goat meat, accompanied by vague recipes.

And so, last night, when I couldn't find anything reasonable in the refrigerator to feed Peter, I decided to give it a try. I found a great source for recipes on the Sierra Foothills Meat Buying Club website, which featured a recipe for goat shoulder chops from Cook's Illustrated that looked promising. I cooked them up, and put them in front of Peter. I thought they were a little tough, but with good flavor. He devoured every bite and asked for more. Goat! Who knew? Next week: goat chili.

The only person in the house whose appetite has lately been more capricious (and occasionally ravenous) than Peter is me. One explanation could be that I am eating for two, and the little one is a demanding master. Yep, we are expecting another family member (Human! No more cats!) to arrive in the neighborhood of Halloween. Believe me, nobody was more surprised than we were to discover this happy news. Peter is taking it well. He has requested a sister, but we'll have to wait until October to find out if he gets his wish. He frequently gives "his baby" hugs and kisses, and has even requested a baby in his own tummy. Guess it's time for Part One of the birds and the bees talk...

Rain Snow Rain Snow Sleet Hail Rain Snow

2011-03-24T09:25:00.001-07:00

Hello...Spring? Not as far as the eye can see around here. Talk about cabin fever. At least we get some interesting permutations in all the precipitation. Today's special guest: Wind. We are hoping the giant oak tree next door can hold out for one more season...

And we are back in the House of Plague. While I huddle under the comforter, Martin and Peter are coughing and sniffling while Erika uses her daily dose of fresh squeezed orange juice (thanks Winter fruit CSA!) as a talisman to protect her from sickness. She is also avoiding the gym because, well, think of all the GERMS concentrated indoors there!

In other news, I am feeling rather petite in the context of this report on one of my kin. Thanks, Sally Syberg, for bringing this to our attention. A cat the size of an 8-year-old child!?!

The "Where Shall We Live?" debate continues, with a new lobby from Martin to move back to Portland. Erika is holding strong in her position of Never Moving Again, so we'll see how it all shakes out.

The rain outside the window just turned back into snow, time for me to dig deeper under this comforter and wait this whole Winter thing out...

Guest Post from Erika: My Life as Pac Man

2011-03-10T11:46:00.000-08:00

Alternate title: Erika Shows Her Age

First of all, if you've never played Pac Man, this post is unlikely to make any sense to you, but I can try to explain. Pac Man is a video game that was popular in the early 80s. Now for all of you youngsters out there, 80s-era video games were nothing like the incredibly realistic blood and guts shoot 'em up games that today's youth (and a few older gentlemen I know) spend hours "engaging" in.

In *my* day, we went to the pizza parlor or the video arcade, plopped a few quarters in, and played for a few minutes (or more, if we were lucky, or really, really good). But I digress. In Pac Man, your character is an endearing little yellow circle who is mostly mouth. He navigates quickly through a maze, eating as many dots as possible. He has to eat all of the dots in the entire maze before the monsters that are chasing him catch him. Occasionally he'll eat a special dot that allows him to eat monsters for a brief period of time. As you play, everything speeds up faster and faster until you are navigating on pure reflexes.

This is my life!

Today I have to figure out how to get from one end of the maze to the other, making sure I pick up beer and ice for tonight's Tech Talk (starring Martin Kosina!), our CSA box, and, oh yeah, my son, along the way. Sounds simple until you add in a 1:00pm meeting, a 3:00pm meeting, a 4:00pm meeting, the fact that I can't pick up the CSA box until after 2:00pm, the fact that ice melts and there are no refrigeration facilities at the Tech Talk venue, and the fact that I have to pick up Peter by 5:00pm, yet arrive at the Tech Talk venue with dinner in my stomach no later than 5:30pm. Hmmm.

It's an interesting math problem. But it's all good. I feel lucky that I get to enjoy being a mama AND work part time at a job that I love, and that stimulates me intellectually beyond today's math problem and beyond changing the latest poopy diaper (yes, we are still working on that whole potty training thing). I get the best of both worlds. And thank god I have a willing and supportive partner (thanks Martin!) without whom I could never get it all done. It's just that sometimes my worlds collide and I feel like monsters are going to eat me if I don't figure it out quickly enough or miss just one of those blinking yellow dots...

Snow Day

2011-02-18T14:36:00.001-08:00

Well, I've found a new excuse to creep under the quilt and stay there all day long -- snow. Not my thing. Erika, Martin, and Peter seem to be enjoying it though, with differing degrees of enthusiasm.

It started Thursday morning, when Erika opened her eyes, looked out the bedroom window, and saw white stuff drifting past. Unmistakably snow, and none of that weird hail/sleet/rain combo we've been getting lately. It being the first day of snow since November, there was much excitement in the house.

They built a snowman in the front yard.

They build a snowman in the back yard (which is really just an extension of the front yard).

Erika and Martin sport their warm Czech hats (thanks Jana!) and prove that there is no bad weather, only bad gear.

Peter still prefers the rocket, but quickly discovers that it is not the best vehicle for snow.

Better to stay inside and drink hot chocolate in fleece jammies.

Or rock out with a guitar in front of the one working stereo speaker.

Now that it is the second day of pretty much nonstop snow, the novelty has worn off. Erika has new respect for her Minnesota relatives. Yesterday Erika and Peter made snowmen, played with paint, baked pretzels (long and complicated process!), made that weird stuff that you make with cornstarch and water, went for a walk in the snow, made snowflakes, and watched the first half of Mary Poppins. Today they walked all the way to Cafe Mekka (and back) for hot chocolate, then took advantage of the cheap child care at Erika's new gym for an hour. Next up: the library. Or maybe a visit to Nell. And then pizza (in a Restaurant!) and the rest of Mary Poppins. Tomorrow: Martin's turn.

I am happy looking at the white stuff out of the living room window, which is conveniently located right next to a heating vent.

Guest Post from Erika: Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T18:45:00.000-08:00

Today was Valentine's Day. I generally like Valentine's Day as a holiday, despite the social pressure to be in love and do something incredibly romantic with your sweetie (or, better yet, have your sweetie do something incredibly romantic FOR you). Anyway, I'm all about the cookies and the Valentines and the chocolates, and telling people that you love them. All good stuff.

But today was a rough day. It started at about 1:00am, with Martin's phone ringing very loudly (wrong number). Phone rang loudly again at 5:00am (Martin's alarm clock), followed by my phone ringing two hours later at 7:00am (my alarm clock). Peter, who crept into our bed some time before the first wake-up call, slept through all of this, thank god. But I, sandwiched between a snoring, wriggling child and a fat, hot, furry cat, did not.

Thankfully, I managed to get Peter to pre-school at a respectable time for once, although I was unable to persuade him to eat any breakfast besides the candy stick and candy bug I had gotten him for Valentine's Day. He was a little keyed up when we arrived. Sorry, pre-school. I showed up again an hour after I had dropped him off, just in time for the Valentine's Day party. It took me about an hour and a half of waiting for the other parents to arrive to realize that the party was for kids only. Well, at least I got to meet some of Peter's little buddies, and help the teachers out with some of the party games. Yes, I was embarrassed.

In the afternoon, my thoughts turned to how I might make this evening special for Peter and me. My dear husband is away in San Francisco tonight, so champagne followed by a wild night in downtown Nevada City was out of the question. For me, special equals fabulous dessert, but Peter had already ingested WAY more sugar than he was used to, so I crossed that idea off as an invitation to disaster. Going with the food as love theme, I did, however, make the effort to prepare a delicious dinner for the two of us, from a favorite recipe that I found on a fellow mama's blog: Teriyaki salmon with vegetables and brown/wild rice, topped with a spicy yogurt sauce and Asian slaw. Mmmmmm. Lots of garlic.

Later in the afternoon, I checked the mail box, in hopes of finding a cheery red envelope from someone who loves me, or at least loves Peter, but all I found was a package for Martin (no doubt containing some sort of airplane part) and a letter from our insurance company. Not very romantic.

Just before leaving to pick up Peter, my day started to look up. A very sweet woman dropped off a lovely bunch of flowers from my dear husband. Awwww. Sadly, the warm fuzzy feeling didn't last.

We arrived home from pre-school and brought Valentines and cookies to our neighbors. The husband was preparing oysters Rockefeller and steak for his beautiful wife. That sounded pretty good to me. Back at our house, Peter wanted attention: "Mom, play with me!" So we sat, and opened Valentines from pre-school, for about a minute and a half, when his mood shifted: "Mom, go make dinner." Gee, thanks.

Peter is in a new stage, in which he offers a running commentary (almost always negative) on whatever it is he is doing. The commentary is interspersed with demands that range in tone from matter of fact to operatic. For instance, on the topic of our carefully and lovingly prepared dinner:

Peter: What this, mom?
Me: It's YUMMY salmon with delicious vegetables and rice! You love salmon.
Peter: I don't like this. I don't like salmon. I want milk. I want treat.
Me: You've had lots of treats already today, Peter. Try some salmon!
Peter: I don't like salmon. I don't like this. I don't like this, mom (dropping pieces of the $16.00/lb wild-caught salmon off the edge of his tray). I want milk.
Me: Please don't drop food on the floor. If you don't like it, just put it on your tray.
[Peter continues to drop pieces of salmon onto the floor.]
Me: Try some cauliflower -- it's like broccoli, but white.
Peter: I don't like cauliflower. I want all done, mom. I don't like this. I don't like salmon.
Me: [sigh of exasperation]

At this point I need to take a break and think of the things I am thankful for today:

1) Pre-school. Thank goodness for the competent, warm, loving group of women who take care of my son three days a week. It makes me a better mother.
2) A phone call from my parents. They still love me!
3) Flowers from my dear husband -- awww, he made an effort!
4) A text message from my friend Chris that came at just the right time. Yay!
5) And lastly, the e-cards that we received from Kristina, Dave and Beth, and Uncle Bill. It's the thought that counts -- thank you!

And now I hear noises coming from the refrigerator, which carry potential for much destruction and a very large mess. At least I get to spend the evening with someone I love more than anything. And a large glass of red wine.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Guest Post from Erika: Things that Start with a"B"

2011-01-24T08:14:00.000-08:00

So it's been a while since I posted to this Blog. Call it holiday Busyness. Call it a Burst of inspiration to work on other things. Procrastination doesn't start with a "B", so it couldn't be that.

Peter is getting Bigger every day. Either that or his pants are really shrinking in the wash. Also pickier, more demanding. He may grow up to be Master of the Universe, he's getting some really good practice.

I've been on a "Save the Planet" kick lately. Between Bill McKibben's book "Eaarth" (not a typo) and the Wild and Scenic Film Festival, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to live in a post-petroleum world. The excellent film, "Bag It", really gave me pause about how many single-use disposables I throw into the landfill every day. See it -- you'll never look at a plastic bag the same way again. My unofficial New Year's Resolution to help the planet in my own tiny way: bring my own mug when I go to the coffee shop. And plant a vegetable garden. I haven't had a real garden in years. Chickens can't be too far behind, along with BEES. More research is necessary.

And speaking of research, I'm about to start my first Batch of sauerkraut, which does not start with a "B", but should be interesting anyway. I'll keep you posted.

What else starts with "B"? Breakfast! Peter has been eating nothing but yogurt, yogurt, and more yogurt for Breakfast lately. He calls it "wogurt". I've been reading about Bento Box lunches and making food attractive to toddlers, and today I cut a kiwi up and carefully placed it on the Bowl of yogurt in the shape of a smiley face. He picked off each piece and placed them on the side of his trays. "Don't like kiwi on wogurt." Thanks, kid. Last week I got a similar response to cute little gingerbread man-shaped almond butter and jam sandwiches. Maybe I'll go back to feeding him that grey,lumpy Super Porridge stuff. At least he got most of his nutrition for the day in that one Bowl.

It's not just food that he is picky about lately -- I am starting to see a glimmer of "fashionista" in the little guy. He prefer shirts with pictures of dinosaurs, helicopters, and hot dogs with mustard. He soundly rejects wide stripes, flannel, or anything with Buttons (narrow stripes are ok, so far). Will only wear a hat under duress. He prefers one pair of brown velcro-closure sneakers unless mommy lets him wear rain Boots, which are popular in all sorts of weather. And much to mommy's horror, he also prefers his Crocs in all sorts of weather, so maybe fashionista was the wrong word. At least he can put them on and take them off by himself -- they have that going for them.

He is also picky ("picky" might be the theme for this year!) about where and how fast he walks. We decided to go for a family jaunt in the woods yesterday. It started with questions: "Where we going?" Then, perhaps 100 feet into the walk, he decided he was done, turned around, and started walking back to the car. Martin retrieved him, and was rewarded with the latest tantrum pose: curled up on the ground, like an abandoned newborn kitten. I can't remember how Martin got him back on his feet, but moments later he was running full speed with a stick in his hand, terrorizing dogs and mountain bikers alike. That only lasted for a few minutes, and for the rest of the slog, he remained focused on Beating inanimate objects with sticks until one of us managed to cajole him another ten feet down the path. I think it took us an hour to go to the half-mile marker and back. So much for exercise.

There was one moment of cuteness that almost redeemed the rest of the walk -- something he learned from his new friend, Lindy. He spotted a "dancing stump" and immediately took the stage, dancing his little heart out on top of it. No music necessary. He even got dad to bust a few moves, much to the amusement of the other hikers. Bravo!

But I digress. This post was supposed to be about things that start with the letter "B" and "Peter" starts with a "P".

Bread. Did I mention that I can no longer get Acme Bread in Nevada City? I am very sad about this, because I have not found an acceptable alternative. I might even have to go back to Baking it myself, especially since I have just read about the proper way to bake with a clay cloche pot. (If you can get your hands on any book from the out of print "The Good Cook" cookbook series, buy it -- they are worth their weight in gold.) Luckily, dear friends Will and Cindy brought me a loaf of Acme Levain this weekend. It's in the freezer, awaiting a special occasion, along with the remaining Oatmeal Ginger Chocolate Dipped Christmas cookies.

Beep! The sound of the alarm telling me it's time to go pick up my Beloved Baby. Home-made spaghetti sauce for dinner tonight -- how could he turn up his nose at THAT?

Guest Post from Erika: I Love Living in a Small Town

2010-12-16T15:49:00.000-08:00

We are having a holiday party on Sunday, and in preparing for it I have been frequenting the same stores two and sometimes three times in the same week (yes, yes, I am very organized in some ways, hopeless in others). There are very few "box stores" or chains in our little town, and so the stores I have been visiting are small and locally owned, and you can tell that they appreciate the business from the excellent customer service I have been experiencing, even at this crazy busy short-tempered time of year.

Here are some examples of my shopping experiences that I just can't picture happening in the big city or at a chain store. Ok, maybe they would at some place like Bi-Rite Market, but Bi-Rite is the exception to the rule in many ways.

Case Number One: Wreath purchase at Ben Franklin

As you may have read in my previous post, I am trying to exorcise my inner Martha Stewart, and decided recently to *purchase* a wreath (the horror!) instead of lovingly crafting one by hand from the cedars in our fire road (cedars were donated today to a Women's Shelter -- thanks Martin and Neil, for doing the heavy lifting). My, but I do digress. Back to my stellar purchasing experience. It was a small thing, but so appreciated.

Now that you know that I am the type of person not only to purchase a wreath, but to purchase a fake plastic wreath, I might as well admit that I got the kind with the pre-installed LED lights. This is our nod to Christmas lights on the house this year, as we are unable to find the ones we purchased six houses ago in Portland.

Time-crunched, I pleaded with the cashier at the wreath store (Ben Franklin) for batteries to power the lights on the wreath. In order to figure out what size I needed, she attempted to pry open the battery case on the wreath, to no avail. Another cashier came to assist and after considerable effort, she succeeded. Unfortunately they did not carry the correct size battery, but the sweet cashier offered to tape the battery case loosely back together so that I did not have to ruin my nails going through the same effort she did to pry the thing open. How thoughtful!

Case Number Two: Above and Beyond Copying Service at Country Copy

Country Copy knows me well. They did my holiday party invites (and even came up with cute red envelopes instead of the boring white ones I had found). They did my soap labels (and cut them to size, saving me a bunch of work). And now I was asking them to do my song books. Basically, I threw a bunch of song sheets at them and told them I wanted copies, kind of like a little book.

When I came to pick up the copies (a full day early), not only had they folded them into nice little booklets, they found the perfect cover art and text and created little covers for them (no extra charge). I love these people!!! I'm sorry, but this really would NEVER happen at Kinko's.

Case Number Three: The Hunt for Star Anise at SPD Market

I saved the best for last. In another time-saving effort, I was trying to purchase all of the party supplies at one market. Ok, two markets, but only one *grocery store* (the ham is coming from the German deli). I found everything I needed at trusty SPD (and ran into the one requisite acquaintance while I was at it -- you can't shop at SPD without seeing someone you know). Everything that is, except star anise. A little-used spice, but an essential one for my favorite mulled wine as well as my Christmas morning citrus salad in star anise simple syrup.

I asked the nice ladies in the deli, and they didn't think SPD had it, but told me to look in the spice section (which I had just torn apart) and the bulk section (which I was 99% sure did not have it since they don't carry any spices beyond chili powder in bulk). I thanked them and moved on to the refrigerated section, planning to circle back to bulk on my way to the cashier.

Probably five minutes later, a green apron-wearing young man approached me in the household cleaners aisle. "Are you the lady that was looking for the star anise?" I answered hesitantly: "Yes?". "Oh, Ma'am, we don't have any." This clerk hunted me down on the opposite end of the store during their busiest time of the year to let me know that I didn't need to keep searching. Now that is customer service. The best part? The customer next to me told me that she had plenty of the stuff at home that she was never going to use, and I was welcome to it if I happened to be going through her part of town. !!!

I love living in a small town.

postscript: Don't worry, I found the star anise in bulk at the hippie grocery store. There will be mulled wine on Sunday.

Guest Post from Erika: On Being in Control

2010-12-13T16:10:00.000-08:00

Here's one that Pawlene could teach me a lot about. Pawlene has very little control over her life. She chooses where she sleeps, and that's about it. She depends on us (me) to feed her, give her water, protect her from danger (Peter), and clean out her litter box (We tried to get her to "go" outside and the poor thing actually held it until we let her back in, at which point she RAN to her cat box to relieve herself. Sigh.) So she has no control over anything, and yet she seems perfectly content. Ok, we take pretty good care of her, but STILL.

I, on the other hand, wrestle daily with the issue of being in control of anything, most of all my happiness, which should be under my control, RIGHT??? Here is an example: I read an article about "creating happiness" that suggested that small things make a big difference. For instance, making your bed will give you a little burst of seratonin or whatever those happy-making chemicals are in our brains. You make the bed and then each time you walk by your neatly made bed, you sigh with happiness. All is right in the world. I figured I would give it a try. I made our bed. I made Peter's bed. I smiled and felt content. Less than 10 minutes later, Peter had pulled all the covers off of his bed. The author of that article clearly does not have a two and a half year old.

The holidays are a particularly trying time for control freaks like me. I actually felt like I had everything under control with our holiday preparations until Peter was hit by a double ear infection (no pre-school for him!) and I was flattened by a strange flu-like illness, despite the fact that I got my flu shot early in the season in order to be in control of my health come flu season. Sigh.

My low point might have been today, as I prepared to cross "Make holiday peanut brittle" off my list. First, I put my favorite Christmas CDs on the stereo to create the appropriate festive atmosphere. I quickly discovered that one of our speakers (which had mysteriously "fixed itself" while Martin was home) has blown out again. Not to worry! I figured out how to make all of the sound come out of the remaining functional speaker and cranked it. Didn't sound half bad.

Back in the kitchen, I gazed out of our picture window at the new squirrel feeder that I installed this afternoon in an effort to distract the squirrels from our BIRD feeder. Yes, I know. I was always one of those people who scoffed at feeding squirrels, but the birds have all but abandoned their feeder and I have grown attached to the furry little rodents (see previous post), so just preventing them from eating the bird food was not an option.

The squirrels are ignoring their new feeder. Instead, the new juvenile squirrel I've been watching was hanging upside down, just like mama taught him, and scarfing the bird seed out of the bird feeder, right next to the darned squirrel feeder. Ok, well I can't control squirrels. I turned to the task at hand: peanut brittle.

For my 40th birthday celebration, I made the peanut brittle recipe from the Tartine cookbook and it turned out beautifully. Froze perfectly as well (I just found some leftover in the freezer and it was still tasty!). It was also easy to make, as I remembered.

The trouble started when the sugar didn't seem to be dissolving on schedule. Impatient, I assumed that the concoction's cloudy appearance had to do with the dark corn syrup and not the un-melted sugar. Wrong. Step two is to heat the stuff up to 264 degrees. It started smoking by 220. By the time it got to 240 I had to throw the kitchen alarm in the mud room and turn the stove top fan up to high. I'm not sure the temperature ever got to 264, because I literally could not see the thermometer through the smoke.

Picture all of this happening with Bing Cosby crooning in the background and squirrels thumbing their noses at me through the picture window.

At any rate, I'm throwing out this batch of brittle as soon as it gets cool enough to handle (I tasted it, and even Julia Child would have trouble selling this as "blackened brittle").

At least I checked off (most) of the rest of my list today. Checked off or otherwise eliminated. "Make wreath" was downgraded to "Buy wreath" and then I had to move that one to another day because I was overwhelmed by the selection at the craft store. I know, I know. The holidays are not about how beautiful your house looks (thank goodness!) or how delicious your treats are. I just want to make a nice space for my family and friends to gather, and I want to feed them special treats. It's how I show love and appreciation. So my peanut brittle may not be perfect. Tomorrow I'm going to try toffee instead. And let the squirrels eat whatever they want.

Squirrel Acrobatics

2010-12-09T14:49:00.001-08:00

Many of you (well, a few of you anyway) might be waiting for a new post from Erika that shines a weak beam of light onto the tangled knot of emotions that is motherhood. Or perhaps an update on our current living situation -- are they staying in Nevada City or what?

Well, Erika is currently concentrating on her writing for children (more on that at a later date), and so I give you:

Squirrel Acrobatics! Before you write us off as country hicks with WAY too much time on our hands, mind you a certain Michael Ward who reviews jazz and cabaret shows in San Francisco and recently interviewed John Waters was *riveted* by this phenomenon, which has become increasingly daring and complex in the last few days:

Ok, back to holiday madness.

Guest Post from Erika: Our Epic Weekend

2010-11-22T14:26:00.000-08:00

While Pawlene dealt with her own drama this weekend, I am choosing to tell this tale from our perspective. Some background: Last November, I ran a half marathon in Monterey with dear friends Lynne and Simon. It was a blast. So much so, that I decided to do it again this November. Only by myself. And in Nevada. NOT Nevada City, for those of you who are still confused about where we live. This race took place in the Valley of Fire, which is about 45 miles northeast of Las Vegas, Nevada.

I decided it would be fun to make it a family affair, and so, way back in August when the average temperature in Nevada City was hovering around 85 degrees, I asked Martin if he thought it would be fun to fly the plane to Nevada for a race. He mumbled something about unpredictable weather but the answer I heard was "Sure! It should only take 2 and a half hours." (as opposed to a 10-hour drive). Cue the Gilligan's Island theme song.

Fast forward to last week. On Monday I got an e-mail from Martin with the subject line: "weather outlook not good so far". Ever optimistic, I pushed him to explore variations on the theme of flying directly from Nevada City to Las Vegas (the closest airport with car rental service). The weather predictions became increasingly dire as our departure date approached. I packed extra clothes and plenty of snacks, and left Pawlene a little extra food and water, just in case.

And then, Friday morning, at 7:35AM, Martin said: "We have to leave right now." Luckily, I had baked highly portable breakfast muffins and mostly packed the night before, so I only forgot a few critical items (poopy diaper bags/barf bags - oh dear). We were out of the house by 8:05 (those of you with toddlers can appreciate how miraculous this was) and at the airport shortly thereafter.

The plan was to head towards Truckee/Reno (the closest mountain pass) and cross over to the good weather on the East side of the Sierras as soon as possible. But the closer we got to Reno, the thicker the clouds became, until the clouds got just a little too close to those big mountains for our comfort. Martin made a U-turn and we headed south, where we were able to find clear passage to the East just a short while later. Crisis averted, or so I thought.

The rest of the trip to Overton was uneventful, and we even had time to explore the Valley of Fire on Friday, previewing the stunningly beautiful race course. Perhaps due to the fact that several million years ago the Valley of Fire was underwater, the entire park looks like the landscape of a dry, oversized goldfish bowl, with wild shapes and holes and colors. Peter had a grand time.

He poked his head through holes.

He went on a hike.

He climbed BIG rocks.

He learned that it is ok to draw on things other than paper (something we have been discouraging at home), but only if paper has not been invented yet.

He got really dirty and ate potato chips (HEY! That must have been while I was running the race.)

Ah yes, the race. Here is the deceptively un-hilly road that served as both the start and the finish. The rest of the route was extremely hilly, windy, and beautiful. Unfortunately the uphill portion of the race coincided with the head wind part of the race. Ouch! I did finish all 13.1 miles, and survived, but it wasn't pretty. Here is me, looking happy because: a) I am on the downhill, b) I am on the last tenth of a mile, c) I am getting a big smile from my favorite little guy.

By now, my dear readers, I am sure that you are thinking "What a whiner! This journey was hardly epic!" Just wait.

After the race I caught my breath, corrected my official time (2:15:56, don't laugh), and drank chocolate milk. Mmmmm, chocolate milk. We sped back to the hotel, checked out only a half hour late, and drove to Las Vegas, where the Apache was waiting for us. After checking and re-checking the (very bad) weather reports, Martin decided that our best bet would be to fly to Reno (only an hour and a half drive from Nevada City) and check in with Grass Valley weather along the way to see if it was clearing up. We took off just as it was starting to rain in Las Vegas.

The flight to Reno was quite smooth, and the scenery was magical. We got to see a beautiful rainbow and a full moon in the same flight. Unfortunately Martin could not reach the Grass Valley weather line (we later found out this was because the power was out due to a ferocious snowstorm) and so we decided to land in Reno, where it was just starting to snow.

An attempt to reach my dear Aunt Brooke, who lives in Reno, was unsuccessful because she was dining with her daughter in Minnesota (darned Thanksgiving holiday). But her husband Tony suggested (in jest?) the Peppermill for a good night's sleep. And so we found ourselves, just hours after leaving the stark, outrageous beauty of a rocky desert, in the middle of the kind of sensory overload that only a high-end casino can provide. I have no pictures of this portion of our trip because I was completely overwhelmed by the noises, lights, and WAY over-the-top decor of this place. But the price sure was right for a room for the night (half of what we paid in Overton) and I got to satisfy every single possible post-race craving at the basketball court-sized buffet. Chinese? Sure! Mexican? Right over there. Prime Rib? But of course. And don't forget the Wall of Desserts. They aren't kidding. Did I mention the fake rain forest that we were sitting in, complete with waterfall, thunderstorms, and MOVING larger than life-sized tree branches? Ok, maybe I need to get out more.

Sadly, the three of us were in bed and asleep by 9:00pm, which means we missed out on the dance club (open til 4am), the gambling, the 17 other restaurant options, and whatever other vices the Peppermill had to offer. We did have breakfast in the Italianate "Biscotti's" restaurant in the morning though. Fake charming leaded glass windows! Real blown-glass light fixtures! But I digress.

A call to Grass Valley Airport revealed that either 8 or 18 inches of snow had fallen on the runway overnight, either way making it impossible for us to land a plane there. Another call let us know that our neighbors (and everyone else on our street) had lost power the night before. Oh dear. Poor Pawlene. A third call: highway 20, aka the fastest way home, was closed, and chains were required on the rest of the (longer) route.

So we tucked the Apache into bed at the Reno airport, bought some chains for our rental car, and started the journey home by car, 24 hours after we left the hotel in Overton. It was slow going, but we made it back to Grass Valley in just under 3 and a half hours. Next challenge: digging the Subaru out from where we parked it at the airport.

Since I was the one wearing Goretex hiking shoes and not beautiful, brand-new, as-yet-un-water-proofed, black leather cowboy boots, I volunteered to trek through the virgin snow out to where the Subaru was parked and try to get her up the ramp and out to the gate. Have I mentioned how much I love my Subaru? She started right up and I let her warm up as I cleared the mounds of snow from off of the front and back windshields. I had to clear the hood too, because the snow was piled so high that I couldn't see over it.

Cursing my lack of foresight in purchasing "performance" tires instead of snow tires, I crossed my fingers and gunned it. We made it all the way to mid-way up the second hill before we got stuck. And stuck we were. Martin put Peter on his shoulders and hiked out to help me, boots be darned. After strategizing with his big engineer brain, he figured out a way to get the car out of the ditch (gee, I didn't know there was a ditch there under all that snow!) that I had slid into. A few lurches, a few turns, and a few more massive revs of the engine, and I was out. The rest of the drive home was uneventful, and we even made it up the driveway without incident.

However, with less than 30 minutes to go before dark, we had to figure out how to light and heat our snow-covered, powerless house. The good news was that everything in the refrigerator and freezer was still good because the temperature in the house never rose above 40 degrees. Poor Pawlene! (She was fine, curled up in the comforter when I found her).

We hauled some (thankfully dry) fire wood onto the porch and I searched for candles and flashlights while Martin went to the store to get supplies (I had "storm supplies" on my shopping list for next weekend, heh). We decided to go out for Mexican food because a warm, dry restaurant was better than the alternative (eating nothing, without a working stove, or barbequeing in the snow, and then not washing the dishes for who knows how many days). When we came home, Martin tested out the old wood stove in the living room. After a few smoky tries, he got it cranking with the flue OPEN and we warmed the place right up. Well, we warmed that one room up anyway. At bedtime I piled on the quilts (two down comforters and a thick hand-sewn quilt, pulled on some long underwear, and the four of us (Pawlene was SO happy that we were home) snuggled into bed. The power came back on around 10pm (Yay!). Lots of people are still without. It started raining this morning, and I imagine all that snow will be washed away with this new storm, unless the temperature drops again. For those of you who have visited and enjoyed the view out of our kitchen window, here is what it looked like this morning. Our resident squirrel was certainly happy that I replenished the bird feeder last night.

Now I am off to collect our Thanksgiving turkey, who met his demise just a few hours ago, a short distance up the road from us. Hopefully the power will stay on through Thanksgiving dinner, or I'll have to dig a hole in a snowbank to keep the big guy fresh until cooking time. Nothing like country living!

Editor's Note #1: I know you Minnesotans are laughing at what I am calling a snowstorm, but remember, I'm a wimpy Californian!
Editor's Note #2: If any of you New Yorkers are laughing, think again. YOU live in a city where the roads are instantly cleared and the power NEVER goes out. Well there was that one time, but still.

White Stuff

2010-11-10T08:14:00.000-08:00

We woke up to this today:

Thought it was snow, but upon closer sniff (yes, I DID actually venture outside this morning), it's actually hail. Sure feels like snow, although the temperature has risen to a balmy 44 degrees. Poor kid needs mittens and some warmer boots. I plan on just staying next to the heating vent for the next few months.

Martin re-filled the bird feeder this morning and the nuthatches simply couldn't wait until he stepped away to get at those black sunflower seeds (thanks for the tip, Alan). It's nice of them to keep the bird feeder filled so that I can watch birdie television whenever I feel like it. Only problem is that I can't see out of the window from my favorite location atop the heating vent. That old oil-fueled furnace is working like a charm and keeping the house toasty, downstairs at least. I think we'll make it through the winter.

Guest Post from Erika: Autumn (for real this time)

2010-10-21T14:11:00.000-07:00

I have noticed a real shift over the past few years in my attitude towards Autumn. Autumn has gone from the dreaded end of summer/back to the drudgery of school to a comforting time to turn inward and celebrate seasonal rituals and a natural inclination to stay close to home.

In San Francisco, the seasonal change was quite subtle. I had to rely on my calendar to remember that soon it would be Halloween, Day of the Dead, Thanksgiving. Here in Nevada City, the seasons get right in your face. In the summer, on our daily walk, the blackberry bushes would actually reach out and grab us, tease us with the juicy bounty that lay just beyond a layer of prickly branches. Now the blackberries are shriveled or permanently, redly unripe, and our eyes are drawn to the ground where the fallen leaves and acorns make a crunchy, shushing noise with each step. The street adjacent to ours is now an entirely different color. It's hard to ignore. I can't wait to see what winter brings.

On an entirely different note, I laughed out loud when I read the serving information on the back of a bag of cat treats today. First, because Pawlene isn't even on the chart, which goes by "Cat Weight". Second, because the French version of "Cat Weight", listed just below the English version, says "Poids du chat" which, literally translated, means "Pounds of Cat". Heh. I thought it was funny anyway.

In other news, Peter is suddenly speaking in complete, detailed sentences. Even his pre-school is surprised. For example, instead of just shrieking "banana" in the morning until one appears, he now repeatedly shrieks "I want a banana!". If a banana is not forthcoming, he may add "please", and sometimes, I even get a "thank you", unprompted. He also switches to "I don't want a banana" instead of "no banana", when he is feeling obstinate.

Peter's favorite toys (we still have not unpacked his toys from San Francisco) right now are: 1) a broken CD that has been tied to one of those cassette tape to iPod converters with a long cord. He drags it all around the house and inserts the business end of the cord into whatever it will fit into, and into some places that it will not fit. 2) the Day of the Dead magnets on the refrigerator, which he moves into all sorts of configurations. 3) his lovey (this one courtesy of dear friends Rebbecca, Matt, and Malcolm who came through with a stunt double when we lost his last lovey on a visit to Portland). 4) the "Retro Rocket" ride-along that he received last Christmas and crashed spectacularly a month ago.

He still loves his pre-school, and they love him. He sometimes asks to go to pre-school on the days that he stays home with me, which makes me question my mothering abilities. We have a good time together, going for walks, reading, playing with trains, and yesterday we even got out the finger paints. There will be a lot more of that when it starts raining.

Pawlene is enjoying the new position of the sun, which has turned our front porch into something of a Solarium.

Martin has come down with a terrible flu, but is valiantly trying to get healthy with plenty of rest and fluids. He has also simultaneously developed a different kind of flu, which causes him to covet and fantasize about purchasing various kinds of vehicles (mostly motorcycles and airplanes). We are working together on a cure for that one.

And I am happily settled into my Autumn routine of running (training for a half marathon on November 20), yoga, writing, and trying to stay one step ahead of a two and a half year old. We are hosting our annual Jack O Lantern carving party this Sunday, and calling it a housewarming party since it looks like we are settling in for the fall, if not the winter. I am hoping to locate our pictures of our relatives that have passed into the next world by then so that I can throw together a Day of the Dead altar. The unpacking has somewhat stalled out as I get busy with other things. A clear dining room by Thanksgiving is my goal. Wish me luck.

3 More Things We Learned...

2010-10-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

about living in the Country. This just in:

1) Always, ALWAYS shake out your shoes before putting them on your feet. You never know who might have decided to use them as a home while they were sitting in the mud room.

2) Don't leave bowls of fruit perched temptingly on the kitchen table next to the picture window unless you want blue jays slamming themselves against the window in an attempt to taste those delectable organic nectarines.

And lastly,

3) If, when you plug a 50-year-old vacuum cleaner in, you see flames, sparks, or smoke, it's not a good idea to plug it in again to see if you will get the same effect.

xoxo
Pawlene

Our Camera Works Again!

2010-09-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you have noticed a certain LACK of pictures on this blog lately. Our camera battery charger got lost in the move, and the camera lasted a good two months until the battery finally gave up the ghost shortly after we returned from our trip to the Midwest.

It's taken Erika this long to admit defeat and finally secure a new battery charger. She found all sorts of happy memories lurking in the camera (no pictures of ME, however). This one is her latest favorite Peter picture. Nope, not a baby any more. Two and a half next month.

Things We Have Learned After Two Months of Country Living

2010-09-13T21:46:00.000-07:00

Well, we've been here two and a half months now, and we are learning a few things.

1) The sun moves east to west. Now that it's down in the 80s, I've been following the sun from room to room in order to get 90% of my daylight sleep in a nice, warm sunbeam. This makes for a 3-part nap (guest bedroom to master bedroom to living room) but I try to take advantage of the transitions by incorporating fuel stops at my food bowl.

2) Deer will eat bird seed right out of a bird feeder. And lick it clean. Those of you who are "friends" with Erika on Facebook might have already read about this, but Erika thought it was worth repeating here.

3) Cedar trees (and China trees and just about any other kind of trees) grow much faster than you expect. Auntie Kristina came to visit yesterday and pointed out a "driveway" that we didn't even know was there because it had cedar trees growing right in the middle of it. Anybody need a cedar Christmas tree this year? We are taking orders.

4) Grown men take great pleasure in watching hundreds of Easter-egg colored plastic ducks float 100 yards down a creek if it's done in the name of charity. The Kosinas attended the Duck Race last weekend (I stayed home to follow my sunbeams) and it was...surreal.

5) Alpacas are not llamas. To the untrained eye (city folk), they may look identical, but alpacas are smaller, gentler, and cuter than llamas. Also less aggressive. Erika even got over her llama phobia and reached out to pet an alpaca on Sunday, at the strong urging of her 8-year-old neighbor.

6) And speaking of neighbors, it's awfully nice to have good neighbors where ever you live. When Peter rolled the Retro Rocket today and cleaned up the street with his face, the neighbors kindly turned off the sprinkler before it flooded the street (Erika was busy tending to her bleeding, screaming son) and even brought over an ice pack to ease the swelling. (Rejected. Cookies were the only medication that truly seemed to help.) Peter seems ok, although these battle wounds are worse than the time he tipped his stroller over and landed on his forehead. I could hear the wailing all the way upstairs, poor guy.

That's all for now. It's been a long day of following sunbeams. Send Peter some love; he needs it.

Three Perspectives on Our Trip to the Midwest

2010-09-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

We arrived home last night after a fun-filled nearly 2-week trip across the country in the Apache to visit friends and relatives. It was a reprise of last summer's Midwestern Adventure, only this time we were aiming for a complete Willett family reunion. Unfortunately Uncle Bill took a bad fall just days before he was scheduled to fly, so we didn't quite get the whole family together. He was missed.

We still managed to have a good time together in a gorgeous "cabin" on one of Minnesota's 10,000 lakes. I had almost forgotten how silly and wonderful my cousins are, and it was fun mixing three generations together for a week. On the way back, we spent a day and a half in South Dakota with our dear friends, the Briggs, and made a quick stop in the Nevada desert to visit our second family. It was quite a trip. Peter is still processing everything that he experienced. We were pretty lame about taking photos, so here is a stream of consciousness narrative of our journey instead, representing three perspectives on our trip. Pawlene did not join us, but received regular visits from the neighbor girls. Martin's perspective is similar to Erika's, just with more emphasis on "plane", "fish", and "beer".

Pawlene's Perspective:
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Ariagnos! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, girls! food! oh, you're back already?

Erika's Perspective:
Plane, plane, plane, plane, BURP, plane, plane, Idaho, plane, plane, Wyoming, plane, plane, plane, plane, plane, plane, Relatives! Becky! Andy! Jason! Avery! Nathan! Beth! Dave! Miss Uncle Bill. LAKE, beer, beer, beer, meat, Mom! Dad! beer, beer, beer, wine, meat, meat, meat, lake, bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, potato chips, lake, beer, wine, lake, Manhattans, dance party! lake, meat, meat, Peter No! Peter No! Peter No! meat, try...to....water ski... fail, fail, fail, fail, ouch, fail, fail, beer, wine, Fish! lake, lake, tube, beer, Kayak! try...to...water ski...fail, fail, fail, fail, SUCCESS!!!! ouch. beer, beer, meat, beer, BIG fish! old family pictures, miss Uncle Bill, goodbyes, best pie ever, plane, South Dakota! Denise! Randy! Piper! Kitty! Kitty 2! Kitty 3! brats, beer, beer, 8-minute microwave cake, sleep, bacon, play dough, recipes, big park, toad, family supper, chat, chat, chat, popcorn, sleep, sleep, sleep, popcorn, goodbyes, plane plane plane, Wyoming, plane, plane, plane, Wyoming, plane, plane, plane 32 degrees, plane, plane, plane, plane, Elko, Basque food, BIG truck and BIG mining drill, bacon, plane, Black Rock City, 30-foot musical grass hopper, old friends, dust, more old friends, bacon, even MORE old friends, Uncle Andy?!? popcorn, plane, home.

Peter's not so good with words, so I'll let him tell his story with a video, courtesy of Denise (thanks Denise!).

Peter's Perspective:

Guest Post from Erika: Play Dating

2010-08-05T14:14:00.001-07:00

The skunks came back last night. Right in the middle of a discussion Martin and I were having about our grocery budget. Perfect timing. Only two again, and cuter than ever. Didn't see mama, but she might have been staying out of sight like a wise old mother skunk. Anyway, they reminded me that I haven't posted since the last time they visited.

I have more of the same to report, I am afraid. Mixed emotions about living in a new place. Peter has adjusted beautifully to pre-school and even requests to go back on his "off" days. One of the caregivers there found a cure for his runny nose. Homeopathic medicine. So much for UCSF. What a difference for him to be able to breathe clearly and me not having to carry Kleenex everywhere we go! It still runs occasionally, but Wow.

And I continue to meet new people, but nobody that I really Click with. The hardest part about leaving San Francisco was leaving my network of mommy friends and Peter's little buddies. I dread trying to replicate such a special situation. Better writers than I have compared looking for play dates to dating and the similarities are now painfully obvious to me. I met one mom who seemed Really Great, gave her my number, but...she never called. When I ran into her again (small town), it was a bit awkward and she made some lame excuse for not getting in touch. Then there is another mom whose husband (ok this is where it is different from dating) keeps suggesting that she and I go out for a glass of wine. I even got brave and made a sort of overture, letting her know that I would love to get together, but even though she is warm and always friendly (we see each other often), she hasn't asked me out. I'm trying not to let my ego get bruised here.

One of my new year's resolutions is to be brave and ask other moms out, but that's hard! Before I was married, I asked a guy out on a date exactly once in my life, when I was 20 years old, and while it went fairly well (he said yes), it took all my nerve and I never repeated it. And my ego is in a very fragile state right now.

Today I met a fantastic woman up at the river. I knew it from the moment I saw her and her little girl (who was born, coincidentally, 4 days before Peter, and had a VERY similar temperament). Best friends at first sight. We spent a lovely few hours together, chatting and herding our children. We had similar parenting styles, similar values, similar tastes in how to spend a summer vacation. But she is just here on vacation. She lives in Petaluma, of all places. (Petaluma was our SECOND choice after Nevada City.) It almost reduced me to tears on my way home. To finally meet someone that I knew I could be great friends with, just to have the possibility ripped away within minutes of meeting. Just not meant to be.

One of our best friends from San Francisco visited us this past weekend, and her visit brought into sharp focus both the reasons why we are here and what we are missing back in the city. The kids were ecstatic to see each other. We had a wonderful time just hanging out in the warm weather, walking around downtown and eating ice cream, dancing outside the bar where some live music was spilling out onto the sidewalk, and of course, splashing in the river and in the kiddie pool. She dreaded going back to 58-degree San Francisco on Monday morning. But she was going back to a network of warm, supportive, intelligent, fun women and their children who all get along even as they challenge each other. To day after day of the time passing quickly because the kids are playing and the moms are chatting, unlike the dog day afternoons we have been experiencing when I just want to take a nap and nothing will make Peter happy except taking all of the sugar out of the bag and spreading it all over the kitchen floor in the two minutes I spend by myself inthe bathroom.

Overall, I know we made the right choice. The lifestyle here cannot be beat. And it takes time for friendships to form. This is just a time of transition. At least I get to lean back against a spectacular, giant, white, granite boulder and gaze at sparkling turquoise water and pine trees while I feel sorry for myself. And I have plenty of time to mope during the 3 days a week that Peter is in pre-school, a luxury we could scarcely afford in San Francisco.

Luckily, in a few weeks, I will get to spend a whole week in the company of my favorite tribe -- my family. I am lucky enough to have a family that I really love spending time with. Unfortunately, since we are spread apart just as far as we can be (East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, the South, and the South of France) it happens much too rarely that we all get to be in the same place. I'm sure there will be bumps and bruises (both strong-willed and sensitive run in the family), but it will be a tonic for my soul to have us all together. And an adventure for our little family! This time, I'm going to be prepared for a bumpy flight, unlike our last trip to the Midwest.

Guest Post from Erika: On Motherhood

2010-07-12T09:27:00.001-07:00

The skunks came by again last night as Martin and I were enjoying a late dinner on the front porch. They really are magnificent animals, despite their stinky reputation. Those big fluffy black and white tails are as impressive as any peacock when spread to full sail. I noticed that only two babies followed mama this time, instead of the three I met last week. Probably road kill. Or coyote food. Or any number of other things. This is nature, after all. According to the University of Michigan Museum of Zoology, "up to 90% of skunks die in their first winter," and skunks in the wild only live 2-3 years, as opposed to 15 in captivity. But it made me sad anyway. That poor mama is working as hard as she can to feed those babies and keep them safe, and she lost one.

She's a single mother, too. UMMZ again: "Males are typically polygamous and solitary. Males and females do not associate beyond the few days required for fertilization. ... Male skunks provide no parental care." So she nursed those little guys for a month or two, and was just getting them used to the Big Outside World, teaching them everything she knows all by herself, and she lost one.

Ok, so maybe I'm overreacting because I just dropped Peter off for his first day at his new pre-school. He cried and clung and made me feel just awful for abandoning him, but I left anyway. And now I'm dealing with a terrible case of guilt. In my head, I know I am not a bad mother for wanting him to socialize with other kids and wanting time to myself to engage in pursuits that are more intellectual than singing "Old MacDonald" repeatedly and changing poopy diapers. And the time alone does make me a better, more patient and balanced mother. I can focus more fully on him in the time we have together when I have some time to myself first. But there is always that nagging feeling that being Peter's mother is my Job and I am slacking by pawning it off on someone else for a period of time. It feels decadent and selfish.

The women who lived in this house before me and baked pies from scratch in a wood burning oven, washed the laundry by hand and hung each piece out to dry, and kept the whole dang thing clean week after week certainly did not have someone else watching their kids while they did all this. But they probably did have some extended family to help out, unless that family was all Back East still. At the very least, I'm sure neighbors helped each other out, and I'm sure the women sat down for brief spell together during the hottest part of the day (94 degrees yesterday!), drinking iced tea while the husbands were deep inside the mountain, looking for gold, and the kids were all napping. But they didn't have a choice. Day care hadn't been invented yet.

I'm embracing the modern housewife role today. After I finish watching a giant ant crawl down my (indoor) thermometer (72 degrees at 10am!), I'm folding laundry, running the dishwasher, sweeping the house (all 8 rooms), making Thai curry for dinner, and rolling the giant garbage can all the way down the driveway for tomorrow morning's pick-up (all by myself!). I'm also going to check in with my clients and hopefully get some (paid) writing done. And after that, I'm going to pick up my one precious child from a full day at pre-school and cover him with kisses before we go play in the yard and sing Old MacDonald together.

Critters

2010-07-06T21:06:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that there are a lot more, uh, CRITTERS in the country than in San Francisco? I'm not just talking about the Behe Moths (thanks, Andrew), spiders, ants, beetles, giant bees, and mosquitos, of which there are copious amounts. Today was all about the furry kind of critter.

First, as I was napping upstairs at lunch time, some tough neighbor kitty came calling. He was all of 7 lbs soaking wet, but the kid had a black leather collar with punk rock studs sticking out. I decided to wait in the shadows, let Erika check him out first. This cat had the nerve to sneak into the laundry room and PEE all over Erika's shoes and some clean laundry! Thinks he owns the place. I'll show him, once I get back in fighting shape. For now, it's up to Erika to shoo him away.

Then, after the sun went down, an entire family of SKUNKS tried to move into the space under our house! Luckily Erika had been warned by the neighbors about this very possibility just an hour earlier, and had firmly closed the skunk door and put up a little sign that said "Skunks Not Welcome Here". Well they walked right up to the front porch anyway (maybe they can't read) and fluffed their little tails up at Erika, who was standing in the doorway in amazement that they would get so close (2 feet away). Undeterred, they ran around to the side of the house, where Erika had left the door open. She got there just in time to shoo shoo shoo the cutest little skunk baby away from the laundry room. The three babies shrieked their most vicious skunk screams, and fluffed up their little skunk tails just as big as they would go, while Mom urged them to follow her around the back of the house to safety. Or at least that's where I think they ended up -- they disappeared after they rounded the corner. I guess we'll know in a few days if they are living under the house. I think I'll leave that removal project up to Erika as well, and concentrate on the moths...

Guest Post from Erika: A Day in the (Country) Life

2010-07-05T13:05:00.000-07:00

Well we've been here a whole 5 days and since we decided not to unpack any boxes, we've had a lot of free time on our hands! Here are a few ways we have spent our time that never would have happened in San Francisco:

1) Trimming the tree in front of the mailbox. I finally caught the mail carrier on Saturday as he was driving past our house (again). He looks kind of like a blonde, muscular Alec Baldwin if you can picture that. My concern had been rising since we hadn't received *any* mail at all (not even an annoying supermarket flyer) since we moved in. He informed me that if I intended to receive any mail at this location, I needed to remove the tree that was growing over the mailbox. I gave him a blank look and he back-pedaled a little bit to allow for at least removing the branches that were blocking his vehicle. Apparently they don't actually get out of the truck to deliver mail in the country, they just sort of glide up to the box in their little mail trucks and throw the mail in. I told him I'd see what I could do, and then hunted Martin down to find the saw. Since I was still sulking about an argument about unpacking boxes, I couldn't deign to ask for his help, which meant it was up to me to clear the branches. And I did. I learned a few things in the process, too.

Number one, I need some of those ugly brown lace-up work boots. Chacos just don't cut it when you are doing battle with a prickly tree in the middle of a big bush on the side of a hill. Ditto for my cute shorts and tank top. Bring on the tough work pants with the monkey logo or whatever that critter is supposed to be. I have a few scratches to show for my woefully inadequate wardrobe.

Number two, it is kind of fun and addictive to cut branches off of a tree. I've been criticizing my friend Chris for years because he cuts down trees willy nilly on his property, just because they are "blocking his view" (of more trees). But now, I kind of see why he does it. I got a thrill out of removing branches! I didn't want to stop! And I call myself an environmentalist... However, I draw the line at:

2) Removing black widows from the mailbox. Yep, I had to call in Martin for this one. Luckily we were on speaking terms by the time I discovered this big old spider in our mailbox. I tried inviting her out nicely, but she had quite the set-up going on inside that poor old abandoned mailbox. I am still trying to get on the mail carrier's good side, and I figured getting bit by a black widow the first time he delivered mail to our house probably would not help, and so Martin gently and very carefully escorted her out and to a new home somewhere in the bushes near the mailbox. Good thing I was finished working on that tree.

You might think we have nothing better to do than to make our mailbox more attractive to passing letters. [Author's side note: Hint! hint! Now that Tech-free Day is over (at least for this year), my next project will be something along the lines of Slow Communication, doing for letter writing what Slow Food did for heritage pig breeds.] But that is not the case. There are many other joys of country life that we have been experiencing. I'll skip over washing the front porch (twice) and putting up our brand-new American flag (thanks Martin), to get straight to...

3) Getting down at the 4th of July party at the fairgrounds after a spectacular 4th of July parade! Peter really tore up the dance floor to the sounds of the Ophir Prison Band and the Chillbillies. The kid can dance! There were also corn dogs (we had to buy two), sales of which benefited Job's Daughters, and soft serve ice cream (of which we also had to buy two), sales of which benefited one of the local fire departments, and organic crepes with locally grown produce inside (yep, two), which apparently just benefited the place selling them. We stayed for the fireworks, which we could actually see (No Fog, San Franciscans!!) Did I mention the warm summer nights? You are all invited for next year.

The only slight culture shock I experienced was trading stories about our children with a woman who was no more than half my age, if that. And her daughter was at least twice Peter's age. This scenario is not atypical in this area. The mothers here are YOUNG! Women my age are mostly grandmothers by now. Makes me feel more than a little old.

At any rate, those are just a few examples of how we have been passing the time, now that all of our favorite playmates and play locations are 150 miles away. I've also started to learn how to cook in a cast-iron pan (see previous note about not unpacking any of our stuff like pots and pans), scheduled no fewer than six pre-school tours between now and Wednesday, and am finishing up some interviews for an article that is due Friday. You can read about that one in the Tech-free Day blog next week.

Arrived and Adjusting

2010-07-02T19:43:00.001-07:00

Well, we've arrived at our new home in Nevada City. Everyone is slowly adjusting to the new house, the new schedule, the weather...

The move itself was uneventful for me -- I made it all the way here without a single accident in my new, super-sized cat carrier. I didn't even mind the 2-hour delay crossing the Bay Bridge. There was a little more drama for Martin and Erika. Something about a broken down moving truck, the apartment not being entirely packed when the trucks arrived, the Bay Bridge being shut down because of a bad accident that coincided with the let-out of a Giants game, Highway 49 being shut down due to construction, and things in general taking a little more time and attention than expected. Peter and Erika actually benefited from the whole delay because they ended up at buddy Mateus' house several hours later than expected, right around dinner time, and were greeted with homemade Mac and Cheese and an incredibly delicious homemade rhubarb pie. Score!!! Thanks, Beth. Beats In and Out Burger any day.

There are already a lot of positives for the Kosinas here in Nevada City -- people (friends, neighbors, strangers on the street) are extremely friendly and helpful. Guess that's what you get, living in a small town. The weather is just perfect, hovering in the mid-eighties during the day, but cooling off to the mid-fifties at night. And the parking...a dream. But Erika does already miss a few things about her life in San Francisco. Here's her top five list:

5) The microwave. Makes toddler dinner time SO much faster and easier. (Leftover Chinese food heated up in a cast iron pan? Challenging.)
4) The bath tub. Same as the microwave, but for bath time (without the cast iron pan).
3) Knowing where everything is in town (like where to get a phone charger to replace the one that went missing during the move).
2) Heck, knowing where everything is in the house! (Where IS that durned phone charger, anyway???)

But of course, the number one thing that Erika misses about San Francisco is...

1) Friends (duh). Specifically, someone to hang out with at 6pm on a Friday night when bed time is still 2 hours away and Peter has just taken advantage of his pants-free state and mom being on the phone with a potential day care center to poop in no fewer 4 different places in the living room and then throw his dinner across the kitchen, scattering pieces all the way into the mud room. sigh.

Me, I'm just trying to beat the heat by spending the bulk of the day under the bed and emerging when evening starts to cool things down to spread my length over the rug in front of the window. I miss my safe room -- the toddler has WAY too much access in this house, in my opinion. And I miss our one-level apartment. I'm going to start losing weight if I ever decide to venture up and down the stairs more than once or twice a day.

I'm going to go find Erika now, encourage her to refill that glass of rose (it IS Friday night, after all), and help her battle the Giant Moth in her office. As soon as she finds the camera battery charger, she promises to post pictures of the new place.

Guest Post from Erika: Why are we moving to Nevada City, anyway?

2010-06-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

Yes, moving we are. In a week! Many of you seem puzzled by what appears to be an abrupt transition, and others of you still think we are leaving the state. What follows is intended to clear up more than a few of these misconceptions.

Q: Why, oh why, are you leaving San Francisco?
A: We never intended to STAY in San Francisco. We moved here when we left New York because the alternative was Sunnyvale, which was none too appealing. It sounded like fun, at the time, to live in San Francisco until we could agree on a rural location to buy a house and raise goats. But Martin was born and raised in a big city and has no desire to live in a big city ever again. He was never quite content in San Francisco. Too far from nature. Erika moved here kicking and screaming, visions of goats dancing in her head, but has come to like it rather extremely well.

Q: But Nevada City is so far from San Francisco (not true, it's only 2 and a half hours). Why Nevada City?
A: We looked in counties up and down this fair state. Well, mostly up. Marin, Sonoma, Mendocino, Butte, Sacramento, Nevada, and even San Luis Obispo. I might have even missed a few. Anywhere within commuting distance (by plane) of San Francisco. The only place that really felt right to both of us was Nevada County. It didn't hurt that we already knew a few really stellar folks there, and that Erika has been wanting to move there since high school, but got side-tracked by Silicon Valley, New York City, and a few other things along the way. The other kicker is that houses, with land, are approximately half the price of anything within 50 miles of San Francisco, without any land. That's quite a chunk of change, and in theory the savings will allow us to do lots of other fun things. Like travel to see all of you. And have a parent in the house when Peter gets home from school, be that pre-school or high school.

Q: Where *is* Nevada City anyway?
A: Nevada City is located 60 miles northeast of Sacramento and 28 miles north of Auburn. It's on the way to Tahoe.

Q: Wait, it's not in Nevada?
A: No. It is in California. Two and a half hours from San Francisco, people!!! Nevada City actually *pre-dates* the state of Nevada. The town of "Nevada" was incorporated on April 19, 1856. In 1864, when the state of Nevada joined the union, “City” was added to Nevada City's name to avoid confusion with the State. And the house we are moving into was built in 1887. Right when things were getting interesting. More on that later.

Q: So it's just some little podunk town in the middle of nowhere?
A: Nevada City has a population of 3,000 (as of the year 2000) but in 1850, there were 10,000 people living in "the most important mining town in the state". Grass Valley, which is less than 5 miles away, has a population of 10,922 (as of the 2006 census). Not so little!

Q: Oh, ok. Well what's so great about it?
A: Nevada City has a lot going for it. For you history buffs, the award-winning historic district is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is considered to be among the best-preserved towns of the West. Bored by history? How about art? There are theaters, movie theaters, art house movie theaters, art galleries, music venues, and a thriving population of hippies, like Gary Snyder. Ok, maybe he pre-dates the hippies. Plenty of very conservative Republicans too. Makes for an interesting dynamic. Love nature? The South Yuba River is a lovely, mystical spot that we plan to visit as often as possible all summer long. Plus there are quite a few small lakes in the county. Oh, and did I mention the kick-ass county fair in August? How about the fact that it's on the way to Tahoe ("Nevada" means "snow-covered" in Spanish)? And that it's two and a half hours from San Francisco? You get the point.

Hope this clears things up a bit. If you still have questions, please feel free to e-mail me. I will get back to you as soon as I...finish producing Tech-free Day on June 26, move to Nevada City on June 30, find day care for Peter, unpack all of our boxes, and finish my outstanding freelance writing commitments. Ha! No, really, I love to hear from you and will make every effort to respond in a reasonable amount of time. :-)

Cupcakes and Hiking and Beer, oh my!

2010-06-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

What, you say you LIKE the cute baby pictures? Ahem, toddler pictures? OK, ok. Here you go.

No words necessary here. That's his buddy Tai in the background.
And what the heck. We'll try uploading a movie. Peter LOVES the Big Book that Uncle Dave and Grandma Beth got him for his birthday...

In other news, we have had a few weekends without rain, and we went a fun trip recently -- a pilgrimage to Rossotti's (now officially the Alpine Inn) in Portola Valley, starting with a hike in the hills.

We're going to turn that kid into a hiker yet.

Sometimes it helps when mom pushes a little from behind.

But really, his favorite part is the beer at the end.

Wonder where he got that.

The burgers aren't bad either.

All in all, a nice family day.

Things are Happening

2010-06-01T13:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, enough cute baby pictures. And where are all the cute kitty pictures these days, anyway? Sheesh.

We have News.

Yes, it's finally happening. The Kosina family is officially moving to Nevada City. No, really. And no, we did not find a house to buy. We are renting Auntie Kristina's house. The one we have been staying in all this time, rent-free. We are making the old grande dame an honest woman. I'm referring to the house, not Kristina. We are going to restore her charm while we enjoy a summer (or longer, much MUCH longer) in Nevada City. Still referring to the house, in case you were wondering. Kristina's charm is *fully* intact. It will feel good to bring the house back to her former glory, and it's a great chance for us to try on the Nevada City lifestyle. I'll be in charge of keeping the spiders in check.

Not everyone in the family is thrilled about this move. I hate any kind of move, especially when a car ride is involved. Martin, Erika, and Peter have made very good friends in San Francisco, and are very sad to leave them behind. Well, Martin won't be leaving them behind because he'll be working in San Francisco three days a week. But Peter's little buddies -- they are going to miss him like crazy.

We move at the end of June, a going away party is in the works. It will be combined with Tech-free Day because, frankly, we are out of time and Erika can only plan so many events. She's gotten pretty busy lately. She received her first acceptance letter from a magazine query, she's got two freelance writing clients who are busy busy busy right now, and she's even got an interview for a full-time job tomorrow. Stay tuned, she hasn't worked out all the details of how this will all actually work.

But this will all have to wait, because Mamie Willett arrives in town in less than an hour, and Erika doesn't want her mother to realize that she never did inherit the Good Housekeeper gene...

Guest Post from Erika: Mother's Day 2010

2010-05-16T12:55:00.000-07:00

I am a VERY lucky woman. I had the best mother's day ever! It started with Peter handing me a beautifully decorated card and a pink rose (Someone must have remembered Erika's aversion to red roses). Then Martin carefully handed me a glass of my favorite champagne, to be enjoyed in bed. (Yes, apparently bedhead is hereditary).

This was followed by some other nicely wrapped treats, and a beautiful breakfast (note the classic Martin presentation style).

Peter's favorite part was the bacon.

After much lazing about, we dragged ourselves out of the house for ice cream and a trip to the beach in Pacifica.

Peter wasn't too crazy about falling on his face into an incoming wave, but he sure liked the sand part.

Motherhood is GOOD! Especially on the second Sunday in May. Thanks, Martin!

Peter is TWO!

2010-04-25T21:02:00.001-07:00

On April 21, Peter crossed the line from babyhood to toddlerdom.

We celebrated with a birthday party at McLaren Park in San Francisco. We joined forces with Mateus, who turned two on April 19.

Many of his little Bernal Bambino buddies were there:

Yasmine, one of the few girls in the group.

Rosa, our closest neighbor and Peter's favorite shrieking partner.

Milo and Carter, "fishing" with moms.

Paxton, the most diligent trash picker upper EVER!

Ella visited all the way from Montclair...Oakland in the House!

Tai wanted to be sure the photographer wasn't after his cupcake...

Ah, yes, the cupcakes. Peter and Mateus still haven't quite gotten the hang of blowing the candles out.

But they got the general concept.

And were happy to finally get their hands on the frosting without a pesky flame in the way.

Things got interesting after a few drinks...that's Danya of Incredible Vocabulary Fame there on the left. Tai is knocking one back as he moves in. Smooth...

Peter was more interested in T-ball.

All in all, it was a very happy birthday.

And yes, I know I am WAY behind on posting photos of Peter's trip to Prague...they are coming! I'm also going to figure out how to post a video of Peter playing the ukelele. The kid's got talent!

Kite Flying Adventure

2010-04-11T16:24:00.001-07:00

The boy returns tomorrow after 10 days in Prague with his daddy, and in anticipation I have decided to finally post some pictures of our recent kite-flying adventure, made possible by a fun Christmas gift from the Drews!

A few months ago, we went to Ocean Beach to teach Peter how to fly a kite. First, Martin put the supercool plane kite together. This part was pretty boring for Peter.

But then he realized that this thing actually FLIES THROUGH THE AIR!!!

Unfortunately it does not always fly through the air. Martin makes some adjustments after a crash.

Evidence that it really does fly through the air:

Erika hadn't flown a kite in...hmmm...at least 3 decades.

But she remembered enough to teach Peter how to do it.

He even flew it all by himself!

It was a fun day for the whole family.

Photos from our Coyote Hills Wildflower Walk

2010-03-24T21:10:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago we went on a hike in the Coyote Hills. Here are some photos, and if this doesn't convince you to visit us in California, I don't know what will!

At first, Peter wasn't so sure about a long walk on those short little legs...
But daddy helped out.

Until daddy spotted some ROCKS to climb. And I thought Erika was the rock climber in this family!

Peter is a natural.

Mommy was nervous.

But what a gorgeous day...

And those wildflowers!

I think Peter will want to go again. Maybe.

Spring (Sprung)

2010-03-10T14:42:00.000-08:00

Spring snuck up on us this year. There was nothing but uncharacteristic rain, rain, and more rain, and then suddenly Erika started noticing blossoms everywhere. Then the sun came out, but it was a sucker sun. One of those suns that looks really warm and strong until you venture out in just a t-shirt and get blasted by an icy wind from the west. So then you put on the fleece, and walk up the hill, and get way too hot. So you take off the fleece, and turn the corner, and the fog envelopes you and chills you to the bone again.

Very confusing weather. Impossible to choose the right outfit. Unless you are me, of course. I tend to stick with the same look, season after season, with an occasional swap of this collar around my neck or a new tag whenever we move and switch phone numbers. Which hasn't happened in quite some time. No news on that front either.

Peter is marching towards two, with a few doozy tantrums, and even fewer new words. "Wheel" is among them. He is also learning the names of his friends ("a-ong" for Paxton, "mus" for Mateus, "da da" for Danya, and "Tai" for Tai). Sometimes he even says "Tai's House" or "Tai's Chair". He is definitely going to be the strong, silent type. Martin helped him climb his first real rock last weekend on a wildflower-viewing hike in the Coyote Hills. The kid is strong. And agile.

Martin is going to slide in under the wire and embark on one last commercial flying adventure before Peter is officially two. You see, once he turns two, commercial airlines require that you purchase a separate seat for the toddler. Until then, a lap is fair game. And when all of your grandparents live in Europe, this is not trivial. So, Peter is going to Prague for the first time, with his daddy, in April. This is cause for much celebration (on both continents). I get a week free of molestation (his little buddy Mateus actually tried to RIDE me like a horse yesterday), and the Kosina and Osbornova grandparents get a week of pure toddler love. Even Erika, who will miss that little guy something *fierce* is pleasantly stymied by the prospect of an entire week without diapers, tantrums, or snotty noses.

Everyone is happy!

Peter

2010-02-11T16:05:00.001-08:00

So, some of you have never met Peter. And several of you have asked what he is like, now that he is almost 22 months old and his personality is starting to make itself known. Yes, it is quite obvious at this point that the boy looks not a bit like his mother, and that he continues to go by the moniker of "Mini Martin". But *inside*, you ask. Is he a mini-Martin on the *inside* too?

Well, yes and no.

Peter loves computers. Martin loves computers.
Peter loves to climb as high as he can get whenever he gets the opportunity. Martin enjoys rock climbing, but doesn't make a habit of it.
Peter is obsessed with cars, garbage cans/trucks, big trucks, and airplanes. Martin is just obsessed with airplanes.
Peter loves beer. Martin loves beer.

Oops, please don't tell Child Protective Services that Peter's newest word is "Bee", "Bee" and he doesn't mean the insect when he is pointing at Daddy's Pilsner Urquel.

Here is a typical day for Peter, which should tell you a little bit about his personality:

Peter wakes up around 7:00am and calls for daddy to carry him into the kitchen and pour him juice. "Juice! Juice!" While daddy showers, Peter amuses himself by exploring every nook and cranny of the bathroom that is not protected by a child-proof lock. It is especially entertaining to dump things into the tub and see what happens. Or to adjust the water temperature when daddy is not looking. Afterwards, daddy makes him a special omelette with cheese and greens and who knows what else or sometimes leftover rice and lentil porridge. Yum! When mommy comes stumbling out of the bedroom a bit later, Peter gives her a BIG hug that sometimes lasts several minutes. He is a sweet kid. When daddy hands mommy her tea, Peter knows that it is "HOT" and that he must not touch it. Smart enough to know not to get between mommy and her morning caffeine.

After daddy leaves for work, Peter finishes exploring the house like a heat-seeking missile looking for forbidden things that were inadvertently left out the night before. He loves to explore, especially any drawers (two left in the entire house) that are not child-proofed. By "explore" I mean "empty of all contents".

Most weekday mornings, Peter goes to "class" at one of the local Rec Centers and plays with the toys and the other kids, in that order. His favorite toys are the ones he can get in and drive around. He also enjoys guitars, and anything that can be climbed. Art class has not been a big success so far. He doesn't quite get what you are supposed to do with paint and glue sticks, and is more interested in splashing the water color water out of the cup, or visiting the lizards and frogs that reside at one of the Rec Centers. The kid LOVES animals.

After class he eats a snack (rice cakes are the current favorite, but he is fickle) and then goes home for lunch, books, and nap. Favorite books right now include "Choo Choo" by Petr Horacek (absorbing some of his Czech Heritage!), "Bing - Yuk!", and anything by Sandra Boynton. On good days, Peter naps for 2 or more hours after the books. Most often, Peter naps for one hour and wakes up in a Very Foul Mood (he definitely gets that from his mom). Snacks help, but they have to be the RIGHT snack (varies from day to day). Petting me helps too.

After Peter fully wakes up, he helps mommy with chores (vacuuming is his favorite, next to mopping and sweeping) and sometimes gets together with a friend, which usually consists of taking every single toy out of the basket and then running screaming and laughing from one end of the house to the other. This is usually followed by wrestling on the couch, snacking, pulling each other around in the wagon (sorry, downstairs neighbors) and trading water bottles with each other.

The hour or so before dinner is Peter's favorite time for exploring, or testing mommy's patience. On good days, this is done outside, in a playground. The kid has a LOT of energy and curiosity. A promising but exhausting combination.

Dinner is a time of more experimentation. We never know what is going to be a success. Sometimes he loves Chinese and Thai food, other times he dumps the entire plate on the floor. Broccoli is often popular. Cauliflower is not. He appears to be on a fruit strike lately, rejecting mangoes, blueberries, peaches, apples, raisins, and tangerines this week. By rejecting I mean either chewing up and then spitting out or just flinging to the floor without even tasting. And still, he gains weight. He is up to 29 pounds at last weighing on Monday.

After dinner, daddy comes home and gives Peter a bath. Peter's favorite part of bath time is pouring water from one container into another. He can do this for 20 minutes straight. There is not much of *anything* that he will do for 20 minutes straight. After bath we read a book or two or 12, and then he is down for the night (we hope) in his snuggly fleece sleep sack and special airplane quilt with his trusty lovey by 7:00 or shortly thereafter. He calls a parent in once or twice to have his blankets adjusted, but is usually snoring loudly by 7:30 or 8:00.

His most striking qualities are his VERY HIGH energy level (he rarely walks, preferring instead to run) and his sweet nature. He loves to hug and kiss other kids, his parents, me, and baby dolls. He's got a great laugh too. We're going to keep him.

Guest Post from Erika: Technology-free Day

2010-01-27T12:55:00.000-08:00

I noticed it first when I returned from a month in France. Everywhere I looked, walking or driving around San Francisco, people were talking into or looking at their cell phones. It stood out because in France, I saw maybe one or two mobile devices the entire time I was there. Granted I was in a small-ish, rural town, but there were plenty of people of all ages hanging out in the cafes and bars of the town square, sipping “cafe creme” and actually talking to each other. Or reading the paper. Nary a laptop in sight. Unbelievable.

Back in San Francisco, I started to get annoyed with all of these people who were glued to a screen in public places. Especially the ones crossing the street in front of my car without paying any attention to their surroundings or, even worse, driving a car without paying any attention to their surroundings. This is how accidents happen.

I remember being particularly annoyed with my husband after he got his new iPhone. He was glued to it night and day, much to the detriment of our social life. It only lasted a little while (until the screen shattered shortly after he got extremely frustrated with the spotty service or some other technological defect) but it was an extremely uncomfortable time in our relationship. Then, last week, my parents came to visit with their new iPhone. And I saw it again. That strange disease that possesses new iPhone owners and compels them to spend what seems like 90% of their waking hours glued to the screen. The wonders that lie within that little box! But what about the wonders of the actual world in your immediate vicinity, I wanted to scream I mean, ask nicely?

Then I read this article that basically tells us that American children are spending literally every waking minute staring at a screen. Here is a quote that made me sick to my stomach: “Those ages 8 to 18 spend more than seven and a half hours a day with [a smart phone, computer, television or other electronic device] .... And that does not count the hour and a half that youths spend texting, or the half-hour they talk on their cellphones.”

Not that there is anything wrong with cell phones. Or technology. I own a cell phone and use it liberally. My husband has accused me of being “addicted” to email. I just think that too much of a good thing can be harmful, especially in an era when so many of our natural resources are in real danger of disappearing. Reading about El Capitan on the web and looking up at 3,000 feet of granite in Yosemite National Park are two different things. What are those kids NOT doing when they are choosing to stare at a screen instead?

And what about the social ramifications of us communicating primarily via 140-character “tweets” to all of our friends? Texting and social media are still new enough that there aren't any studies that show how this affects our relationships or our happiness, but I am starting to wonder. Again, I'm not saying that Facebook is evil. It is a great way to stay in touch with people who are far away. When my cousin Michael had a very complicated, intense surgery this past fall, his boyfriend posted daily updates about how things were progressing for everyone who wanted to tune in. This was an incredibly efficient use of the technology that actually brought people closer. But when screen time starts to replace actual “face” time with people we care about, I worry about the future of our species.

To this end, I have decided to do something about it, in my own little way. And I'm going to blog about it. Not here, because there are those of you who couldn't care less about my rants, and others of you who probably find it just too ironic that I am sitting on a computer and blathering on about the evils of technology via a web site. I'm starting a new blog called Technology-free Day. And on it, I am going to chronicle my experiences of living, for just a little bit at a time, without technology. Maybe I'll convince one or two of you to give it a try as well.

On New Beginnings (and the perils of hard alcohol)

2010-01-04T18:44:00.000-08:00

Oops, guess I jinxed it. Nope, no house. Starting over. Square one. Don't even ask. Drat, I wish I still had access to Erika's pictures on her (dead) Mac hard drive. There is a great photo of Erika in her clubbing days, looking rather dazed at the End Up club with her arm slung around best friend at the time Eric Allen Bass. She is wearing a semi-fabulous 90s-era nightclub outfit, purchased in Paris. He is wearing a T-shirt that says in huge block letters: Don't Even Ask. It's a great photo. But I digress.

So tonight it's Manhattans in celebration (???) of starting over, and we had a very close call with the new PC laptop (I know, Andrew, don't even start). This is after the unfortunate demise of the Mac laptop last week after a fight to the death with a martini (Martini, capital M? Hmmm, ex-New York Times copy editor?) Ok, clearly the drink is talking now. Ooops, nope, I don't drink except when Erika or Martin leaves a glass with some whiskey/beer/wine dregs lying around. That stuff is delicious!

At any rate, Erika is swearing to change her return address to Limbo, California until she finds her new dream house. A dream house that Martin actually likes, that is. Not that she is complaining. She continues to be quite enamored with her group of mommy friends in Bernal Heights, and only sometimes complains about carrying a 29-lb toddler several blocks when she finds a parking spot that is only 500 feet or so in elevation change. Damn those San Francisco hills! Well at least it keeps her in shape. And she has recently discovered ANOTHER really wonderful group of mommy friends in Martinez, of all places! Who said the suburbs weren't cool? Maybe we should expand our house hunt...

At any rate, it's a new year, I got some good catnip for Christmas, the Willett GRANDparents are visiting next week, and we are happy, healthy and otherwise well, despite all the house hunting drama (we even made it through the inspection!!!!). So, stay tuned to the blog, and we'll definitely let you know if we find any sunny, mouse-infested apiaries that we decide to purchase in the not-so-distant future. Now excuse me while I appropriate Erika's abandoned Manhattan glass...

On Outgrowing

2009-12-21T15:28:00.000-08:00

No, this post is not going to be about my weight. Certain people have actually mentioned how svelte I look lately. This post is about outgrowing our apartment, or as we affectionately call it these days, The House of Plague (everyone except *me* seems to have a cold).

I thought it best to illustrate how we are outgrowing our apartment with some visual aids which, incidentally, contain images of Christmas cheer! But first, some background. Peter is a curious child. Curious and fearless. Not a great mix unless you have 24-hour supervision, and Erika tries her best but... At any rate, we have one room in the house (my new favorite room, where I now spend 90% of my time) that is off limits to Peter. We call it The Forbidden Room. It contains such curiosities as the always-on gas fireplace and the very tall bookshelves. It also now contains my cat food, my water, and my litter box because these three objects posed too great a temptation to Peter and after much heart ache and yelling, it was decided that everyone would be better off this way.

The Forbidden Room also happens to be our living room. It is adjacent to our dining room/play room/Erika's "office"/guest bedroom. Yes, those are all one room. I told you we were outgrowing this apartment. The living room is traditionally where one puts a Christmas tree. Our house is no exception. So, we did a bit of re-arranging and the Forbidden Room is also now the Room of Christmas Cheer.

Here is a picture of Erika taking a picture of the Christmas stockings, hung by the "fireplace" with care.

And here is Peter (with beloved lovey), next to our Christmas tree!

Oooooh, Christmas tree!

Luckily it is in the Forbidden Room.

Nice little Christmas scene, eh? Except that if you draw back or pan right just a tad, you might notice my food and water...hmm, that's not too Christmasy.

But even worse, if you draw back just a little further or pan left, you might notice...a...box... next to the artfully weathered couch arm. Hmmm, whatever could that be?

Oh NO! That doesn't smell like pine needles and Christmas cheer! Well, at least we have the Christmas-themed dustpan to sweep up the stray bits.

I don't mind sharing the Christmas room.

However, Erika and Martin are OVER it. Over the cramped digs, over the lack of heat in appropriate places (like maybe the bedroom and bathroom instead of the hallway?), over the schlepping a 28-lb child and his 28 lbs of STUFF up and down several hills because there was no parking spot within 2 blocks of the apartment, and OVER paying rent in the second most expensive rental market in the country. (Sorry, Andrew, but at least you get to live in my favorite city on the planet.)

Yes, I may finally say with all of my toes crossed and a healthy dose of cautious optimism...Erika and Martin are finally buying a house. Well, at least they are in the very beginning stages of buying a house (made offer, accepted counter offer). This is farther than they have ever gotten before, hence the cautious optimism. It's the one with the giant sun room and the resident rooster, so I've given my seal of approval. Next step: inspections and blah blah blah. Will probably happen between Christmas and New Year's. The house is in Nevada City, for those of you who have not been following along. It's the one that Erika fell in love with on sight. Ok, better not say too much. Don't want to jinx it.

Happy Holidays!

Grateful

2009-12-09T13:08:00.001-08:00

Ok, so this would have been especially appropriate around Thanksgiving, but I've been, uh, Busy. And with this cold snap, I have even more to be grateful for. Like the gas-powered fireplace that I spent all day in front of yesterday. And today. And the extra comforter that Erika put on the bed last night. 54 degrees in the house this morning! BRRR. (For all of you midwesterners and east coasters reading along, anything below 50 outside is very cold for Californians, and we don't like our houses to get much below 68 degrees.)

Erika has her own list of things she is grateful for, starting with opposable thumbs. Ever tried changing a diaper filled with liquid poop on a wiggly toddler using only one hand and four fingers on the other hand? Didn't think so. It's hard. Erika sliced off the tip of her thumb this morning making mushroom barley soup for said toddler. The soup was delicious (or so I hear) and free of thumb bits, for those of you who were wondering.

Speaking of kitchen tools, Erika is also EXTREMELY grateful for her new Kitchen Aid!!! It's one of those things she wonders how she ever survived without. Baking bread is now a breeze. It's almost too easy. Instead of kneading for 25 minutes and trying to dissuade a whining toddler from climbing up her leg for 23 of those 25 minutes, she merely presses a button and voila! Play time with Peter while SIMULTANEOUSLY "kneading" bread dough! Amazing. It's a whole new level of multitasking. Stay tuned for Christmas cookies.

On a more serious note, Erika is thankful for her dear husband, Martin, who managed to watch TWO toddlers (favor to an ailing mother in Peter's play group) for much of this past weekend while Erika frolicked in Santa Cruz at Tina Wong's 40th birthday extravaganza. And what an extravaganza it was. Sand candles, exotic dancing aerobics, wine and cheese and home-made soy chai, and the company of some of the most extraordinary women she has ever met, which led to some intense emotional conversations about some other things that Erika is grateful for, like her mother. Some of these women sadly no longer have their mothers around, which made Erika appreciate her mother even more. She feels awfully lucky to have a happy, healthy mother who loves her and who she actually enjoys spending time with.

And while we are on the topic of being grateful for family members, Erika wants to be quick to mention that she is ALSO very thankful to have a happy, healthy father too. And, well, uncles and aunts and and cousins and nieces and nephews and in-laws, and of course we don't want to forget Peter George. Erika is awfully grateful for having him around as well.

But she is also very thankful to have Ashley the Wonder Nanny come for a visit every Thursday, to take Peter AWAY for the whole day so that Erika can do things like go to the dentist. And sit, undisturbed, with a cup of tea for 20 minutes or so. But of course Ashley would not be possible without the other mothers and boys who we share her with, and so Erika is also thankful for Peter's little buddies and their sweet, down to earth mothers who preserve Erika's sanity. Life would certainly be harder without them. But not as hard as changing a diaper with only one thumb.

Guest Post from Erika: Finished!

2009-11-15T18:53:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it. What started as a crazy idea that Lynne and Simon came up with over three months ago ended in Victory! Over my bum knee, that is. Today all three of us ran (and finished!) our first half marathon (13.1 miles). And it was Fun!

I even beat my time goal by several minutes. It was surprisingly easier than I thought it would be, despite very cold temperatures (41 degrees - ok, cold for California anyway), a night of very little sleep (the latest incarnation of poor little Peter's Neverending Cold comes with a hacking cough), and an early separation from my favorite running buddies due to a poorly timed bathroom stop. My knee, predictably, started with the shooting pain thing at around 10.5 miles, almost exactly where it started hurting on my last run of that distance. It was a little touch and go there for a while, but I pushed through and managed to even speed up a bit for the final half mile. I remain conflicted about whether or not my body is capable of running a full marathon. One thing I am not at all conflicted about is running skirts. I didn't see any of the "elite" female finishers wearing skirts. I was very happy in my tights, thank you very much.

So, now it's 2 weeks of rest and some hard thinking about what, if anything, I want to do Next. The Big Sur marathon is in April. We'll see.

In other news, I forgot to mention one milestone in my last post. The passing of Maude. Martin finally found it in his heart to donate her for scientific experimentation. Might have had something to do with her latest "issues" plus registration fees, which added up to over half of what we originally paid for her. Ah, well. She was a good car. I'm still not giving up on my dreams of having an art car some day. Maybe the Coffee Cat will come to be at some point (a van disguised as a giant cat – complete with speakers broadcasting Pawlene's trade mark "meow" – that visits gloomy suburban office parks to dispense espresso drinks, whimsy, and tasty pastry treats). We'll see.

Milestones

2009-11-12T19:42:00.000-08:00

Goodness, there seem to be a lot of milestones to celebrate lately.

First and most important, there was dear Uncle Dave's 75th birthday on Sunday, well celebrated (or so I hear) by his lovely wife and devoted children. You should see him chase Peter around! Pretty impressive for someone with three quarters of a century under his belt. The secret to his longevity must be an abundance of thoughtfulness and generosity – a good heart. Either that or it's all the boudin and other questionable French and Swedish and Chinese treats he has consumed over a lifetime of being an adventurous gourmand. Erika and Peter ate dim sum tonight in his honor. Sadly, it wasn't Yank Sing and much of it landed on the floor.

But there are other, smaller milestones happening right here in the Kosina household! For instance, as of this month we have stayed in one spot (one apartment even!) for a record-breaking TWO years, much to Martin's disappointment. Remember the days when we would move every month or six? Sheesh, I for one am glad that is over. Although I do hear rumors about trying to buy a house before the end of the year. We'll see.

Tonight, Martin attended his FIRST football game. I guess he is a real American now. Go niners!

As of this morning, Erika has run 140 miles in preparation for this Sunday's race. Go Erika!

And Peter has finally started to talk. Go Peter! Here is what he can say:
"giggy" (Kitty)
"caca" (car)
"mama" (more - Yeah, Erika thought he was talking about HER for a long time, but finally realized he was referring to her only in the sense that she provides food and he wants MORE MORE.)
"baba" (daddy - the Czech word for dad is "tata" so we may have Peter's first Czech word here...)
"ball" (ball)
"ba" (banana)
"Hi" (hi)
"shoes" (shoes)
"cheese" (cheese)
"ba bye" (bye bye, accompanied by the opening and closing of his hand, approximating a wave)
"baby" (baby)
"NO" (no)
"nonono" (no no no)
"nononono" (no no no no)

It's pretty cute. I'm sure there is more that I am missing (Erika's MOM understood way more words when she was visiting three months ago; Erika is just slow or Peter has become a lot clearer). I'm still trying to teach him a few phrases in cat like "This is your last warning; Leave me alone right now or I am going to scratch you." but the kid is a little slow so I am trying to be patient with him. Peter has turned into a pretty good petter, at least when mom is watching. And when mom isn't watching, well let's just say I am really getting my exercise, running the length of the hallway and leaping over the child gate into the Forbidden Room. I think I've lost weight.

Oh, speaking of losing weight, Erika wanted me to be sure to give a shout out to Peet's on this post, for bringing back the eggnog lattes as of the first of November! One a week, from now until January 1st. Erika is in heaven.

Guest Post from Erika: Best Halloween Ever

2009-11-02T15:59:00.001-08:00

As many of you know, I have resisted Halloween for years. This year, however, as Peter is really starting to become aware of the world around him, I figured I couldn't skip out. And so I delved in, if not with gusto, with something close to mild enthusiasm. And you know what? I had the best Halloween ever! Watching Peter trick or treat for the first time was such a crack-up, and I must say his outfit was a big hit. Big thanks to mama Katie for the cool baby tattoos. Mom and Dad even got into the act. Here are some photos...

Peter the Punk Rocker:

Little punk with mama punk:

And papa punk:

It's just part of the costume, really. We never give him beer at home. Oh no, never:

Trick or treating on Cortland street (picture courtesy of Mateus' mom, Beth). He looks one going on about fifteen. That's me in the leopard print, just off screen. See! I really *did* dress up!:

Here he is with his buddies. They all look a little dazed by the whole experience:

Did I mention he had his first Reeses Peanut Butter Cup? First candy actually. It was a hit, to say the least (duh). Mom had to, uh, confiscate the rest...

The rest of the evening was fun too. We got exactly ONE trick or treater. Well, two, but they came together. I shoveled as much candy as I could into their little bags. The rest is slowly disappearing.

Then we had a proper, UN-Halloween-like interlude, eating Raclette in front of our (gas) fireplace with the windows open because it was actually too warm to have a fire, but we needed something to melt the darned cheese.

Then I succumbed to my one annual viewing of a horror film, Martin's choice. He chose "Pelts". He thinks he chose wisely. I'm still confused about why anyone would willingly subject themselves to watching possessed raccoons take over the minds of furriers to exact their gory revenge, although I could understand the motivation of the raccoons. At least the director was Italian, so the fashion was fabulous and the women were beautiful.

Now. Any suggestions as to what to do with gelatin-based hamburger-shaped "candy"? Again, why do people MAKE this stuff, not to mention consume it?

Anyway, I guess I'm saying I can get into this stuff once a year. For the children. And the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. :-)

House of Plague

2009-10-28T17:08:00.000-07:00

Well it is Day 3 of our quarantine in the House of Plague. Ok, not really The Plague, or even one of those flus that are going around. Just good old fashioned coughing, sneezing, snotty not feeling good. I've been trying to get some extra sleep to counteract all the sneezing. Peter's nose has been dripping like a faucet. Erika has stopped running (!!!).

And well, ok, I guess "quarantine" is a bit dramatic as well. Day One (Monday) we all stayed home, all day long. Except Martin who has managed to avoid this particular illness. He went to work. I think he even rode his bike, the show-off. Tuesday, Erika dragged herself (and Peter) to the grocery store because we were out of bananas, Peter's favorite food. And milk. And a few other critical items. Today they managed to get to the botanical garden for an hour, to alleviate Erika's other sickness: stir craziness. They even skipped the hippie movement class!

They sure were having fun though, before the plague struck them down. Graced by a rare and special visit from Uncle Dave and Beth on Thursday, Erika was inspired to make bourbon banana pudding. She was channeling their adopted town of Williamsburg, Virginia. Friday the Kosinas left for Nevada City, abandoning me for the entire weekend. Apparently they found a house with a sun room that takes over one whole side of the house, so I may forgive them if they ever make up their minds and decide to buy it. Erika ran a hilly 10K race through Nevada City and was extremely pleased with the results (under an hour, yay!). Now if only she could kick this cold and finish training for the REAL race, which is only two and a half weeks away...

So instead of running, she is cooking. Using up random aging vegetables and grains and whatever she finds in the back of the cupboard, in the hopes that these cupboards will need to be cleaned out soon in preparation for a move. Tonight's dinner is butternut squash soup with a number of other random ingredients (barley!), accompanied by the last loaf of bread that she baked and froze months ago, and some persimmon cookies made from LAST year's (frozen) persimmon crop. Mmmmmm, leftovers!

One thing I predict we will have a ton of left over is Halloween candy. Erika had big plans for Halloween this year, but sadly it looks like they are not coming to fruition. We hosted a pumpkin carving party two weekends ago, which turned out to be too early. I watched those jack o lanterns slowly melt into oblivion while the rest of the family was in Nevada City. Biggest mess Erika has cleaned up in months (picture two completely liquified pumpkins seeping into the top drawers of a glass-top desk and soaking all the contents of the drawers). So, there will be no jack o lanterns welcoming trick or treaters on Halloween this year. And I refuse to let Erika paint glowing stuff on my teeth for a Cheshire cat outfit, so this year might be the same as every other Halloween, where Erika and Martin turn out the lights, pretend not to be home, and watch a scary movie. After the toddler party, of course! Peter still gets to dress up and parade around with his buddies. Don't worry, Erika will take pictures.

Guest Post from Erika: Trial and Error

2009-10-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

I'll have to wake up that cat one of these days and get her to start writing again, but in the mean time I bring you "trial and error". My life has been all about trial and error lately.

As previously mentioned, I recently signed Peter up for a "music and movement" class and, as previously mentioned, he has been a holy terror in this class. He runs the circumference of the room seeking out weaknesses, he grabs, hugs, kisses, and hits the one smaller boy in the class (most often all of the above in rapid succession), he throws the musical instruments, generally wreaks havoc and does everything except participate in the circle of "jamming" mothers and children.

So, I figured, he needs to expend a little energy before coming to class. I experimented with several pre-class outings: half an hour at the park immediately preceding class (no discernible effect), an hour at the park before lunch, nap, and then class (again, no discernible effect), and finally today, I pulled out the big guns. First, I let him climb by himself all the way down all three sets of stairs and walk BY HIMSELF down to the mailbox on the corner, where we mailed a letter (always thrilling). We then took a BUS ride (Peter's first since he became aware of the exciting magic that he perceives our MUNI system to possess). He was so overwhelmed that he merely sat, paralyzed by the wonders around him, for the entire 30-minute ride. Then we visited the animals at the Randall museum (chickens, rabbits, guinea pigs, frogs, ducks, various birds and squirrels, and a hive of bees). Then we climbed and played outside for a good half an hour. Finally we took another bus back home (this time he shook himself out of his stupor about 5 minutes from the end of the ride and started his usual climbing and standing versus sitting antics). After that, he slept for a good two and a half hours.

Aha! I thought. He'll be worn out for the music class! And he was. He was so worn out, that he refused to participate at all. He clung to me, sat on my lap, and started crying at the drop of a hat. Poor thing was completely exhausted. Next week's experiment: a doctor's appointment in the morning before class. We'll see how that goes...

Besides experimenting on my child, I also have been known to experiment with food. Tonight I substituted a nice piece of Virginia ham for the bacon in a simple pasta recipe (fusilli, corn, zucchini, pesto and bacon/ham). The ham was part of my birthday present from my dear uncle. I actually started off the meal with another part of my birthday present, some real Virginia peanuts! And if you've never had them, you don't know what you are missing. But I digress. The pasta was delicious! And I got to use more of my stockpiled home-made pesto. The first time I made pesto from scratch, I did not own a food processor. I chopped everything by hand, and swore I would never EVER make pesto again. Until I got the food processor, which makes many things so very easy! Like pesto. And salsa. I just discovered how easy salsa is with a food processor. Trial and error. The only thing Pawlene has been experimenting with lately is the most comfortable spot on the bed as the nights get colder.

Martin and I, on the other hand, are still experimenting together with the location of our dream house. The pendulum has now swung BACK to Nevada City, for those of you who have been following this ever more tedious game of table tennis. We found a great house in Petaluma (Penngrove actually) two weekends ago, and even drove back to see it the following Tuesday, but when it came right down to making an offer, we decided to follow our hearts, no matter how much we feel like we SHOULD be following our heads. We know it is ridiculous to move two and a half hours away from Martin's job, but our hearts are in Nevada City. The head vs. heart argument is sure to heat up this month as we travel back up to Nevada City to look at more houses while keeping one eye on the Sonoma County housing market. I think we just need to buy something somewhere and try it out. If it doesn't work, we cut our losses in a few years and try something else. Trial and error. If we don't try it, we'll never know.

In the mean time, it's OCTOBER! Now I am normally not a fan of Halloween, but this is the last year I get to dress Peter up as whatever I want without him having any say in the matter.

Last year he was a pilot:

I think he looks better with the real accessory:

Ok, ok, enough gratuitous old baby pictures. Keeping this big guy in mind (thanks Lynne for the photo!), what should Peter be for Halloween? Anyone have a teeny little cowboy hat and boots I could borrow? Ok, never mind, don't let the photo influence your choice. Polls are now open.

Guest Post from Erika: Running

2009-10-02T13:20:00.000-07:00

I went running today for the first time since my 5K race last weekend. It was the best run I've ever had. 4 miles was easy! This is in sharp contrast to the 3 miles I ran last Sunday. Amped up by the crowds around me, I fell prey to my natural competitive instinct and ran the fastest mile I have ever run (8 minutes, I know I know, but I'm slow). Unfortunately that first mile was followed by a 9-minute mile that felt ok, and then a 10-minute mile that I barely dragged myself through. All kinds of thoughts went through my head in that third mile, mostly about how the heck I'd gotten myself into this and why in the world anyone would want to run more than, say, a mile, and how I was never EVER going to be able to run 13.1 miles. (I am training for a half marathon in November.)

My dad, who ran a marathon or two in his running days (younger than I am now!), had sage advice. He told me I just hadn't found my own internal pace yet. I got suckered into running faster than I should by all the hotshots around me. And that I just have to listen to my own body and keep at my own pace, despite all the other, faster bodies flying past me.

Aha! Yet another challenge in the "listening to my intuition" department. For those of you who have been following my experiment of avoiding goals and structure for the past six months in an effort to listen more closely to my intuition, you might know that this particular experiment has been a dismal failure. Well, not an entire failure. I learned a lot of things. I learned that I am a person who requires structure to succeed. I learned that if I do not structure time to listen to my own intuition, to participate in activities that center me and allow me to spontaneously do whatever it is that my heart desires at that particular moment, then all free time will be sucked immediately into the vortex that is motherhood. Whenever I have a free 20 minutes or so, I have to make a choice. Shall I lounge on the couch and catch up on New Yorkers? Shall I make a nice cup of tea and stand on the sunny deck and stare at Sutro Tower? Or, shall I start a load of laundry, a load of dishes, sweep the floor, clean the toilet, prep Peter's next meal? And that's only when Peter is asleep. When he is awake, the decision becomes much easier. I need to spend time with my son, interact with him, teach him words and numbers and colors and good behavior, make sure he isn't climbing on the dining room table.

So, I made a few changes this month, and I am planning a brief retreat this weekend in which I will (gasp!) make some goals for the last 6 months of this year. Goals that will preserve my health and sanity, and goals that will ultimately make me a better mother. Stay tuned.

But back to running, and an entirely different topic: the running skirt. I've been running in the same shorts that I rowed in ever since I started rowing and running (which I did at the same time, thanks to my dear friend Shannon). Rowing requires shorts that are very fitted, with no loose flaps to get caught in the seat tracks. I have recently noticed that most people do not wear this type of shorts to run in. They wear loose, very short, very lightweight shorts that allow a lot of freedom of movement and have a place to stash your keys. I started to reconsider my "compression" shorts (to use an industry term that I also very recently learned). And then I noticed the running skirts.

In fact, a woman I used to row with who I admire very much is a HUGE proponent of running skirts. She ran the Nike Women's marathon wearing a skirt. And she writes professionally for women's sports magazines like Self. So she's tried everything and she knows what she is talking about.

The thing is, I could not think of one single reason why anyone would want to run wearing a skirt! But I figured they must be fantastic, because why else would this woman, who has tried every running product under the sun, choose a skirt to wear to run an entire marathon?

I started to do some research. I googled things like "running skirts advantages" and read a variety of product reviews. And the only thing I could come up with is that the skirt, which hangs over a pair of compression shorts very much like the ones I have been running in for 20 years, covers your butt. In college, women used to tie a sweatshirt around their waists so that they could get some "coverage". We on the crew team called them "hide-a-butts". The running skirt is nothing but a lightweight hide-a-butt!

As I read through old blog posts that this amazing woman (marathoner, awesome rower, hasn't missed a workout in YEARS) had written, my worst suspicions were confirmed. I realized that she has some body image issues. She likes the skirt because it hides her BUTT! I found this disturbing. I've always been too busy worrying about the fat on my stomach to worry about how big my backside is, so I can understand the body image issues. (If only they made a "hide-a-gut"!) But to go so far as to add extra weight during a 26.2-mile race, just so nobody will see how fat your behind is? That's crazy. And besides, anyone who is training for a marathon has no extra fat left. They simply don't have big butts. And if they do, if *I* do, and just have never noticed, then I want to be an inspiration to women with body image issues everywhere. I want them to look at me and say "Wow, if that woman with the big bottom can run 13.1 miles, then so can I!"

Ok, enough about butts. Let's talk about tomatoes. We have been drowning in tomatoes from a tomato CSA that we joined two months ago. Today is marinara sauce day, and I've got to get on it before Peter wakes up.

Peter, who is now seventeen and a half months old, and just had his third hair cut. And who I can hear calling to me right now. Ah, well, at least I got a blog post in...

Guest Post from Erika: Why I Don't Miss Living in the Dorms

2009-09-16T14:35:00.001-07:00

I came across this blog post today, which made me burst out laughing. My college roommate wars never escalated that far, the worst was when we had a pomelo tree in our back yard, and we would place pomelos in random places where roommates were sure to discover them. That war ended when I put one in my roommate Diane's fancy lingerie drawer, and she didn't find it for a few months.

Actually, now that I think about it, I do have worse stories. There was the time when Gordon put the fake hand holding the butcher knife under my pillow. Or the time when Gordon duct taped a rotting tray full of crepes to Andrea's door. She was keeping them in the refrigerator because they had "sentimental" value. I was fully supportive of that one. Gordon and I used to have punk rock wars too, and play the same exact song on our separate stereos REALLY LOUD, but just a a beat or two off of each other. Very disturbing effect. Ah, college.

In *MY* college days, we didn't have computers and ipods and cell phones to entertain us! We had to communicate the old-fashioned way! In person! Or on the (GASP) SHARED land line! Can you imagine? Sharing a phone line with 3 other women? Man, I must be showing my age. I just wish I could post a photo from my college days, but none of them are digitized because...we used REAL FILM in our cameras in those days. Ok, I'll stop now.

Back to Normal

2009-09-14T22:07:00.000-07:00

Well, summer is officially over, and we are all back to "normal" life, or rather back to life at home in San Francisco. Normal is all relative with a toddler who is constantly changing. Calling all mommies (and daddies) out there who have been through this – Erika would appreciate advice on any of the following:

1) How to prevent a small boy from repeatedly climbing unstable folding chairs and standing on them quietly with a devilish smile on his face.
2) How to prevent a small boy from using folding chairs to access tables, counters, and other verboten, very high places to stand and balance precariously.
3) How to prevent a small boy from biting, hitting, pinching, and scratching his dear mother, especially during diaper changes (which you would THINK he would be THANKFUL for).
4) How to retain a straight face while scolding a small naughty boy when he imitates his furious mother in the most adorable way...

and especially:

5) How to prevent a small boy from using my water bowl as a wading pool. (Note: The water bowl is on a shelf so high that even *I* cannot access it without the help of a chair.)

But really, it's not as bad as all that. Mostly. Just ask Erika's mother, who witnessed Peter's debut in his hippie music and movement class last week. The other kids are still recovering, Erika is just hoping that they haven't all transferred to a different class after Peter's, errr "exuberance". The kid does love to move.

His class is on Tuesdays, which coincides with "Tomato Day" in the Kosina household. I don't really care for them, but Erika and Martin enjoy them so much that they subscribed to a tomato CSA (community-supported agriculture) program from their favorite farm. Every Tuesday the Kosinas get a big box of all kinds of different tomatoes, plus a surprise (usually basil, but sometimes strawberries!). Let's just say there has been a whole lot of caprese salad served over the past few weeks. And salsa. And pasta tossed with various things but always including fresh tomatoes. And caprese salad. Have I mentioned caprese salad?

The tomatoes will of course play a starring role this weekend at Erika's Birthday Extravaganza. Tomatoes and pork. Lots of pork. And lots of dessert. It is Erika's birthday after all, she should be able to have two desserts if she wants. Besides, Erika is running a Whole Lot these days, in anticipation of the Big Sur half marathon on November 15. Go team!

Martin has been very supportive of the whole running thing, doing the majority of the small boy watching while Erika is training. And financing a really nice jogging stroller which has...er...yet to be used. Martin's new and improved Very Short Commute has a lot to do with the boy watching, and the new job is still going well. We are cautiously optimistic that this could be a really good thing all around.

Erika is also lucky enough to have a fabulous training pair to run with on Sundays. Not just one running partner, but two inseparable ones! We have yet to come up with a "Brangelina"-worthy nickname for Lynne and Simon (Slimon? Lymon? Sinne?) but they certainly keep Erika motivated to run faster and longer. Accountability is a beautiful thing, especially when it comes to training.

Yes, yes, Erika and Martin are still making noises about buying a house somewhere else. Petaluma is looking more appealing these days, even though their hearts are really in Nevada City. I catch bits of conversations: "5-year plan vs. long-term plan" and "apartment is too small for a budding mountain goat" and "need to make sure there are lots of sunny spots for Pawlene". Well maybe I dreamed that last part.

In the mean time, Martin is enjoying his short commute and Erika is enjoying her mother's group. The mother's group recently won a First 5 Grant to help connect their city-bound children with nature. Plans are in the works, but it may take the form of a community garden, interpretive signs on our very own Bernal Hill, or a few field trips to places where the kids can actually interact with plants and animals instead of library books and sand boxes. Yeah, I know. It's time to move out of the city. Mountain goats and city apartments don't mix.

Guest Post from Erika: Midwestern Adventure, Part Three

2009-08-18T20:03:00.001-07:00

Ok, I have to start this final Midwestern Adventure post off with an apology. I have NO pictures of anyone over the age of 6 in Minnesota, except my darling husband! Where is the picture of Jason, in his TIE, picking us up from the airport? Where is the picture of Becky driving a freaking motor boat at top speed around Lake Minnewaytooconfusing while mediating a meltdown between her two little darlings (yes, simultaneously)? Where is the picture of the "grown-ups" (sheesh, when did WE become the grown-ups???) frolfing through frog fat in flip flops? Sorry, inside joke. Where is the picture of the FABULOUS new deck??? Or all the great meals we shared?

But really, Becky and Jason are people that I love very much. Good looking, good natured people! But the kids are still cuter. And so here goes: pictures of the 3rd leg of our Midwestern Adventure, aka The Drew Residence and environs in Shorewood, Minnesota.

Minnesota was all about cousins, hanging out with cousins. Unfortunately I never did get a picture of all three of the kids looking at the camera at the same time. Here is an example. I could get a:

or b:

but never all three at the same time. Those kids move fast! Here they are at the arboretum, rocking the double stroller:

And here they are sporting mohawks in the bath tub:

Martin loved hanging out at the Drews, especially in their big, beautiful backyard (a far cry from our tiny apartment deck). Here is Martin, with everything he needs in life to be happy.

Oops, forgot the most important thing he needs – mini Martin.

Awwww.

We don't see nearly enough of those Drews.

Guest Post from Erika: Midwestern Adventure, Part Two

2009-08-18T15:06:00.000-07:00

Top Five Reasons We Love Visiting Elk Point, South Dakota
5) Pineapple Brats (no, REALLY)
4) Twin Bings! (It's actually a Sioux City thing, and now cousin Becky is addicted too)
3) Plum Dumplings, home made by Denise's Mom and helpers
2) Game Night: Sequence! (you didn't think these would ALL be about food, did you?)

but really, the number one reason...

1) Our wonderful South Dakota "family", which consists of Denise and Randy Briggs, their beautiful sweet daughter Cara, son-in-law Aron, especially delightful granddaughter Celia, parents, brothers, aunts and various and sundry other relatives who are all such wonderful, generous, fun and interesting people!

Here are most of them. Don't they look happy? That's because they are.

Denise looking for turtle eggs with Celia by the river.

Here we are, happy to be enjoying the lovely summer weather.

And there goes Peter. Bye Peter!

Those pictures were of our big outing. Mostly, we just sat outside and chatted. And ate. And chatted some more. Martin is helping them learn Czech. Celia is teaching Peter all sorts of things. She is going to be a star some day – that girl can Perform!

Randy and Denise have a lovely big yard, full of flowers. And a nice deck, perfect for BBQs. Denise's mom lives next door. Here are four generations of Denise's family (five are living):

We think Randy was secretly plotting to get us to leave Peter behind. He needs a new technician in the shop.

Cara and daughter Celia, plus one more who you can't see yet. S/he will make his or her appearance in another 7 months or so.

Celia was quite the task master. Got Peter to sweep up the place.

But it wasn't ALL work.

Peter even got to go for a bike ride! Now isn't that the most luxurious toddler ride you've ever seen?

Martin took him down to the garage to "help out".

Have I mentioned that we love visiting Elk Point? :-)

Oh, I almost forgot. We *finally* got Denise to fly in Martin's plane. The woman had not been in an airplane since 1978. Three years ago she made it all the way to the end of the runway, and walked all the way back. We are so thrilled that she did it this time! Yay, Denise!!!

Guest Post from Erika: Midwestern Adventure, Part One

2009-08-18T14:39:00.000-07:00

Well you already heard all about Part One (San Carlos -> Elko), so I'll just post a few photos to make you really feel like you were there (without the air sickness part).

Here is Peter, flying like a champ. See how he amuses himself? (For a full 20 seconds?) I won't post the picture of him screaming his head off because I still want you to think he is adorable all the time.

Here is Peter, overjoyed to be out of the airplane in Elko. Uncle Dave is herding.

Captured!

Later that evening, Peter enjoyed a spaghetti meal with all of his senses. And I do mean ALL. "What sound does spaghetti make when dropped from six inches above the plate?" Martin's biggest question was "Why the heck do they put spaghetti (the messiest food there is) on kids' menus anyway???" Ok, but it *is* hard to eat spaghetti with just a spoon. Give him a break.

Peter helped Martin load up the plane on Sunday morning as we prepared to fly to South Dakota. The paint job is still pretty cool. We got comments everywhere we landed, almost all positive. Example: "Did Ted Nugent influence the artist?" (from the control tower in Casper, Wyoming). My favorite though, was the negative, somewhere in very rural Wyoming, or possibly Colorado:

Surly gas guy: Well that's an *interesting* paint job you got there.
Martin: Uh, thanks?
Surly gas guy: It wouldn't exactly be *my* first choice.
Martin: Oh, really? What would your first choice be?
Surly gas guy: I think they look best painted white with a little blue stripe.

He warmed up when he saw the faux bullet holes though. Turns out he had the same ones on his truck. Bonding with the locals!

Next post (and I realize this next post will actually appear *above* this post, confusing all of you linear types out there): Home Sweet South Dakota thanks to Briggs Last Chance Garage!

Guest Post from Erika: First Leg of Travel (Elko, Nevada)

2009-08-09T07:17:00.000-07:00

Well, we flew to Elko yesterday from San Carlos and it was a pretty bumpy ride over those mountains. I learned several valuable lessons:

1) Always carry an extra barf bag (ok, what is the politically correct term? air sickness bag?) in case one has a hole in it.
2) A sleeping bag, even a wet, very smelly sleeping bag, is still warm when the cabin temperature drops to 32 degrees.
3) The person who gets motion sickness should not be the one in charge of keeping the head set on the upset wriggling toddler for 3 hours.

Doesn't flying sound glamorous? :-)

You all can extrapolate the rest. At any rate, I was never happier to see my dear Uncle Dave's smiling face when we landed. He kindly chauffered us to our hotel, and then took us out for a real Basque meal (Peter's first!). I think we were all a bit disturbed by the amount of food we were expected to eat, but managed to enjoy ourselves nonetheless with Beth and Kristen helping to keep the little guy happy and occupied until well past his bed time.

Congratulations to Jan and John Maas who have been married for 50 years, and whose big old celebration provided the occasion for this mini family reunion! I told Martin we are definitely having dancing at our 50-year wedding anniversary party. Woo hoo!

We depart in a couple of hours for South Dakota, and I have a new pre-flight checklist that includes Drammamine. Wish us luck!

More Puccini and Peter at Chez Kosina

2009-07-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

Peter the ~~baby~~ toddler has entered a new stage of development. We'll call this the Climbing Stage. Here is how it works. Erika will be in the kitchen, doing something that requires near-constant attention like toasting walnuts. (I know, I know, I've tried to tell her to stick to something simple like Egg McMuffins, but she refuses to listen). Peter, in the mean time, will be in the other end of the apartment (the playroom), doing god knows what.

Every few minutes Erika runs down the hall to see what Peter is doing. She does this more frequently when things get quiet because as all mothers know, a quiet ~~baby~~ toddler is a ~~baby~~ toddler who has found something so dangerous/interesting as to be completely absorbed for however long it takes to gravely injure himself.

Now, here comes the Italian opera. This morning it's Tosca. Appropriately dramatic and tragic for the variety of tableaux that Erika is greeted with when she peeks around the door frame:

Peter sitting innocently, *reading a book*!!!
Peter standing with both hands on the cat, fists full of fur in each hand
Peter STANDING on the dining room chair next to a large window, giggling
Peter sitting calmly on a cushion, playing with daddy's sock
Peter struggling valiantly to wiggle up onto the dining room chair, which has now been wedged between the table and the sofa to discourage mounting
Peter sitting calmly on the sofa, looking perplexed (how IN THE WORLD did he manage to climb up there???)

sigh. This is how Erika has lost so much weight. It takes her two and a half hours just to prepare breakfast, and by then it's lunch time and she's thinking "Why bother?". We really should go back to the restrictive child gates in every room, but then Peter spends all of his time trying to climb up Mommy instead of chairs and tables. Equally hard to prepare a meal with a whining toddler attached to your leg.

So when do we get to the Can't Stop Folding Laundry stage? Or, better yet, the Obsessive Kitty Petting stage? Guess we'll find out.

Pictures. Yeah, I know. Working on it.

Quick Update

2009-07-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

Didn't mean to leave y'all hanging there. In brief, here is the news of note:

1) Martin accepted the job! He will start saving the world energy (ask him, it has something to do with computers and power metrics that is beyond my tiny feline brain) in another week and a half.

2) Erika has discovered the perfect soundtrack for screaming babies: Italian Opera. Picture it: some Italian guy, wailing mournfully about his lost love and then, Peter chimes in: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! It's perfect. Now, before you call Child Protective Services again, this is the third meltdown this morning, and it is only 10:30. She has tried and tried and TRIED to pick him up, soothe him, help him stop crying, and he gives her only the universal baby sign for No Way Mom, which is both hands waving across the body like an over-eager umpire insisting that the guy was SAFE. Or is it OUT? Can't remember the last time I was at a baseball game...

3) Are the Kosinas moving to Nevada City? Who knows. Stay tuned (again). Martin wants to practice his new bicycle commute (the job is in San Francisco) and then we'll see.

4) Peter is now 12 kilograms, which for all you Americans out there, translates to Damned Heavy. Or around 27 pounds. Had to keep up with the elongation, which the doctor puts at 33 inches or 83.75 centimeters. He's a big guy. Must be all the "daddy omelettes" that Martin has been concocting for his breakfast lately.

5) And yes, Peter turned 15 months old this week and Erika has yet to post any pictures anywhere. She's been busy with, uh, making trips to the library for more Italian opera. And cooking. Oh my, has she been cooking. Chocolate raspberry clafouti anyone? Sorry, it's all gone.

6) Record high in San Francisco this week has been 58 degrees. Fahrenheit. I'm going back to my nap now until the sun comes out.

Pawlene's Perspective for the 100th Time

2009-07-10T16:20:00.001-07:00

Yes, with a ~~lot of~~ little help from Erika, and no help at all from Peter The Marauding Toddler, I am posting to this blog for the 100th time.

When this blog started two and a half years ago, we were happily living in Portland, Oregon. Peter was but a twinkle in Martin and Erika's eye, we were looking for a house to buy, and this blog was mostly about Food. My, the more some things change, the more others stay the same.

But first, the news. Here is a quick highlight of This Week's House Drama. When Erika last reported on the house we made an offer on in Grass Valley, she mentioned that Another Cat had suddenly come into the picture as part of the deal. Well, we had a little chat and Erika and Martin immediately revoked the offer. There might have been a few other factors at play, like the 20-minute commute to town, which was starting to sound really long, and the fact that the situation with the bank was getting more complicated instead of less, but still. Another cat? No way. Erika and Martin have mixed feelings about the whole thing, but feel that it really was the right decision.

However, there are a few other house options under consideration, both in Nevada City. Stay tuned...

In other late-breaking news, Martin has finally received a job offer that actually interests him. He is currently contemplating it. It sounds really cool, but we don't want to start counting those chickens yet so that's all I'm going to say about it right now.

And now for the REAL news. Allow me to quote from the thank you note that Erika and Martin received from our latest house sitters:

"I can't tell you how much we appreciated having a [blah blah blah] AND of course, the BEST cat in the world! I've had cats all my life, and have never met a more friendly and loving one."

Someone *finally* appreciates me for who I am. Not one mention of my size in that note, mind you. All about my *inner* beauty. Hmmph.

Oh, and for you photo hounds, here are the Kosinas in attendance at one of the coolest weddings ever (Congratulations, Tracy and Jason Starr!). That large boy on Martin's shoulders? Peter.

Guest Post from Erika: Real Summer

2009-07-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I must admit that I was sulking for the first few days in Nevada City. And for good reason! We came home from Europe, cleaned house and got over jet lag, unpacked our suitcases about 3/4 of the way and then just packed them back up again to come to Nevada City. Once we got up here, we SERIOUSLY cleaned house for several days, and tried to get used to finding our way around in a new town while one of Martin's close friends went through a pretty serious crisis back in the Bay Area. Not the most restful week.

However, Martin took the day off today and we went down to Mother's Beach at the South Yuba river to soak, refresh, and, well, play! And it was grand. It felt like Real Summer, the kind of summer that I remember from when I was a kid and in and out of ponds, lakes, rivers, and swimming pools all summer long. Hot, hot weather that doesn't cool off at night. Ice cream every day because it's cold and it tastes good and it is a simple pleasure. Summer is all about simple pleasures.

And speaking of simple pleasures, I realized tonight that we haven't watched a movie at home in, well, weeks. First because we were in France, then because we were too tired and busy getting ready for the next trip and now because we are having too much fun enjoying outdoor summer pleasures. Ok, well there was one night that Martin put this, um, airplane movie on...something about the romance of flying... I can't honestly say I remember much past the first 20 minutes because it was at the end of a long and exhausting day and Martin had decided to make his famous Manhattans earlier in the evening. Yes, I am becoming my mother because I can't seem to stay awake for more than the first half of a film.

But back to summer pleasures. The other day, I had Big Plans to take Peter to the park. Big Plans. I found the location of the park online, scribbled down the directions, waited for him to wake up from his nap, and commenced the diapering, dressing and shoeing of the baby. Sometimes this can be done in around 5 minutes. On a really good day. Often it can take, well, all afternoon. This was one of those afternoons. I would get one pant leg on, get the other pant leg hooked around his toe and then the first pant leg would be off. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseum. Don't even ask about the little baby shoes. One would think velcro would make things EASY. So anyway, after a time struggling to get Peter dressed in a way too hot house, I simply gave up and let him wander around in his diaper for a few minutes. And then it dawned on me. I was about to embark on a 15-minute walk in 99-degree weather to a PARK with hot metal slides. ??? I saw the light, took off his diaper, and let him play in the kiddie pool for the rest of the afternoon. He loved it. There is some kind of Zen lesson in there somewhere. Go with the flow. Whatever. The simple summer pleasure of a kiddie pool in way too hot weather trumped any other afternoon plans. And it was so easy!

My personal favorite summer pleasure is, of course, food related. And no, it's not ice cream although ice cream is frequently a party to this particular pleasure. My favorite thing to do on a hot summer night is to eat outside, preferably with good friends who love good food and good conversation. We have had four perfect summer dinner parties since arriving in Nevada City, three of them at "our" house. During my favorite one so far, we had to hunt down candles so that the conversation could continue. And then the candles melted all the way down to nubbins and I *finally* had to go inside and get a sweatshirt because the temperature dropped below 70 degrees. Heaven.

Tonight's dinner party ended early, but it was especially fun because our friends brought their wonderful boys with them, ages 4 and 7. As I was doing the dishes, listening to the shouts from the "dads and sons" volleyball game outside, I realized that THIS is what summer is about. This is what I have been missing in San Francisco. This is how I want to live, and this is how I want Peter to grow up. With appropriate space and temperature to enjoy being outside, especially in the summer.

We looked at another house that was perfectly lovely this afternoon. We are going to look at a few more on Sunday, just in case the house that we made an offer on doesn't come through or gets hung up indefinitely. Couldn't hurt. And maybe we will move in time for the simple pleasures of autumn in a small town in the mountains.

Peter is 14 months old!

2009-07-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

Two posts in one day! When it rains it pours...

For those of you following along only for the gratuitous bonus baby photos (really, Facebook just makes it too easy and I've gotten lazy about posting here), here are a few. Not only does the little guy walk now, he sweeps! Mommy is VERY happy about this new development. Oh by the way, I don't normally use "product" in his hair. These photos were taken immediately after his second hair cut at the local (read: Mexican) salon. Looks just like an altar boy, doesn't he? Or maybe Derek Zoolander...

July 1: Bloggers Against Procrastination Day (Guest Post from Erika because Pawlene is too darn lazy to type)

2009-07-01T14:12:00.000-07:00

Oh hi. I could start by listing various excuses why Pawlene hasn't posted anything in nearly two months, but that would be boring. She is a cat. She's been catching up on sleep. And adjusting to all sorts of new house sitters.

The Kosinas, on the other hand, have been traveling like crazy. And this is the first instant where I have been sitting, relaxed, in one spot, with nothing pressing hanging over my head and no baby tugging at my leg, in quite some time.

A quick summary of our travels to date:

1. A week in Esalen for a dance workshop, during which Peter became scarily ill and Child Protective Services came to take Erika away because she forgot to bring Infant Tylenol to a remote (one hour from a hospital) place with her baby. It all worked out. Erika missed out on a sweat lodge, but learned a lot from the experience. Peter made 74 new friends, all of who knew him by name 3 days into the workshop. Mostly beautiful, baby-hungry hippie women. This is why I don't let Martin take Peter off for 5-day workshops with beautiful hippie women.

2. Two weeks in France plus a week in Italy sandwiched in the middle, during which Peter was much doted upon by 3 different grandparents and various friends. Unfortunate side effect of Martin swearing to never ever fly on a commercial airline with Peter ever again. Ever. They did enjoy splashing in the lake though. I think it was both of their favorite parts. That and all the good French wine (Martin, not Peter).

3. A week and half in Nevada City, where I sit now, on the 89-degree front porch of "Auntie" Kristina's house, writing this blog entry. We put quite a bit of work into the place this time around, making hundreds of spider enemies with the vacuum, brooms, mop and dust rag. I have apologized profusely to my little arachnid friends, letting them live as often as I can, but I am on a serious one-woman mission to eradicate the annoying giant weed that looks like a walnut tree that has popped up EVERYWHERE since we last visited. Be gone, giant weed!

The status of our very own house in Grass Valley continues to creep towards certainty. We tested the internet on Monday and it appears to work. So now we wait until the bank makes up their mind on whether or not our offer is a fair price. They have until August. The current owners are packed and ready to move. They did drop a furry little bomb on us on Monday however. There is not only a resident snake that we are expected to care for, but a resident CAT. Now Pawlene is the most patient kitty in the world with little children, and she even tolerates dogs rather well, but Other Cats are another story. She hates them. All of them. With passion and fury. This particular cat lives outside, and Pawlene's primary territory is inside, so we may be able to work something out, if in fact we do come into possession of this particular house. Stay tuned.

In the mean time, I am exploring grocery stores (Briar Patch ROCKS almost as hard as New Seasons in Portland) and various toddler-friendly play places. The South Yuba river is at the top of our list, as is the Grass Valley Library. After Peter's nap today: Pioneer Park, which we can walk to from the house. Exercise, yay!

I am also eating WAY too much ice cream (a habit I picked up in Italy) and wondering how I am ever going to fit an Exercise Routine back into my life. After August. Yes, more travel in August. Our much-postponed trip to the Midwest, God (and the gods of private air travel) willing. A visit from my parents, which will allow Martin and I to escape for a night or two sans bebe. (!!!) Burning Man is high on the list, but it's hard to go for just a day or two. And then it's birthday season for the Willett family. sigh. I guess this is what summer is all about. At least I get a few moments like this, watching ants crawl on the deck and lizards sunning themselves in the driveway as I wait for the telltale wail of a baby who is Awake and ready to see his momma again.

Astrological Shift?

2009-05-11T20:57:00.001-07:00

Was there some sort of Astrological Shift that nobody told us about? My life is still pretty much the same except that I have made some progress on training Peter in how to properly pet a cat. That kid learns faster than I thought! However, Erika and Martin are just trying to hang on as they are buffeted by the winds of fate.

First, more house drama. I really should have a category on this blog just for house drama. For those of you who would rather just wait until we have actually made it through escrow on a place, skip this part.

The Kosinas (minus moi) spent a very nice weekend in Nevada City, looking at houses and enjoying their stay in "Auntie" Kristina's beautiful historic home. OK, just to side track a bit, let me explain about this home. It was built in 1885 and sits on a gorgeous 2.something acre lot two blocks from downtown Nevada City. Kristina's parents bought it in the late 1950s and lovingly modernized the whole place themselves. Sadly, Kristina's father passed away in 1963, and the house has been sitting empty since then. Empty except a grand piano in the music room, which necessitated keeping the heat on at 55 degrees until the oil ran out in 2003.

Kristina, being the extremely kind and generous person that she is, offered to let us stay there during our house hunt. The place is amazing – decorated at the height of late 50s fashion which happens to be right in style today. They kept the beautiful wood floors and antique wood burning stoves and everything is in perfect condition. The dust has built up a bit over the years, but we made ourselves quite comfortable with just a bit of vacuuming and dusting. In fact we are quite in love with the place, but Kristina's mother is not selling.

So, we went house hunting with our beloved Super Agent, Dawn Ryley. And we found yet another house that we would be quite happy to call home. Unfortunately it is another short sale, which means a world of complication and being subject to the whim of the paper pushers at the bank. But we made an offer anyway. So we'll see. I'm not even going to share any details until there is a reason to believe that we might have a chance at getting it. Ok, well one detail. It comes with a family "pet". Garbo the gopher snake. He hangs out under the blackberry bushes near the pond. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but we can probably work out some division of territory and mice if it comes to that. The place is on 5 acres, so there should be room for both of us.

In the mean time, *another* dreamy house that friends of friends are selling in Nevada City just boomeranged back into Erika's email box with a price reduction. !!! On top of all this, this astrological shift (I am convinced that is what it is because the only other possible explanation, the full moon, was *last* week.) has somehow bumped Martin's resume to the top of the pile. Recruiters are calling. And calling! In this job market! And they have some interesting openings... We are just hoping that the house stars and the job stars align all together. Stay tuned.

And speaking of staying tuned, if any of you all really were wondering what Erika did with the rest of the 13 pounds of lamb, all I can tell you is that none of it made it into my bowl. Julia Child came to the rescue. Erika fed the whole family for a week with Julia's "non-traditional moussaka". Not sure what made it non-traditional, other than Erika forgetting to put the egg in (it was still quite good!). This week: Jacques' lamb and barley stew from the Julia and Jacques cookbook. Possibly with lemon herb popovers if Erika is feeling motivated. That won't happen until later in the week, when the home-made spaghetti sauce runs out (from the Laurene Willett cookbook*).

The little guy is doing great despite the gale-force emotional winds. He still pretends that he doesn't know how to walk or stand on his own, but I've seen him take a few steps when he thinks mom isn't looking. Another tooth broke through on the bottom, so instead of "Chief Two Tooth", Erika calls him "Chief Half Tooth", soon to be "Chief Three Tooth". He is taking it all in stride. And speaking of unbearably painful torture, if anyone has ideas on how to entertain a 1-year old for 16 hours in an airplane, do send them our way. Erika and Peter depart on May 28th for a grand European adventure with the Willett (and maybe even the Kosina!) grandparents. Erika is hoping to find her happy place next week at Esalen and stay there (at least in her mind) until her parents pick her up at the train station. Yes, train. Don't even ask.

*No Andrew, there is not REALLY a Laurene Willett cookbook and I am sure you would be the first (ok well maybe the second) to know if there was one.

Guest Post from Erika: A Cautionary Tale

2009-05-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

This is a post about being smug and hubris and, well, you know where that leads. Peter and I, now on Week 3 of the "Is it Swine Flu?" Sniffles (but finally getting better, thank you very much), were having a lovely rainy Monday morning. It started off a bit rough, with Martin getting paged at a rather too early hour and handing off the baby to a still very much asleep Me. It wouldn't have been so bad, but my dear friend Lora's 40th birthday party was last night and I chose the Manhattan when I should have chosen the ice water, if you know what I mean. (House-made brandied cherries! Couldn't pass it up!)

I rallied, made it through TWO poopy diapers with a smile on my face, and, struck by a Martha Stewart moment, decided to make parmesan pea ravioli. (After washing my hands very thoroughly, of course.) This is where the smug part comes in. After a very amusing pea shelling session with Peter, in which peas made it into every corner of the playroom, we moved into the kitchen to make the ravioli filling.

Now, for those of you who have not visited our house, we have gone about child-proofing in the following way. We picked two rooms in which Peter is free to roam, child-proofed the heck out of them, and then did a sort of cursory job at making the rest of the house generally safe under adult supervision. If Peter is in either the kitchen or the playroom, we breathe a sigh of relief and let him roam freely because it really is difficult (not impossible!) for him to get into too much trouble in those rooms.

Back to the ravioli. I chopped, grated, and pureed as Peter wandered around the kitchen playing with this or that. At one point he sat down next to the back door and became engrossed in...something. I didn't pay too much attention because the kid can spend 30 minutes completely absorbed in taking things in and out of a plastic bowl.

I was feeling smug about my son's ability to amuse himself, about making ravioli from scratch, about keeping him indoors and safe from swine flu and all of the other dangers of the outside world. Then he screamed. That got my attention. I ran over to find the source of his sudden agony, and found...a BEE crawling on the kitchen floor. Peter was stung by a bee in our own darn kitchen!!!

The next 5 minutes happened really fast. I found the stinger in his tiny index finger, scraped it out with my driver's license, and Googled (sorry Martin) "bee sting treatment" as fast as I could with my free hand while Peter wailed. I tried to ice his poor throbbing finger, but he was having none of that. I escorted the poor dying bee unceremoniously out the back door. Then I waited for anaphylactic shock to set in. When it didn't, I was extremely relieved. And then, he was fine. He went back to singing to himself and pushing his high chair around the kitchen. Literally 5 minutes later.

Poor Peter. Poor bee! And poor me. I can't even protect my son from hurt and danger when he is right under my nose in my own kitchen. At least we know now that he is not allergic to bees.

On another note, I had a conversation with a very dear friend today that continues to bother me. He is planning a gathering at his house, and was concerned about mixing friends who have kids with "non-kid-positive" friends. Wait a minute. People who don't like children? What does that mean?

I completely understand not wanting your own children, or disliking badly behaved children, or finding people who talk incessantly about their children awfully boring, but not liking *children*? Who doesn't like children??? And this is the THIRD time this week that I have heard something about the animosity in the Mission between childless hipsters and older ex-hipsters who got married and had babies, battling for territory in some popular Mission district restaurant/coffee shop.

But back to those people who profess not to like children. I have seen even the most grizzly stoic people become utterly charmed by a beautiful, innocent child. I walk down the street with Peter and every single block he inspires smiles in strangers (apparently, only as long as I am not pushing a stroller into their favorite crowded gourmet coffee shop). Children are a light in this world. They are pure, unbridled joy. They are our only hope for the future. How can anyone not like children? I just don't understand. All you child haters out there, please enlighten me. Has my brain gone soft since spawning my own precious Mini-Martin?

Peter is 1 year old

2009-04-24T16:34:00.001-07:00

The baby is no longer a baby. He is a whole year old! He has tripled in weight and is 50% longer than he was when he was born. He can walk if someone is holding his hand and he is busy busy busy all day long, putting things in containers and taking them back out again. He loves to explore new things, and he loves to fling, especially ravioli. He is a great eater – he eats all kinds of vegetables, and as much of his mama's home-made bread as she will feed him. Ice cream is his favorite thing EVER.

He babbles and sings quite a bit, and I swear he has invented his own language that only he understands, but he has not uttered an English or Czech word yet. I'm pretty sure that first word will be "kitty". We're buddies like that.

Peter had a lovely birthday on Tuesday, fielding calls and opening presents from several admirers. Ok, from grandparents and other grand-relatives. Peter and Erika had lunch at the beach with Julia and little Jonah, and Peter got to play in the sand and the water in unseasonable 85-degree weather. The highlight of his day was flinging a new birthday block out of an open apartment window and watching mommy run down to retrieve it. Or maybe it was flinging the cell phone out of the open apartment window and watching mommy run REALLY FAST downstairs to retrieve it. (It was still functional.) The windows stayed closed after that, despite the heat. The grand finale was the chocolate cupcake (his first), which he ate all by himself with predictable results.

The rest of his week has not been so great, with 3 or 5 teeth pushing their way through, a terrible snotty cold, AND his one-year shots at the doctor's office, but the big birthday party is tomorrow, with all of his little toddler friends at the playground and MORE chocolate cupcakes, so we'll end his first week of being One on a good note.

Next week: Peter's First Moussaka! Or, whatever happened to the 13-pound leg of lamb that Erika roasted for Easter?

Global Warming Revisited

2009-04-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

Long-time readers of this blog may recall that we were sweltering at over 100 degrees last June here in San Francisco. Well. Today it hit 97 and it's only May! I spent most of the day on the deck, in the shade of the rusting ergometer.

Erika, on the other hand, engaged in a badly timed cooking frenzy: asparagus, goat cheese, and Goose Egg quiche (Thanks Chris!), citrus salad with anise syrup, and a middle eastern chickpea soup. And more bread from the freezer, of course. This time it was the walnut raisin, along with gifted baker Alan Gump's own sourdough whole wheat walnut (thanks Alan!).

After all that time in the kitchen, and a lovely brunch with dear friends, Erika and Peter took advantage of the heat to walk to the new ice cream place at 24th and Harrison, Humphry Slocombe. The deep Mission's answer to the yuppified (and delicious!) Bi-Rite Creamery, this place is known for their "extreme" flavors. Extremely hip that is. They take branded flavors to a whole new level, which annoys Erika, but still. The ice cream is pretty good. She and Peter shared a two-scoop single of "Surprise Breakfast" and "McAvoy Olive Oil". See, there is that branding. I mean, McAvoy makes some pretty amazing olive oil, but really she got that flavor only because it seemed to be one of the most innocuous and therefore baby friendly. Salted Licorice was not going to cut it and neither was Blue Bottle Vietnamese coffee. Strawberry candied jalapeno? No. Foie Gras ice cream? Well, maybe. Pistachio bacon was another maybe. But she also needed something to balance out that other scoop, which is a cute name for bourbon ice cream with corn flakes. Yes, she fed the baby bourbon ice cream. Call child protective services NOW.

He earned it though – that kid worked hard today. He stood all by himself today for the first time, and even took a teeny little unassisted step, showing off for guests Alan and Serena. We have invited them back for every day next week. I'm not too thrilled about the little guy getting so close to walking, because it means I won't be able to outrun him so easily. I certainly don't envy the teething though – I can hear him screaming from his crib right now as the rest of us engage in relaxing Sunday evening activities. Martin is off working on the plane and no doubt sweating like a pig. I am watching the birds in the neighbor's yard from our pleasantly breezy deck. And Erika is enjoying a glass of wine and watching the sunset (Whoops! There it goes behind the hill!), in between stints standing by the poor unhappy baby's crib and offering him ice cubes, infant tylenol, and hugs.

She is still working on the whole intuition thing, from her last guest post. It may have earned her another 5 days at Esalen. Stay tuned. In the mean time, her biggest struggle is differentiating between her inner voice and the voice of the little devil on her shoulder that represents all of her favorite sins. Sloth. Gluttony. Their voices are eerily similar.

Peter's First Hair Cut!

2009-04-09T21:20:00.001-07:00

So I had a little chat with the kid about that mop he was sporting (see "Before" picture above). It was getting pretty gross around meal times. I don't have any trouble keeping my whiskers clean when I eat, but we were all spending way too much time grooming porridge, sweet potatoes, and whatnot out of Peter's unruly locks every day.

What a difference!

Dad likes it.

Mom likes it.

It even looks good upside down.

Definitely more preppie than hippie these days. The kid looks smarter.

I'd better start studying what he's studying...

Guest Post from Erika: Following My Intuition

2009-04-08T13:23:00.000-07:00

I just returned from my annual retreat with a new program for 2009 due to an "Esalen Epiphany". You see, spring, with all of the "newness" in the air (new leaves! new buds! baby animals!), is my favorite time to turn over a new leaf in my life. My new year starts on April 1. For ten years, I have been taking some time around April 1 to take a look at what I have accomplished over the past year and set my intention for the new year. I make goals, strategies, objectives! I check in each quarter and measure my progress! Do you see now why I was a professional project manager for so long? :-)

This year is going to be different. After a wonderful, relaxing, and very centering workshop with the divine Mr. David Schiffman at Esalen, culminating in a big "aha" moment watching the mama otters play with their babies in the ocean as I soaked in the famous Esalen baths, I realized that what my life and my family need more than anything right now is just for me to be there. To show up, authentically. The lists and goals and objectives are all a distraction.

Pawlene has this down. Every day she pursues exactly what makes her happy in the moment. A few nibbles. A nap in a sunbeam. 15 minutes of steady licking on my arm until I physically remove her to another room. Whatever she feels like doing.

Now, as a mother, and a Productive Member of Society, I have a few more responsibilities than my cat. I can't just nap for 23 hours of the day. But there is a lot more that I could be doing, other than worrying and making lists and checking them off. Really, is my son going to be happier if I get the laundry done right now, or if I delay it by 20 minutes and sit on the floor to play patty cake with him? If I listen to my intuition, it is not going to scream LAUNDRY. It's going to remind me that my time with this little toddler is oh so brief. Who cares if he has to wear those funny 80s-style acid wash jeans to the park because mommy hasn't washed the cool Wranglers since last week? Not him, that's for sure.

Sometimes trusting my intuition is not so easy. Today it was whispering: "Eat chocolate chip cookies." It says that rather a lot these days. But if I take a break from my daily routine, and spend a few minutes dancing or writing or walking outside where I can get in touch with something deeper, more lasting, bigger than me...it all becomes clear. And easy. Well easier anyway. Side note: Have any of you ever tried cleaning hummus out of an 11-month-old's EYELASHES? Sheesh. Don't ask.

Peter is 11 months old!

2009-03-22T13:40:00.001-07:00

I can't believe the little guy is almost a year old. He's getting pretty annoying now that he can reach me wherever I try and sleep, but Erika and Martin seem determined to keep him around so I put up with a lot of abuse. The worst is when he pulls my belly hair. I don't let ANYONE touch my tummy.

At least I can still outrun him, although that too is about to change. He's getting really good at standing and moving along the couch and even balancing for a moment on his own two feet before he switches his grasp to the chair. sigh.

Incredibly, he is still well behaved in restaurants, or so I hear. Erika and Peter had breakfast this morning at their favorite (Al's Good Food) and the bus boy who goes by "Puerto Rico" even gave Peter a present –– his own kitty cat puppet. Might have been to make up for waitress "Mama Jeana's" bad mood. You'd be in a bad mood too if you were about to turn 80 next month and still had to deal with prima donna customers and miss church on Sundays. Her sister, who works the register, goes every Sunday to pray for her. They are celebrating Jean's birthday all April at Al's with cake and champagne –– be sure to stop by if you are in the hood...

[Unrelated note to Andrew: Have you noticed? I finally learned how to create an "m" dash on the Mac! I was cringing before, whenever I had to substitute an incorrect "n" dash (the only kind I knew how to make), knowing a New York Times copy editor was reading and shaking his head in disapproval...]

In other news, everyone in this house except me has been on an All Bread All the Time diet for the past week. Erika has been taking a really great class at the San Francisco Baking Institute. Behold:

That is just a few of the 70 loaves she baked last week. She is learning a ton by baking all that bread. Each loaf has a slightly different fermentation time, mix time, flour, pre-ferment, or additional ingredient. Something as small as the way you score the bread before putting it in the oven can have an effect on the final loaf. Fascinating stuff. She has yet to make the transition from the commercial ovens at school to the one in her kitchen at home, but promises to report back (and feed anyone who comes within 5 miles of her apartment).

We've had our hands full this weekend with sole care of the baby. Martin took a well-deserved break and flew to Nevada on Friday to camp in the desert with his buddies for a few nights. Brrrr. He'll be back Monday morning, weather willing. Until then he is subsisting on whiskey, beef jerky, and...bread.

Guest Post from Erika: On Creating Community

2009-03-03T15:12:00.000-08:00

I am having an "I miss New York" kind of day today. No reason. It's intermittently raining cats and dogs here in San Francisco, but no thunder or lightening like we would get in New York. Just feeling nostalgic.

So I started thinking about what exactly it is that I miss about the Big Apple aka Center of the Universe/Best City on Earth. These days when I start to feel all wistful inside, I always picture myself in our Greenwich Ave. apartment, up in the trees with the clock tower outside of every window. I envision walking down all five flights of stairs, through the courtyard (peeking into the tiny Indian restaurant kitchen to see what's happening there), through the front building (peeking at the "free stuff" table in the entryway to see if there is anything good), and out onto the street. For some reason in these fantasies I am always heading towards 6th Avenue, where I join the throng of humanity that is constantly circulating in Greenwich Village, and in fact in all of Manhattan.

And that is what I miss. Being part of that throng. Knowing that if I leave the house at 7am or 3pm or 11pm or 4am and walk down the street, I will be among people. People who are mostly in a big hurry to get to wherever it is they are going. Different kinds of people, depending on the hour, but if I visit one of my favorite haunts, I will likely find people that I know or people that I might like to know. My people. My community. Because people in New York City aren't isolated from each other behind glass in sealed, air-conditioned cars or even in apartments that don't make you crazy after being crammed in one for longer than a few hours. They are out, walking around on the street and interacting with each other for better or worse.

I realize now that every project that I take on or become a part of, from Break-up Boot Camp to the Black Rock City Airport, to the Babysitting Co-op that I started this past weekend, has building community at its root (and the letter "B", it appears, but that's another story). I'm not sure why I am driven to do this (Late onset of some kind of only child syndrome? More therapy obviously needed.), but it really is what drives me to do almost everything I enjoy doing.

And speaking of community, we didn't get the house in Nevada City. Which I am ok with, since I am having a pretty good time enjoying San Francisco right now. And preventing Peter from eating all of the entirely unsuitable things he finds, which just today included a CD case and the tiny bits of paper that came off it, a belt, a power source, a camera, the rubber ring from a food mill, something that may or may not have been pasta at one time, mascara, my jeans, and the cat. And that was all before noon. Toys and stuffed animals? BO-RING. Forks, wires, and kitty litter? NOW you're talking. This stay at home mom thing is a seriously full time job. Thank goodness for nap time.

Peter's First Flight in the Apache

2009-03-02T10:47:00.000-08:00

Erika and Martin had to go up to Nevada City on Saturday to check out a very promising house, and they decided it would be fun to fly. I elected to stay home on the couch (I'm not crazy about moving vehicles of any kind), but they took the kid with them. Here are some photos:

Erika parked her new car right on the tarmac! (Is it still called "tarmac", Martin?).

Just kidding. She actually parked it right behind the Apache.

Peter gave Martin the "thumbs up" after we strapped him in - definitely his father's son.

He wasn't so sure about the headset...

But then he noticed the view! The wires go to a noise-canceling device. We don't want to ruin his hearing quite yet – there will be plenty of time for that when he is a teenager. The 80s headband just keeps the headphones in place.

Flying is cool!

Flying is tiring.

Oh, and the house? It was incredible. We made an offer. But we are playing it cool. Stay tuned.

Peter is 10 months old!

2009-02-21T20:20:00.001-08:00

Well that went by fast. He went from crawling to standing and dancing in the blink of an eye. The kid loves music! Walking cannot be far behind and then...watch out. My cat food has been moved to yet another (higher) level, but the little climber is not far behind. We've had a few run-ins lately, but I've been cutting him a little slack and keeping my claws sheathed when I get serious and tell him to STOP pulling my tail/belly fur/paws/other sensitive parts. At least he hasn't discovered my cat box yet.

In other news, we are coming up on Erika's last week of work, and Jana's last week in San Francisco. Big changes ahead. We enjoyed a nice meal tonight - crockpot beef stew with Moroccan spices and cous cous, and reminiscing about Martin's wild youth. Next time you see him, ask him about how he lied to the police when he was 8 years old. :-)

Guest Post from Erika: New Addition

2009-02-10T20:52:00.000-08:00

Pawlene has been feeling a little bit under the weather lately (as in, barf all over the hallway), so I thought I'd jump in with a quick post before Peter turns TEN months old. And I have news. In spades.

First and foremost, after a year of driving around in crotchety old Maude, Martin and I finally drove up to Sonoma County this weekend to acquire a dashing young Harold. The Subaru I picked out online was hot, fast, and young - a 2007 Impreza WRX with tinted windows and leather seats. Gorgeous. I took him for a spin through the vineyards and realized...I no longer need or want to drive a turbo-charged race car, especially with a car seat in the back. This came as a complete shock to both me and my darling husband, Martin.

Luckily, there was another car on the lot that seemed to fit a lot better. A modest, but still zippy, 2005 Impreza 2.5 RS Sport wagon.

We pick her up on Thursday. Yes, Her. I so wanted a Harold, but this really feels like a chick car to me. She has "girl next door" sex appeal, but only if the girl living next to you speaks fluent Japanese and really knows how to tear up a dance floor. Hey wait, I know someone just like that. With apologies to my dear friend in Chicago, meet Sue. Sue Baru.

In other news, I resigned from my job on Friday. Yes, I know, this is probably not the most optimal time to be leaving a job. For so many reasons. But my mother in law, who has been caring for Peter for the past 6 months, is returning to Prague at the end of February, and face with the choice of either finding child care for Peter or leaving my job...Well, Peter only gets to grow up once, and I don't want to miss it. My last day is February 26.

I am still harboring fantasies of starting a new career and creating some part-time work that is more family-friendly, and to that end I have signed up for a 2-week baking course in March at the San Francisco Baking Institute, immediately followed by a weekend of soul-searching at Esalen. Yes, I have a VERY understanding husband and I know how lucky I am. And speaking of understanding, The Talk I had with my boss about leaving my job quickly morphed into a discussion about a potential new personal chef/supper club project that we want to do together. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are really awesome and that I will be so sad not to see them every day? Peter is still cuter though.

Stay tuned...

Peter is 3/4 of a year old!

2009-01-21T22:33:00.001-08:00

Well the little guy turned 9 months old today, and he has developed some disturbing new skills in the past month. He can actually CRAWL, crab-like, all the way over to me now to pull my tail. It's a milestone that I am not particularly pleased about, but his parents are certainly excited. And terrified. The baby-proofing of the apartment has begun. It's mostly stuffed wolves and pigs that currently block him from such interesting targets as the wires that connect the printer to the wall and...my cat box. I've heard rumors about gates, but haven't seen any yet. Hopefully I'll be able to jump over them. I might even lose some weight. Especially if the kid keeps stealing my cat food.

Erika and Martin celebrated by going out to dinner at their favorite restaurant, Range. The food, while always consistently good, was so amazingly good tonight, that Erika spent the whole meal just raving about it. Listen to these cocktail descriptions: Erika had the "Girasol" (Spanish for sunflower): manzanilla sherry, elderflower liqueur, and saffron cardamom bitters. Martin started with the "Stallion": beefeater gin, barolo chinato, orange curacao, bitters. Exotic. Perfectly balanced. Outstandingly delicious. Then there was dinner. And wine. And dessert! Erika ordered a coconut bavarian with basil seed gelee and tangerine sorbet. A pink lady apple and quince tart showed up as well, and not a trace of either was left at the end. This restaurant is so creative, so masterful, and simultaneously so down to earth and unpretentious. It's a rare gem.

In other news, it is raining in San Francisco, which has effectively ended Erika's stint of bicycle riding to and from work. On the 4th round trip, she even managed to make it home without ONCE taking a wrong turn. One out of eight trips...it's a start. She might even take it up again once the weather improves. What a sensory trip. The smells alone were enough to provide an entirely different experience of the city: rotting seafood in Dog Patch, a taco truck at the end of the day in the Mission, a biodiesel truck loading up at a restaurant South of Market... And the sounds...who knew how many birds live unnoticed in San Francisco? Not just pigeons!

This weekend Jana and I will have the house to ourselves again, as Erika and Martin take Peter on his first flight in the Apache, up to Nevada City for yet another house-hunting trip. He is all ready to go with a little tiny headset and teeny baby earplugs and a nice warm electric blanket. Should be interesting. Stay tuned...

Guest Post from Erika: There Goeth Pride

2009-01-12T21:11:00.000-08:00

Inspired by an article in my new favorite magazine, the 70-degree weather, and an increasing sense of guilt at being the only member of the "Green Team" at work who drives a car to work every single day (sometimes TWICE a day when Martin gives me a ride), I decided to ride my bike to work today. Well actually I decided to ride my bike to work several months ago, but today was the first day I was able to overcome the significant inertia and get on my bike and do it.

I had a million excuses not to. I couldn't find the right key to the lock, I couldn't figure out how to use my new bike pump, I hadn't really picked out a route, there was dirt on my bike, I was late...
But (after a LOT of help from Martin) I finally just jumped on the darn bike and took off in the general direction of work. It's only 4 miles - I figured I couldn't get too lost. Anyone who knows me well is laughing right now.

The ride started off a little wobbly - I haven't been on a bike since August and I haven't been on THIS bike since I lived in Portland. I ended up going the wrong way on a one way street for a few blocks, and then I had to weave my way through a homeless encampment where the drug addicts were just starting to stir and totter onto the bike path. The scariest part was threading my way between the seafood garbage truck (Pee-Yoo!) and the three MUNI buses that were heading like cows to the barn into the MUNI yard. Then I started to really enjoy myself. What an adrenaline rush!

By the time I got to work, I was feeling GREAT. Why hadn't I done this before? I was also feeling Smug. I had saved energy and money AND gotten in a little workout. Yay, me! I made my way proudly up stairs (no elevator for me today!), managed to fit "Yeah, I rode my BIKE today" into a morning greeting or two, and sat down at my desk, only to realize...my laptop was at home.

sigh.

A co-worker very kindly let me borrow her beautiful champagne-colored Mercedes wagon (a far cry from old one-eyed Maude, who recently lost a headlight to the same bozo who ripped a hole in the wing of Martin's plane). I returned home, retrieved the laptop, cooed briefly over the sleeping baby, and slunk back into work. So much for saving the environment.

On the way home after work, I followed a pack of other LED-blinking cyclists (safety in numbers!), tried a new route (and only made one complete, unintentional circle), and shaved 5 minutes off my time! I might even try it again tomorrow...

Babies!

2009-01-06T20:43:00.001-08:00

Doesn't he make a great Baby New Year? Happy 2009 everyone! Had to start off this post with a scandalously cute Peter photo, courtesy of Papy Willett, because BABIES are in the air. Erika, Martin and Jana caught a glimpse of a newborn baby elephant seal at Ano Nuevo a few weeks ago, then some baby cows (aka calves) on the drive back from Jenner this past week. In addition to the animal babies, two of Erika's friends are pregnant and getting ever closer to the big day, and another friend just adopted a new baby boy yesterday with ONE HOUR of notice. Can you imagine? I mean, she and her husband had been preparing and hoping for that day for months, but then they got a phone call and within one hour they were in the car, on the way to pick up their new baby. Erika is so excited for them that she is just tingling all over. He is going to be one fiercely loved baby. Yes, another He. Both pregnant friends are due with boys as well. Something in the water? Hmmm.

Things have returned to normal around here and I am not getting NEARLY the petting I got during the last two weeks when everyone was home. Erika is back to working 4 days a week, Martin is back to working on his plane at every opportunity, Jana is working at getting Peter to eat more solid food (Kale! Carrots! Bananas! Mashed potatoes with yogurt! Egg yolks and even...nutritional yeast!). Mmmmm. Peter is working too - his new hobby is opening cupboards and drawers. He's decided crawling is not worth the effort since our slippery hardwood floors allow him to just pull himself along on his belly with his arms. Or, if he is in a hurry, he rolls and then twists into a sitting position. So talented! If only he would apply himself to something more useful, like long-distance sleeping...

Erika has not dared to open either of the bread baking cookbooks that she received for Christmas, for fear of immediately quitting her job and completely immersing herself in learning how to bake The Perfect Loaf of Bread for the next six months. She did, however, finally find the time to read her new(ish) Chez Panisse Desserts cookbook from cover to cover, in search of inspiration for pairings for Sunday's whiskey tasting party. Butterscotch Pecan pie is on the short list.

And speaking of Christmas, Erika and Martin were delighted to discover a WHOLE BOX of Christmas presents from Uncle Dave and Beth on Monday that had been delayed in the mail. What fun! Especially because it contained no fewer than THREE containers of the most delicious real Virginia peanuts, which should go a long way in ensuring marital harmony, as neither Erika nor Martin (both only children) will have to share their container with the other. Good thinking, Dave and Beth! :-)

The Peter George Full Body Workout!

2008-12-30T14:44:00.000-08:00

Ok ladies, get ready to SWEAT!
1, 2, 3, and lift!
LIFT that 20 lb baby...
UP off the floor.
UP out of the crib!
UP out of the tub!
and UP off the floor again!
UP off the floor again!

Okaaaaaaaaaay, 1, 2, 3 and BEND!
Bend right down,
pick up that block,
pick up that cube,
pick up that elephant, now...
REPEAT!
Repeat!
Repeat!
Repeat!

Get ready, turn around and RUN!
Catch that baby before he falls over and hits his head!
CATCH that baby before he pulls the recycling bin over!
Catch that baby before he yanks Pawlene's tail again!
CATCH that baby before he eats the cat food!

Great work, ladies, keep it up and REPEAT!
Repeat!
Repeat!
Repeat, and sleep!
OK, Ready, now Lift, Bend, Catch, Repeat!
And sip that coffee! Catch! Catch! Catch! Repeat!

Ready for the big laundry lift?
Ok here we go:
Bend DOWN, get that wet sleeper off the floor!
Stand UP throw that onesie in the hamper and....
Bend DOWN pick up that tiny baby sock and
Stand UP, pull every last diaper out of the dryer,
Pull, pull, pull, PULL!
Bend DOWN pick up the hamper and RUN!
...to the nursery at the opposite end of the house!
and RUN! to the kitchen before the baby tips over the recycling bin...
and RUN back to the living room to

Pick up those toys, pick up those toys, pick up those toys!
Ready, now, REPEAT!
Repeat!
Repeat!
Repeat!

FEEL the burn!!!

Peter is 8 months old!

2008-12-26T16:43:00.000-08:00

And we made it through Christmas. Peter is still a happy, babbling baby. He notices new things now, and becomes quickly bored with all of his old toys. Cupboards full of breakable serving platters are SO much more interesting than a tired old Sophie giraffe. Not crawling yet, but that adventure is just over the horizon...

The more Peter grows, the more things stay the same. Martin is still sick. Erika will never again make a 12-layer mocha cake. It was wonderful having Erika's parents in town for too short a time.

I received a personalized L.L. Bean place mat and a purple, knit octopus for Christmas, but my favorite Christmas gift was the stuffed wolf that Uncle Bill gave to the entire Kosina family. We hang out in front of the gas fire together. More often than not these days, as the weather in San Francisco has been feeling really cold to us lately. Cold, that is, until we check out the temperatures in some of the places our friends and family live (Prague, Portland, New York, Minnesota - BRRR!).

Our biggest Christmas adventure was dinner on Christmas Eve. Erika ordered the traditional Willett feast (Dungeoness crab) from our favorite local butcher, expecting to pick up four nicely cracked crustaceans on December 24 for a quick, low-maintenance meal. Upon arriving at the (slammed) butcher store, she was told that her crabs were waiting, but they weren't cracked. In fact, they weren't even dead. Fast forward a few hours later to introducing Peter to CLAWS out on the deck, and George and Laurene Willett to the rescue. They've done this before. Without even a whimper, the crabs slipped into two nice hot tubs prepared especially for them and an hour later we had a lovely dinner.

That's about all I have right now, except a quick plug for the movie Milk. Erika and Martin saw this film about the life of Harvey Milk a few weeks ago at the Castro theater, and Erika had tears in her eyes at the end, when a PACKED 1400-seat theater stood and clapped as the credits rolled. What a life. What a film. What a place to see it. It really puts proposition 8 into perspective.

Sick

2008-12-11T09:39:00.000-08:00

My day doesn't change much when I'm sick. I sneeze a little bit, and then curl up in a warm spot until I feel better. Maybe I sleep 15 minutes more than my normal 22 hours. But for my favorite human companions, it's a little different. And since all of them seem to be suffering today to some degree, I get to observe first hand.

Peter is most similar to me. He still sits, playing with his toys and smiling away, just with the addition of a stream of snot running out of both nostrils. His tongue is out a lot more since he is breathing through his mouth, but this just makes him cuter. Same with his baby noises. "Mah mah mah" turns into "Bah bah bah" and really there's not much of a difference.

Martin is the sickest, and he has gone through the most extreme metamorphosis. Instead of striding around the house in search of his backpack, banging on and swearing at the keyboard, and chatting Peter up with a silly monologue of half Czech, half baby talk as he tosses him in the air, he is huddled in bed under the covers wearing a t-shirt, a wool sweater, and his flannel robe. Still glued to the keyboard, of course, but in a much more low-key way. He speaks softly, asking politely for a dish of potatoes with a little bit of ketchup, more tea, a glass of water. I'm sticking with him today to give him a little extra warmth and moral support.

Erika gets nostalgic when she gets sick. She remembers the days when her parents would bring her orange sherbet and 7-up in bed and allow her to watch as much TV as she liked. These days being sick is a great excuse to cut back on the "shoulds" during this busy holiday season and focus more on the things she finds relaxing, but never seems to have time to do. For instance, yesterday instead of writing thank you notes, she read magazines. And instead of wrapping Christmas presents, she went to bed at 9:15pm. Guilty pleasures.

On that same topic, Erika has just been reading about a program that started in the overachieving town of Ridgewood, New Jersey. Each Wednesday is "Ready, Set, Relax" day. This is a day on which no homework is assigned, no extra-curricular activities are attended, and no plans are made. It forces families to stay home and hang out together, and for fun to spontaneously arise. There is a similar program that takes this one step further - no electronic equipment allowed. No cell phones. No computers. No DVDs. Nothing with an "on" button. Imagine the possibilities when you are forced to actually interact with each other! Erika's new favorite quote:

"Technology...the knack of so arranging the world that we don't have to experience it." (Max Frisch, architect, 1911-91)

Now there's nothing wrong with a nice warm laptop keyboard, but a day when everyone stops typing and just focuses on petting ME? Now we're talking...

Peter is 7 months old!

2008-11-22T15:06:00.001-08:00

How can it be that SEVEN whole months have gone by since Peter was born? He is managing quite well, working very hard at rolling and scooting and otherwise locomoting himself around. Luckily he can't yet crawl, and I am fairly easily able to stay just out of reach. Erika put him on the swing for the first time -- it took some getting used to -- and brought him to the beach for the first time during one of our warmer November weekends (again, sand took some getting used to). Peter was a reluctant pilot for Halloween (vintage Red Baron style, in honor of Martin getting his plane back). I was just glad to avoid a costume. One of the office dogs that Erika works with came in as Ebi sushi (nigiri), and another one was a "fairy dogmother". Dogs. So easy to humiliate.

Things have been busy around here. I'm busy training Peter not to pull on my ears, Martin is trying to keep his job amid all the lay-off threats, Peter is learning eight different ways to avoid eating solid food, and Erika has been working so hard that her ears are vibrating. Or that might just be the massive amounts of caffeine she has been consuming in order to finish a big project at work.

Speaking of caffeine, Erika would like to expound upon the virtues of the Peet's Coffee Shop at 16th and Bryant. First of all, it's Peet's coffee, which is just plain really really good. Even better, it's officially "Holiday Time" for Peet's, which means that eggnog lattes are back. Peet's uses real, honest-to-goodness, 4000-calorie Eggnog in its lattes, which makes them unbelievably delicious and rather, um, fattening if you are keeping track of that sort of thing. Yes, I know, it's a Starbucks link, but Peet's wisely does not post nutritional information for their lattes. Last year Erika had to limit herself to one a week during the month of December. This year she has already blown the one a week rule, and it's not even Thanksgiving. But I digress.

The best thing about this particular location of Peet's coffee, is how it manages to be a perfect microcosm of San Francisco culture. On any given morning, you will encounter highway patrolmen (quite frequently), African-American/lesbian employees from the nearby vegetarian food co-op, a wide range of homeless people (Peet's serves them all with the utmost respect), yuppies like us, tattooed bike messengers, hippie mamas with babies in adorable hand-knit hats and sweaters and ergonomically correct baby wearing devices, annoying businessmen on their cell phones (very rare, luckily), aging hipsters with ginormous designer leather purses, and truly everyone in between. It's fascinating, and quite a pleasant reminder of what an interesting and diverse place San Francisco really is.

Sadly, Erika spent quite a chunk of the last month NOT in San Francisco, which is not all bad. She got to visit some of her favorite people in the whole U.S. (the Briggs family) in Omaha, Nebraska while she was on a business trip. And she and Martin and Peter (I stayed home with Jana) got to visit equally wonderful people (and look at some pretty nice houses) in Nevada City. Erika has been wanting to move to Nevada City since college and it looks like it finally could happen, if the stars align and Martin can find work that allows him to live there. Or find work period. It's pretty bleak here, folks, even in Golden Silicon Valley. The economy is HURTING.

But today, life is good. We are all doing what we love. I am napping in a sunny spot on the flannel comforter. Peter is babbling and playing with a toy after attending his very first birthday party (for his one-year old buddy Liam). Martin is getting covered in grease with two of *his* buddies, getting the plane ready for her annual inspection. Jana is out exploring and discovering the weeds of San Francisco, taking a much-needed break from her nanny duties. And Erika is relaxing after a stroll through the neighborhood where she ran into no fewer than three different friends, feeling at home in San Francisco and at peace with the world as she watches her beautiful 7-month-old baby crack himself up and dissolve into the most adorable baby giggles.

Peter is 6 months old!

2008-10-26T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well it's been a quiet week in...oh wait, that is a whole different blog. It was a quiet week though. The biggest change in my life was that Jana, in an effort to get a bit more comfortable on the sofa bed, converted my bed back to the sofa. So now I get to sleep all day in my favorite position again, head upon the purple velvet pillows.

Peter had a big week - he turned 6 months old. Here he is, looking like the hippie child that he is destined to become.

Yes, he still looks exactly like Martin. At least he has a Willett appetite for good food. He tried solid food for the first time this week (rice cereal) and LOVED it! More! More! Stay tuned for avocados next week...

Erika decided to celebrate the Week of the Pig and ate pork for lunch three days straight. Starting with the barbecued pig and mango salad at the local Thai place (Koh Samui and the Monkey), followed by the "Hot and Wild Pig Sandwich" at the Brick House Cafe, finishing with the Pig Salad at The South Park Cafe. The South Park Cafe blew away the competition, as usual. She is attempting to barbecue her own pig tonight, after coming down from Saturday's baking frenzy: one loaf of lemon rosemary bread baked in grandma's cloche (delicious), one loaf of whole wheat sourdough (still not rising properly), several batches of toasted pumpkin seeds (we carved jack o lanterns on Saturday night) and one big batch of Snickerdoodle cookies (YUM).

Ah, Fall. Though it hasn't felt much like a traditional Autumn lately, with 85-degree weather here in San Francisco. Erika had to swap out hot mulled apple cider for lemonade as an accompaniment to the Snickerdoodles at the last minute. She's back to Manhattans tonight, which are delicious in any weather. Maybe if I'm lucky they will leave the almost-empty glasses on the coffee table again...

Peter Plays the Field

2008-10-13T22:10:00.000-07:00

Rumors are swirling around Baby About Town Peter George as he was spotted this week with TWO different lovely ladies! Strolling around Lake Merritt with "Lulu" and picnicking in Sonoma county with "Ella", Peter looked like he was having a fine time in female company.

Guest Post from Erika: Autumn Trumps Summer

2008-10-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

It used to be that autumn was my least favorite season, mostly because it meant the end of warm summer weather and going back to school. I've realized recently that for several years now I've been looking forward to autumn more than I've been looking forward to summer.

There are two main reasons why summer has fallen out of favor with me. One, I live in San Francisco where summer is cold and miserable and fall is warm and beautiful (the temperature has been in the 70s all week). Two, I don't get to take the whole summer off from work like I used to take off from school.

Fall, on the other hand, seems to have more and more going for it every year, especially living in the Bay Area. Fleet Week is in October. It's this weekend, actually, and the Blue Angels have been buzzing our house for the past two afternoons as they practice. They got close enough on Thursday that Martin could actually smell the jet fuel. Thrilling for us, a little frightening I think for my mother in law, whose native country has been invaded by foreign armies twice in her lifetime.

Apple Hill is in full swing this time of year, and I have many sweet memories of trekking up there to collect apples and my once-yearly dose of apple pie. Burning Man's Decompression party is traditionally held in October, and we always enjoy re-living our Burning Man experience there, and seeing playa friends who didn't make it in August. Halloween is even starting to hold a little more appeal for me, now that I have a Baby to dress up as something cute and/or humiliating (yes, Dad, I still remember the Chicken costume from when I was five). I do always look forward to one aspect of Halloween -- carving jack o lanterns and toasting the pumpkin seeds. And then there is the Dia de los Muertos parade a few days after Halloween, which passes just blocks from our house. I have always felt more at home with this family-centered ritual of honoring and feasting with dead ancestors than with the negative energy and scariness of Halloween.

All in all, I have so much to look forward to in the fall these days, it might just be my new favorite season. Until egg nog lattes come back in December.

Guest Post from Erika in Boston

2008-10-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, Erika is in exotic Boston, Massachusetts for training (work stuff), spending time away from Peter for the first time ever. And actually, after an initial hunger strike scare, I think we are all doing just fine. In fact, (she says, with only a slight twinge of guilt), I'm actually managing to enjoy myself. Does that make me a bad mother? Sure, I miss Peter, and must content myself with phone calls every few hours and e-mailed pictures of Peter banging away on Martin's computer. But it is only for four days, and it's sort of nice, not having to worry about the baby every second because I am three thousand miles away and there is Nothing I Can Do About It. Martin and Jana are troopers, taking on the responsibility, but they make a great team and I have the utmost faith in both of them. For four days anyway. ;-)

It helps that I have somehow ended up in an Executive Level King-sized Suite with a view of the Charles River out my window. I awoke this morning to see the river filled with rowers - single scullers, pairs, fours, even a few eights. It was so inspirational that I bounced out of bed at a truly ungodly jetlagged hour and (after pumping - no rest for the mothers) decided to go for a walk along the river. The walk actually turned into my first jog in over a year, and it felt pretty good!

Part of what inspired me was seeing so many people running, jogging, biking, and rowing along the river. Except for the traffic, it's a lovely place to exercise. The trees are still mostly green with a tinge of orange on some of them. A few early adopters have already gone completely red/yellow/orange to prove that Fall really is on its way, but you wouldn't know it from the balmy weather. At least 3/4 of the folks I saw were wearing Harvard maroon, and I wondered if anyone confused me with a Princetonite in my unfortunate color combination choice of neon orange and purple (I couldn't find my BLACK polypropelene top when I was packing).

The river is lined with the most incredible, dignified and elaborately designed boathouses. The first time I saw them was back in 1992, when I came to Boston to race in the Head of the Charles Regatta. I came from the West Coast, where most people have never heard of "crew" and we rowed out of a converted horse stable on a "lake" that we shared with giant United States Navy ships. Radcliffe was kind enough to let us borrow a boat and some oars. We repaid them by beating them soundly and then asking for the shirts off their backs, which they refused (but that is another story). We were in awe of Radcliffe's boat house. It looked like some sort of chateau to us West Coasters with its beautiful windows and fire place, and the history behind it was palpable. I realized then that rowing was an entirely different sport on the East coast, with a different set of social rules. Kind of a reflection of the general differences between East and West Coast culture.

My days as a lightweight rower (under 130 lbs) are FAR behind me, and I intend to spend this trip to Boston eating at the best and most interesting restaurants that I can afford. I started last night with cocktails at the Eastern Standard. The food is good, but nothing special. I go here for the exquisite cocktails. The bartender started me out with a "Red Hook", which is a variation on a Manhattan that uses rye whiskey instead of bourbon. The best part was the house-made maraschino cherry. To die for. This was followed by a small sample of a "Metamorphosis", which is the best use of Becherovka (a ubiquitous Czech liqueur) that I have found. Finally, that same bartender insisted that I sip on a "Vieux Carre" to accompany my New Orleans style beignets for dessert. Not bad at all.

Tonight I was no longer in a cocktail mood, so I headed to "EVOO", which stands for "Extra Virgin Olive Oil". Kind of a dumb name for a restaurant, and the place lacked atmosphere, but the food was excellent and creative, especially the Seared Gloucester Day Boat Sea Scallops with Corn Pudding, Tomatoes, Arugula and Vanilla - Nasturtium Chimichurri. For dessert I enjoyed a goat cheese panna cotta with spiced plums at the recommendation of the chef, who happened to be sitting next to me. It was delicate and beautiful, and the waiter left me with an entire list of restaurants that I need to decide between for my last night in Boston (tomorrow evening). I still miss Peter and Martin too, but Hey, when life hands you lemons...you might as well make some tasty lemonade.

Al's Good Food and BiPolar Waitress

2008-09-20T10:17:00.001-07:00

After a week of Cambodian, Indian, Mexican, and Thai food, it was time for a good old all-American breakfast. And so we went to our favorite breakfast place, "Al's Good Food". Except for the spectacular fresh-squeezed orange juice, the food is not anything special (standard diner fare). But the atmosphere is unique, mostly because of one waitress, Bobby. She has blazing red hair and the stereotypical attitude that comes with red heads. She must have worked at Al's for at least 60 years. Probably more. Her sister works at the cash register.

The first time we visited she was downright rude to us. We swore we'd never go back, but somehow found ourselves there a few weeks later (It's a block from our house and there is never ever a wait). The second time she was all "honey" and "sweetie" and "doll" with us while taking our order. We have come to recognize the violently sliding scale of her moods. Martin attributes it to whether or not she has taken her meds on a given morning. Sometimes she will grouch and bark at us and pretend like she has never heard of "sunny side up" eggs. Other times she will bless Peter and give us both a free extra helping of eggs. It's restaurant roulette, and it has become our regular weekend entertainment. The bus boys, who all look like they just got out of prison, call her "ma" and run to do her bidding. This morning was special because "Al" himself graced our table with his presence, to flirt with Jana. It was a sight to see.

In the mean time, I have found a new way to get attention. I have cleverly removed my collar and hidden it somewhere in the house. It is driving Erika crazy because she can't find it anywhere. Heh heh.

Today is a special day because it is Papi George's Birthday! Happy Birthday Dad! He celebrated by eating an incredible lunch at a one-star restaurant. When Erika called to wish him happy birthday, he was taking a break and getting ready for the next meal (aperatifs). Such is life in the south of France...

Summer is Over

2008-09-18T15:58:00.000-07:00

Well, things are finally getting back to normal in our little family. Normal, that is, relative to Erika and Peter being in France and Martin enjoying a second bachelorhood in San Francisco. Summer in San Francisco is officially over, which means that we have lovely weather here. I've enjoyed lazing around in the sun on the deck, and I've enjoyed lazing around on my new people-sized bed even more. I have to share it with our new house guest, Martin's mother Jana, but I don't mind. At least I will have someone to nap with during the day now that Erika is going back to work.

Yes, we are making our changes in true Kosina family style, which is to say everything all at once. Erika will celebrate her last thirty-somethingth birthday on Monday by returning to work at her old dream job. Motherhood was such an easy transition, it will be interesting to see how she balances her old responsibilities with her new role. Martin's mother Jana has generously volunteered to watch Peter while Erika and Martin are at work, which is a new role for her as well. Martin will stay in his current role of primary breadwinner and occasional pilot, and I have grudgingly accepted my new position of second fiddle to Mr. Peter. We have even started to interact a bit when I try to share his play mat. Erika is teaching him the word "gentle" so that I can keep both of my ears (Peter is at the grabby stage). And Peter - Peter will be 5 months old on Sunday! Behold:

That's a fancy French outfit you see there. French men are not afraid of color.

Guest Post from Erika: Scorpions and Bats and Cigales, Oh My!

2008-08-28T08:04:00.000-07:00

Our hardy in-laws certainly endured their fair share of country creatures during their stay. One night they had a bat making circles over their bed. A day later, a baby scorpion appeared in their bath tub. Peter and I have been fighting off the mosquitos, who have discovered a new delicacy...American Baby Flesh. My mother is mounting her own personal war against the ants. But there is one bug that the French would never want to exterminate - the Cigale. It is a large, striped beetle that makes a distinctive noise. Smart little insect, it only sings when the weather is nice and warm. And so it defines summer for many locals, including my parents. People hang little "Cigale" sculptures on the outside of their houses and it is even is depicted on those quintessential southern French tablecloths. Now how many bugs can brag about that kind of cult adoration?

Personally I am more fond of a different kind of resident of Clermont L'Herault, also recently discovered. The dashing male octogenarian. There are some fabulous role models here for living well after 80. One man hangs out in the local cafe, acting as a sort of social mayor, greeting all who enter. He is always dressed to the nines, carries a beautifully carved wooden walking stick, and charmed me immediately by admiring Peter and calling him a little "poulet" (chicken).

My favorite by far though, is my parents' neighbor. We were recently invited to their house for "aperatifs" (supposedly before-dinner drinks and appetizers, but I seem to have enjoyed a full-blown meal every time I've been invited). He appeared wearing an ascot, and pulling it off *beautifully*. He then proceeded to give us a tour of the garden that he has been tending since 1970. It takes up 4 or 5 terraced plots. You cannot imagine the incredible bounty. Rumor has it he spends four hours every morning working in the garden - in the nude. He and his equally fabulous wife should be an inspiration to any married couple. They sing together as they work, and still hold hands after who knows how many years of being married.

Spending a month here has given me great insight into the French lifestyle and why my parents love it so much. So much, that not even a GRANDSON can convince them to leave! Last night we attended an art opening for one of their English friends. I met so many interesting expatriates from such a wide variety of backgrounds and livelihoods. This morning my father and I rode bicycles through the vineyards and several charming villages. There are a hundred different routes of rolling hills and pleasant scenery to choose from. We cooled off by jumping in the pool, and then visited the neighbors across the street for aperatifs, which consisted of no fewer than FOUR homemade tarts plus other snacks and THREE home made desserts. All created before lunch. The cafe society is lovely - if my parents are ever feeling a bit social, they just walk down to the cafe for a cup of coffee, and run into at least three different friends who all just seem to be wandering by. So there is all this intellectual, physical, and social stimulation, and I haven't even started to describe the food and wine. All this at a nice slow pace. Nothing is rushed. Everything is enjoyed. Why would they ever want to leave?

Guest Post from Erika: Summer Weather

2008-08-22T01:38:00.000-07:00

One of the things I miss most about the East Coast is the weather, especially during the summer. Turns out, Clermont L'Herault, where my parents live, has similar weather! We have enjoyed eating out on the terrace during some lovely warm summer evenings, and today we are listening to thunderstorms roll over us. So much for that bike ride... Dad and I did get out on the lake yesterday for a brief row, when the weather was better. It took me several minutes to progress from terrified of flipping the single, to confident enough to take a stroke or two. Unfortunately from there I went directly to over confident, which caused the boat to tip violently towards one side, and immediately sent me back to my original state of terrified.

In other news, Peter George turned 4 months old yesterday!

He is more and more fun every day. He makes all kinds of new noises, smiles whenever anyone smiles at him (including strangers in the market place), and has achieved a new milestone - grabbing his toes, which is now a favorite past time when he is alone on his play mat. We took him into the pool yesterday, and after a period of adjusting to what must be a very strange new sensation, he had a GREAT time flapping his arms and legs and splashing the water. He is an amazingly adaptable little person.

Guest Post from Erika: Dieting in France

2008-08-19T02:57:00.000-07:00

Ha! Whose bright idea was it, to try and lose weight in France? Every day seems to be a special occasion here, especially with our recent visitors, Peter's Kosina grandparents. I have not been able to stick to the two glasses of wine per day rule even ONCE! First there is lunch, with all sorts of regional cheeses that beg for a nice rose if the weather is warm, a lovely nuanced red if it is cloudy. And then, in the evening, we have aperatifs before dinner. Usually a nice kir unless dad is making cocktails... And then dinner itself - it would be a crime to skip wine for dinner, especially with what my mom has been cooking up. Blanquette de veau, marinated barbequed pork, grilled dourade...

The other obvious option to skip would be dessert. You must be crazy if you think I'm going to pass up homemade shortcake with peaches macerated in sweet wine or molten chocolate cake with raspberries and creme fraiche. Ok, so maybe the gigantic Belle Helene sundae that my very sweet father in law bought for me yesterday was overkill. I don't eat like this every meal of course. There are days when we have only melon or a few cookies for dessert, or just a tiny dish of chocolate ice cream.

So, you say, I must be exercising every day to counteract this kind of diet! Does watching the Olympics count? :-)

Despite all of this, I seem to have lost SEVEN pounds. Which makes me think that the scale here, even when translated from kilos, is a bit off. The only thing is...Peter has GAINED two pounds. The scale can't be off both ways. And so, I will continue my French "diet"...Profitez!, say the French. Enjoy life while you can.