Twenty Pounds of Asparagus

Jun3

I’ve heard it said that you have to try something at least ten times before you can truly decide if you like it. Therefore, as parents, we should just continue to offer new foods to our kids and eventually, after trying it enough, they may like it.

I’m not buying it.

In my experience, kids predetermine if they like things based on color, texture, smell and what their siblings say. It doesn’t matter how many times they try it, if it’s green, or slimy or the older sister says it’s gross, nobody likes it. Case in point, asparagus.

John is a huge asparagus fan. So much so that when road construction started on his asparagus guy’s road, making it inconvenient to drive by and see if he had any available, John stopped in and got his phone number. Now we can call ahead for all our asparagus needs.

John also is the kind of person who will buy much more of something than he was planning on because it’s such a good deal. Marketers must love him. So I was shocked but not surprised when he called me in great excitement to tell me he bought twenty pounds of asparagus.

Yes, I said twenty.

It was a good deal.

I had been out of town for the weekend and was happy to see that by the time I returned home we were merely left with about ten pounds. That giant bag only took up one shelf of the spare fridge.

In the last week, we’ve had grilled asparagus, and broiled asparagus, and asparagus pasta skillets, and asparagus pizza and asparagus soup. If cooking was happening the asparagus was in it.

Now, when it comes to the kid eating it, even my pathetic math can figure that with twenty pounds of asparagus, the kids would have to try a bit once every two pounds that crossed the table to make it to the mythical “ten tries”. And that’s assuming that they had never tried it before, which of course they have because John has the asparagus guy’s name and number taped to the fridge. Every meal the kids would dutifully try it, reject it, and painstakingly pick it out of the rest of their food. Every day I found myself feeding piles of asparagus shinnbles to my chickens.

Ten tries, my assparagus!

My chickens should work on upping egg production this week. After all John could use a little thank you for the five pounds of nice fresh asparagus he bought them!

A Difference of Opinion

Jun1

I was visiting my grandparents and it was hot.

Eighty degrees hot.

For those of you who don’t think that sounds hot, I will hazard a guess that you didn’t just come off a winter whose temps dipped to -40, (yes that’s Fahrenheit) followed by a cold, late spring. Let me just tell you, us Wisconsinites hit 50 and pulled out shorts and tank tops because it was so nice. We aren’t yet acclimated to hot. And the 80 degree, still, humid weather was airless and hot.

So, on such a nice, warm evening Aunt Carol thought Grandma would like to go for a ride on the four-wheel “mule.”

Concerned about the evening turning chilly, Grandma was all for bundling up to go out. (Please remember the -40 winter and late spring!) Carol was able to convince her to merely bring along her knit hat rather than wear it and so as we loaded up and headed out into the field, it was sitting on the seat between them close at hand.

Slowly cruising through the hay field, we watched the bobolinks fly up off their nests and then float back down. We occasionally stopped to pull patches of blooming yellow rocket out of the green field. We headed into the woods to admire all the wildflowers and, we sweated.

We sweated in that way that happens when it’s so humid that it seems to be impossible to muster a drip of sweat. Instead skin turns unreasonably sticky. The air was too damp to allow even another drop of moisture to evaporate off your skin, bringing it’s cooling relief.

But, it was a beautiful night, the company was wonderful and the bit of a breeze as we moved along was a welcome relief. I sat, took a few pictures and tried to ignore the stickiness of the evening. Soon I heard Grandma’s voice float back to me:

“You were right, it is quite mild.”

Now, I believe that one should treat the matriarch of the family with respect, even if their opinion differs from yours. Not to mention disagreeing with the woman who raised eight children is bound to be a losing proposition (just ask my dad how that turns out.) But love and respect aside, my hair was curling, my legs were stuck to the inside of my jeans and I just couldn’t stop myself from hollering back,

“HOT grandma, it’s called HOT!”

Ivy’s Favorites at Seven Years Old

May29

Ivy, what’s your favorite…

Color – Blue (So, let me tell you a little story. There was a week or two of school where all the kids were encouraged to dress a different color every day. And every day Ivy insisted that she had nothing green to wear or that all her red clothes were dirty or that she didn’t like brown. Until pink day. Pink day she was all pink. According to John when he asked about her sudden enthusiasm for color day she said, “I can out pink anybody!” But that was then, we are into blue now. Apparently. )

Animal – Dolphins and manatees. (That’s news to me as well. Good thing I ask these questions, already I’ve learned so much!)

Food – Pizza

Clothes – Dresses

Dog – Trip

Cat – Cassie (It’s mutual. Cassie goes and sleeps on her bed even on the nights Ivy doesn’t track her down and lock her in her bedroom,)

Person – You

Thing to do – Play with Natalie and Sarah. (Sarah is Natalie’s mom. And sorry Sarah, I don’t actually think she wants to play with you. This is just her way of differentiating her friends named Natalie)

Thing to do outside – Play on the rope swing (The rope swing is very popular around here!)

Chore – I don’t have one. (Oh so true!)

Time of day – Night

Place to go – Water park

Song – Let it Go (Please could someone convince her you only sing “Let it go” twice in the chorus not three times!)

Flower – Rose

Farm Animal – Horses

Thing about school – Recess

Friend – Lucy

Movie – Frozen (Our friend told us Frozen is like crack for kids, I think he’s right.)

Thing to do with Clara – Play baby and mamma. (The game that will not die.)

Thing to do with Jane – Take a bath. (That’s funny because every time she takes a bath and Jane wants to get in with her she freaks out and says she hates taking baths with Jane.)

Thing to do with Dad – Work in the workshop.

Thing to do with Me – Have you read to me.

Book – Pee Wee Scout

Meal – Dinner, because we can have dessert. (Yeah!)

Thing to do in the car – Play with magnet books. (I agree magnet books are a fantastic toy to bring out on long car rides.)

What do you want to do when you grown up? Be a diver in the Olympics. (I’m already cringing waiting to hear what John has to say about that!)

Anything else? –”I love you Natalie!” (Awww!)

That’s it, the final installment of “What’s your favorite…” until next year! If a year is too long to wait you can entertain yourself with Ivy’s previous favorite things:

Ivy’s Favorites at Six Years Old

Ivy’s Favorite Things at Five Years Old

Ivy’s Favorite Things

Edwina The Dinosaur Who Didn’t Know She Was Extinct by Mo Willems

May28

Say it with me now, Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie.

Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie!

Best.

Name.

Ever.

Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie

Would I recommend it? Yes, there is much in this book to love beyond Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie’s name not the least of which is the fact that Edwina reminds me of my own favorite dino, Rarasaur.

…Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie…

… makes me smile every time…

…Reginald Von Hoobie Doobie…

A Babysitting Adventure

May27

Jane, Clara and I packed in a whirlwind of activity for a last minute babysitting adventure for my nephew Jonas. We headed down the driveway as I double checked that we had all the important stuff.

Two kids? Check (Ivy and John had to stay home and go to school and work.)

The blankets? Check

Wallet? Check

Necessities accounted for, I turned to the back seat and my babysitting assistants…

Me:”Ok girls, are you ready for an adventure!?”

Clara: “Yeah it’s going to be excellent!”

Me: “Oh yeah? How come?”

Clara: “Because Ivy’s not coming so she can’t hit me and Jane is too far away so she can’t hit me either!!!”

And she was right, it was pretty excellent.

The climber!

A full load!

Dog handler in training

All smiles!

The queen surveys a new territory.

Isn’t he cute?

“old” plants

Jonas, being the ridiculously smiley, happy, and quiet baby that he is, was a pretty easy going customer even if he did make my two girls seem like crazy, loud hooligans in comparison.

I can’t wait for him to start talking and running, I suspect that there is a whole lot of noise and trouble just waiting to come out.

And if not, well, we can always babysit again and my girls can teach him how it’s done!

This Moment: Loud!

May23

A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.

A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you’re inspired to do the same, leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see. Inspired by SouleMama.

Dreaming Daffodils

May22

The wonderful bit of writing that follows was left as a comment in my recent #rawrlove post by my aunt Helen.

A read it and re-read it and then asked for permission to give it the entire post it deserves.

May 2, 2014

The rain keeps coming; the ground is cold and muddy, the air still cold.

I am dreaming daffodils

Digging in the ditch, dreaming a parade of dancing yellow daffodils,

I see them spreading their happy sunshine from our driveway to the corner two-thirds a mile on down the road

Contentedly I pried bunches of bulbs off the crowded clumps in my garden

The shovel made a wet, squishy, slurp as a section of bulbs tore with a crunch from the other bulbs
Water rushed into the hole

I was soon muddy, my red wheelbarrow soon full; the heavy, wet dirt on the clumps of bulbs made them stand upright in my wheelbarrow, like punching dummies with weighted bottoms

Each day the bright new leaves of the daffodils have been taller, my wheelbarrow loads greener and greener

Each day I have a longer trip down the road to ground yet undecorated by daffodils

A neighbor on a tractor tows his manure spreader to a field down around the corner; he raises an arm in a wide friendly wave

Does he wonder what I could possibly be doing, day after day, here in this wet, weedy ditch, with my shovel?

Digging in the ditch, dreaming a parade of dazzling, dancing daffodilsThank you Helen, until Jenny and I manage to convince you to start your own blog you are welcome to post on mine anytime!

Round Ireland With a Fridge by Tony Hawks

May21

Prologue

“I’m not, by nature, a betting man. However, the pages that follow in this book do not bear testimony to that. In fact they exist wholly as the result of a bet.

I’m not, by nature, a drinking man. However, the making of the bet which led to this book does not bear testimony to that. Because I made it when I was pissed.

Everything you read from this moment forth is a tribute to what can be achieved as a result of a shabby night of booze.”

The prologue above made me snort.

The next pages made me smile and soon I was laughing so hard I couldn’t see to read what came next.

The rest of my book club thought it was fun and amusing, but gave me a bit of an odd look when I told them how hard I laughed.

Would I recommend it? I would. When responses range from fun to hilarious what do you have to lose?

It Was Time For The Roosters To Go

May20

Recently I posted about having too many roosters. Today I wanted to elaborate a bit on that part between having too many roosters and new package’s in the freezer.

Bare with me it won’t be as bad as it sounds.

…it was time for all the roosters to go.

And so, in an activity not usually reserved for Easter weekend, John and I butchered the extra roosters while the girls watched. The kids said goodbye to the pretty ones and pointed out the mean one that should go first. They drifted in and out, asked questions, refused my offer to share in the plucking and before it was all cleaned up they even learned a bit about hearts and intestines, lungs and gizzards.

We have been butchering our own chickens (and deer and an occasional turkey, duck or lamb) ourselves for their entire lives and so I didn’t have any concerns with the older girls, they’d been through this all before. But this was Jane’s first chicken butchering experience that she was old enough to really take in so I kept a bit of a closer watch on her. Perched on a stool through much of the process she gave a few birds one last pet before I handed them off to John and his axe. She asked a few questions, played with a few feathers and eventually left to play with Ivy who had declared the whole process, “Boring.” Perhaps it was because she was introduced to the scene at the tender age of two or perhaps it was because the rest of the family was unfazed but Jane seemed to take it all in stride.

A few nights later Jane was having a bit of trouble settling down to sleep. And by that I mean she was popping out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box every 45 seconds with a new ridiculous request. Having exhausted my entire line up of lets-go-to-sleep-now tricks I tried to give her a little pep talk about everyone who was sleeping.Your sisters are sleeping, the dogs are sleeping, the cats are sleeping…

Me: “…The chickens are sleeping, they are good chickens. I said “night ladies” and closed the door and they aren’t going to get up they are just going to sleep in their coop all night.” (Yes, I know, look who’s being ridiculous now. It was ridiculous sounding and ridiculous to think it would work – which it didn’t. Clearly I was desperate!)

Jane: “Then why Dad knock them?” (I’m sure you can see where this is going but it took me a bit.)

Me: “Knock them?”

Jane: “Yeah, why Dad knock them?”

Me: “What do you mean?” (A long day, it had been a very long day.)

Jane: “On the table with a knife.”

Me: “Ooooohhhhh! When Dad killed the roosters?”(Now that I’ve finally caught on I’ve immediately started to worry that perhaps she was not as okay with the process as I thought.)

Jane: “Yeah.”

Me: “They were naughty roosters.”(I’m still grasping at straws as well as panicking thinking that not only have I traumatized her with chicken butchering but now she’s never going to go to sleep! What have I done?!?)

Jane: “Cause they were peckin’ me?”

Me: “Yup.”

Jane: “Those naughty roosters soup?”

Me: “You got it!”

Jane: “Okay.” (Phew!)

Jane happy with her answer curled up under her blankets and stayed there for three minutes before she came downstairs with a new problem.

I’m starting to despair that my two year old will ever learn to stay in her bed and go to sleep but I’m proud to say she knows just where her soup comes from.

The Queen

May19

She’s two, that littlest girl of mine. Jane by pond

Two, an age with a name all it’s own, and it’s not a good one.

It should have been no surprise to me.

It should have been no surprise when as I was tucking each girl in last night, giving and receiving hugs and kisses, that when it was her turn she held out her hand.

She held out her hand at arms length, palm down, fingers aimed toward the floor.

She held out her hand to be kissed as though she were the tyrant queen of the household.

Two, an age where you can be the tyrant queen and your subjects still will adoringly kiss your hand before bed.