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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Guest Post from Erika: A Cautionary Tale
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?
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?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Peter is 1 year old
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?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Global Warming Revisited
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.
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.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Peter's First Hair Cut!
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...
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Guest Post from Erika: Following My Intuition
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.
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.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Peter is 11 months old!
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.
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