I Wanna Be Sedated

"Twenty Twenty Twenty-Four hours to go!  I want to be sedated!  Nothing to do nowhere to go-o.  I want to be sedated.  Can't control my fingers I can't control my brain..."

Seriously.  Theme song for the day.

This morning we closed with a few little moments of drama and a whole lot of excitement.  Now we just have to sit and wait to take possession of our new house sometime tomorrow afternoon.  I seriously wish that I could just take a sedative and fall asleep until around 5 tomorrow.

I am absolutely buzzing with excitement.  It's almost too much.  But, here's to a glass of wine and a long, deep breath.  The fun is about to begin!!

The Paper Trail

I sat cross-legged in my downstairs office a couple of weeks ago knowing it would and should be the first room to pack.  Since I started my full-time job last September and then we were gifted an iPad by my husband's employer last Christmas, we just don't use it much.  I looked at the piles of papers and books and wondered A) where on earth I should start and B) where the heck did all this crap came from.

I knew the answer, of course, this is the one place I can not blame the clutter on the kids, and the few random sheets with my husband's microscopic typewriter scrawl hardly counted as a pittance.  It was me.  It is me.  I make the piles and the stacks towering from one shelf to the next.  You could stand in the room and slowly turn and see books on everything from gardening to child birth, magazines and catalogs that have been dog-eared within an inch of their lives and scraps of fabric mixed with piles of marketing materials.  This is my haven.  This is where my sickness lies.

I think it started in middle school.  I would buy every last magazine - from Teen Beat to Vogue - and tear out ads and spreads that really "moved" me.  I would tape up pictures of my dearest celeb crushes next to reproductions of paintings and a cute swimsuit for summer.  Looking back, it seems I have been making inspiration boards my whole post-Crayola and Barbie Doll life.

But, now, in my near-manic state of purge and cleanse, I was faced with a monumental decision, "Do I keep my precious inspiration?  Or do I suck it up and recycle?"

Enter my 2 new best "virtual" friends: Pinterest and Evernote.

Let me start with Pinterest.  I was turned on to this site by my darling friend, Brad, and I was so excited.  This is an amazing tool for a picture hoarder like me (and even more so, Brad).  Essentially, once you sign up for an account, you move a little "Pin It" button into you Bookmarks Bar at the top of your browser.  Every time you see an image that you like, you click the button and add it to one of your pin boards.  You can have any number of boards, so you can organize things by theme.  It's awesome.  This little tool has saved me lots of ink and paper, as I would usually printout groovy images so I could save them "forever".  Now, I just "pin" them up, and I have them in a single spot for not only my reference, but anyone else who happens upon them.  You can look at mine here.  Each pin you post must be described, and within that description, you can enter @mentions, URLs, #tags and prices.  It's pretty sweet.  Then other people can "like" your pins or even re-pin them to their own boards.

There is just one shortfall that I can see.  You can't pin up entire articles, just the image within.  So, what's a girl to do?  I am nothing without my myriad articles about backyard chicken coops and how to make your own wallpaper!

But, never fear, that's where Evernote steps in.  This one has a lovely little bookmark bar button too.  And you can clip entire articles, bits of text, just URLs... really, whatever you need to save!  But, even more, it has a desktop application that allows you to write yourself notes, lists, reminders, ideas, whatever!  The notebooks are not universally accessible, but you can share them out on Facebook, email or via link.

These two applications combined are exactly what I need to let go of all my half-written in journals and Post-it flagged mags.  I am so happy.  I don't have to try and change who I am and what I need to get through my day - namely, a constant stream of ideas and creative inspiration.  And I can keep everything in one (OK, two) accessible places, so I can also decrease the number of crazy emails and phone calls with which I barrage my poor mom and husband that all start one of 2 ways - either "I NEED AN OPINION" or "I HAD A BRAINSTORM!!"  I'm certain they both cringe at the words.  Although, my mom is a little more used to it, she's been dealing with it for much longer.

...I wonder how long it took her to get all the tape residue off my walls after I moved out.

Regardless, I have parted ways with the bulk of my collection.  I have retyped the important things into Evernote, and those things that were just too irreplaceable have been moved into binders.  A few binders is much better than the towers of paper from before.  So, now, the new office can look more like an office and less like a manic trash heap.  Of course, I am getting my own "Mom Cave", so I guess we'll see how it goes.  Once a piler, always a piler, but at least I am making progress. Right?  Right?

A Brunch in the Making

Father's Day is just an excuse to cook for more than just my kids and my husband.  It gives me the opportunity to pull in my in-laws too!  Since we have 3/4 of our lives in boxes, my mother-in-law graciously offered their house to host, and all I had to do was try out a recipe I've been dying to make for weeks!

When I first saw Anya's recipe for Ricotta Breakfast Casserole, I knew I had to try it with some homemade ricotta!  Judging from all of her delectable successes chronicled on A Toast To Taste, I knew it would be a hit!  And, BONUS!, I got to try my hand at a whole new type of cheese!

So, I started on Friday when I got home by making the Ricotta.  Urban wanted to help, so we pulled ou hair back, brought over his cooking stool and poured our milk into the pot.

I found this beautiful whole milk from, Oberweis Dairy, that comes in heavy glass bottles.  (It was the bottles that sold me, I'll admit) but also the fact that they do home delivery!  (I detest going to the grocery store, so anyone who will deliver staples to my home is a new best friend in my book.)

Anyway, we carefully measured the citric acid and cheese salt, and I put Urban in charge of stirring.  You don't want the milk to scald, and you have to bring it up to 195˚F.  So constant stirring is a must.  I was in charge of reading the thermometer.  He actually stood there and stirred the entire time switching arms periodically because his "muscles hurted."  After the curds and whey came up to temp, Urban abandoned me to paly video games, and I strained the curds and hung the resulting cheese in a butter cloth "satchel" to drain.  About 30 minutes later, we had a lovely lump of ricotta.  Into the fridge it went.

On Saturday, after a morning of packing and running around, I set out to make the casserole.  This is the recipe:

Ricotta, Cinnamon and Honey Breakfast Casserole

1 tsp. butter
1 baguette, cut into 1/2-inch slices
3/4 cup milk (skim is ok, but whole is better)
2 eggs
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. salt
8 oz. fresh ricotta (you can usually get fresh ricotta from a cheese shop or fancy grocery store, but regular is ok if you can’t find fresh)
1/4 cup honey
extra honey, agave nectar or maple syrup for drizzling

Preheat the oven to 350° and grease a small baking dish (I used a 9-inch oval) with the butter. Place half of the baguette slices in a single layer at the bottom of the dish.

Whisk the milk, eggs, cinnamon and salt together until well-combined and pour half over the bread. Spread the ricotta over the batter-soaked bread and drizzle with the honey.

Place the remaining bread over the top of the ricotta, pressing down a bit to compress, then pour the remaining half of the batter of the top, making sure to coat each piece of bread.

Let sit for 30 minutes (or overnight) covered in the refrigerator. Bake for 25 minutes, or until the top is golden and crisp and the custard is set.

Serve and drizzle with honey, agave nectar or maple syrup. 

I added just a pinch of ground cloves to the milk, eggs, cinnamon and salt.  I love cloves and cinnamon together, and it actually gave the final product the illusion of a baked-apple taste.  (Which is cool since I love apples, but can't eat them due to an allergy that developed when I was pregnant with Urban.  Silly babies, ruin everything.)  I digress...

I let the casserole sit overnight, as suggested, and brought it, along with some fresh berries, to my in-laws'.  There it was baked for the recommended 25 minutes and Voila! a beautiful Sunday treat to celebrate Father's Day.

It was very lovely, and I highly recommend anyone try this out.  The final product was very similar to a stuffed French toast that my family enjoys, and I can imagine so many yummy variations, it boggles the mind.

Truly the creation of this dish, from the cheese to the casserole, was a wonderful escape from the cardboard jungle and Sharpie smells that now fill my life.

Swatch Out! I need input...

It's opinion time.  I'm collecting fabric swatches right now because I will be recovering 3 chairs for the living room and making coordinating pillows.  Two of the chairs I will be recovering are slipper chairs that we purchased at the Room And Board Outlet Store in Golden Valley, MN about 4 years ago.  - Awesome place to shop.  Bring a truck! -  The chairs are similar to this picture (right) but with fabric.  The shape is classic and functional, and they are really comfortable.  Of course the cats thought so too... furry little balls of destruction...  Love them!  Anyway, I have been wanting to recover them for some time.

The third chair is a vintage chair we will be getting from my mom.  It has an upholstered back and seat and wooden arms and legs.  I remember it in the house when I was little, and my mom has recovered it a few times.  I'm excited to breath some new life into it myself.


So, now I'm trying to figure out my color/pattern scheme.  The living room is part of an open floor plan flowing directly into the dining room and kitchen.  The updated kitchen has a decidedly French flair with black and red accents.  I'm bringing those colors out into the dining area through the use of one of our art pieces, "Cafe Tivoli" and accessories

The living room will have "Spirit of the City," by Ryan Kelly, as its artistic centerpiece.  So, you can see our art tastes skew a bit, shall we say, modern eclectic?  The walls are a warm, buttery yellow and the floors are a beautiful oak hardwood.  Currently there are curtains in the same yellow/gold as the walls.  (Those may change to chocolate brown leather or possibly white, we'll see once the fabrics are decided.)

The other pieces of furniture are firmly in the brown family.  We will have a large buffet that my great grandfather and uncles built out of the barn boards from the Brown family farm.  (PRICELESS!)  As well as my mom's upright piano that she bought from a door to door salesman.  – I'm a sucker for great stories of acquisition. – There will also be a modern, square coffee table that has a wooden frame and woven leather straps that I got at the Slumberland Clearance area in Maplewood, MN.   And, finally, a bonded leather couch from Slumberland called the Brockport.  The pillows on this thing are not my style at all, but they will make excellent forms for the new covers.

Now, after all this setup, we get to the fun part.  Fabric swatches!!  I visited two online resources for the fabrics.  Both allowed me to purchase swatches that will be arriving by mail next week.  I am waffling between a men's suiting kind of feel and a more modern eclectic mix of colors and patterns.  I'd love to hear opinions!!

The first scheme is the suiting scheme.  I am becoming completely obsessed with houndstooth.  I can't explain it, I just am.  I found this awesome lemon and chocolate houndstooth pattern on fabricguru.com.  (And it's on clearance.  I need 5 yards, so don't buy it all.)  I thought this would be lovely on my vintage arm chair, so it's not too overpowering in the room, but still makes a major statement.  Then I would use a classic brown pinstripe on the slipper chairs.  The coordinating pillows and couch would look like this:

I like the old men's club feel with the brown leather.  But does it get too heavy?

The second scheme incorporates a different houndstooth called, Spaceage Chutney by Robert Allen, and a very modern pattern by Richloom design called, Twizzler Crayola.  Both of these I found at onlinefabricstore.net , which is a really beautifully designed and easy to shop online retailer.  I actually saw the "twizzler" fabric on a Target chair, and fell in love with it.  I was so excited when I found it here!  I'm thinking the Twizzler Crayola on the two slipper chairs and the Spaceage Chutney on the vintage arm chair.

I think this becomes a fun blend between men's suiting and modern fun.  I like how the colors work together, but stand out on their own as well.

The third option uses Twizzler Crayola again with another Robert Allen pattern called Time Loop in Canyon.

The reds are a bit darks in this, but I like the organic shapes working together.

The fourth option is Twizzler Caryola and a simple dot pattern called Welsh Springs in Cajun.

I think this has a really cool, professional look.  The colors are perfect and the dots in the Welsh Springs pattern work very well with the twizzler pattern.

So, what are your thoughts?  I'd love to hear.  The projects will begin in a little over a week, and I'm beyond excited to get on with it.  Any helpful nudges in one direction or another, would be greatly appreciated.  I will keep to myself which option I am voting for and which is Brett's favorite.

Happy swatch hunting!

Going for Gold

It all starts with the inspiration.  Back in early March we went with Cami Enke of Hazel, Brown and Blue Photography to have family photos done at The Guthrie.  The location was perfect, and when we got the photos back we were blown away.  There is a room at the top of the building that has all yellow windows. That's where we started out photoshoot.  It produced this shot of my boys looking over the Mississippi River at Minneapolis:

Brett and I took one look at it and said, "That needs to be HUGE and displayed prominently."  It became the catalyst for our bedroom design.  This image will be printed on canvas and hung above our bed.  I decided to pull some of the colors from this shot to build the room.

We will be using Benjamin Moore Paints. The wall color will be Cabin Fever from their Classic Collection.  With white trim and white canvas curtains.

The bedding is from West Elm.  I chose their Bubble Quilt in horseradish paired with Euro shams in their tulip print.

 

We are "inheriting" my parents' bedroom set purchased in 1965 that is finished in a light walnut with black edges.  I can't wait to get it all in and see how it comes together.  We will also accent with some of our other collected artworks in similar color families.  

What do you think?

It's all in the numbers

We have 11 days until we move in, 10 days until I paint my first wall, 9 days until we gain possession and 8 days until we close.  I've packed 32 boxes and have 29 more left empty.  I have scheduled the garbage pickup for our "bulk items," posted what wouldn't sell on craigslist to the MN Free Marketplace.  The utilities are transferred, the paint is purchased and invitation sent out to friends and family to help with the move.

Now what?  Waiting is the hardest part.  Just sitting.  The plans are done, the tasks are complete (mostly) and now I have to wait.  I am forced daily to walk past all the things I want to put into boxes because Brett says we still have to "live" for the next 11 days.  Bah.  We could get by, right?  Box it up!  Pack it away!  But, no, instead I am forced to reflect.  OK, not forced, but it is what I find myself doing a lot.

The interesting thing that I'm learning, is that I can live comfortably with a decreased wardrobe.  (Decreased everything, really, there is so much extraneous crap in out lives!)  This is a revelation to me.  I currently have a teeny closet and no dresser.  I have my unmentionables in a milk crate on the floor and the rest of my "wardrobe" taking up less than half of my closet space.  And, unlike I would have thought, I am not freaking out.  I kept my favorite things, and the rest is in a box.  Is this a lesson?  I purged vast amounts of clothing a few weeks ago, but should I purge more?  Should I do a clean sweep?  I get a little giddy each time I open the closet door and see it so empty.  What does that say?

To put this in perspective, you have to understand that I am a clothes horse.  I have "collected" clothing since I can remember.  I am defined, in many ways, by my fashion choices.  They are one way people remember me.  For many years, I wondered, "Who am I without my wardrobe?"

All of this is changing.  For years now, my wardrobe has mainly come from thrift stores and garage sales.  How can you purchase new clothes when you don't have a job, are facing foreclosure and filing for bankruptcy?  OK, maybe some people can, but I can't.  My passion for fashion really lies in the hunt anyway and shopping "new" takes some of the fun out of it for me.  I had squirreled away piles of clothing so that I wouldn't have to buy more if my weight fluctuated before and after each of the boys.  I  re-imagined many a tee shirt or jean into a new dress or handbag.  And now, I open my closet door and see 5 shirts, 3 dresses, 2 skirts, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of shorts and 4 pairs of shoes, and I think, "I can live with this."  How can that be?  I am the queen of change!  I can't repeat an outfit within a 14 day window.  That's who I am!  Right?

Isn't it?  Maybe not.  Maybe this move is doing more than getting my family into a safe, happy home and neighborhood.  More than bringing Mom into our daily lives.  Maybe this move is showing me who I REALLY am.  Is that possible?  I guess we'll find out in 11 days.

The cost of consciousness

I have a really hard time throwing things away.  Don't misinterpret this as "I am a pack rat".  I am probably the opposite of that.  My "editing eye" is keen and my decluttering blade is swift, but I struggle with piles of crap going to the landfill.  I struggle with the idea that I'm adding to the mountain.

We live in a world driven by stuff.  We all have tons of it, don't think we have enough and then acquire more.  Believe me, as a recovering shopaholic, I know this cycle.  But as long as I can remember, I have struggled with throwing things into trash bins.  I go out of my way to find someone who can either use or strip and recycle everything I must part with.

It becomes almost comical as I scour the internet looking for ways to delicately rid myself of unwanted, unused junk.  Case in point?  The infant carrier.  When I got pregnant with Beringer I decided that we needed one of those cool sit/stand strollers from Baby Trend.  I poured over craigslist until I found one, and jumped on it immediately.  The only problem was that our car seat that we used with Urban, and would reuse with Beringer, was a Combi car seat that does not have the same fastening mechanism as a standard infant carrier.  So, it wouldn't lock into place in the Baby Trend stroller.   That's an easy solve.  Time for more stuff!  I just headed out to a garage sale and bought a new carrier for $10.  It didn't matter to me that the car seat had "expired," I was not going to use it for anything but the stroller.

Flash forward to today as I'm trying to clean out for the big move, and I have this big old expired car seat sitting in the basement.  I have rounded up every other baby item I owned and "donated" it to my girlfriend who is due in November, but this car seat is an issue.  Off to the internet I go...  But I'm not satisfied with the results of my search.  Essentially, the Twin Cities guideline is cut off all the straps, render the thing unusable and stick it in a trash bag.  For real?  This is just not settling well with me.

Now, after some more searching I have found a place in Austin, TX, called Baby Earth, that will recycle car seats, all you have to do is ship it there.  Um, yeah, so now I'm looking at spending $60-90 to ship my $10 car seat to place for recycling.  What am I supposed to do?  I don't know if I could live with myself thinking this bulk of metal and plastic is sitting in a landfill not rotting because I didn't want to spend the money to dispose of it properly.

Why do we put ourselves in these situations?  How can we make things that are clearly necessary, and legally mandatory, but then say that 1) it can't be sold 2) it can't be donated 3) it can't be recycled?  The thought of the shear number of car seats in use today boggles my mind.  Where are all those seats going? The children grow up.  The laws change.  The silly things have EXPIRATION DATES!!  So, then what?  Will my grandchildren be skiing Mount Car Seat?

I am at a loss.  I think I'm going to have to cough up the money and ship my car seat to TX for a final get away in the sun.  I hope it enjoys its final trip.  And I hope that it can be repurposed into something as useful as it was.  Bon Voyage, Mr. Graco.  It's been real.

That's Not Your Mommy Anymore

Greg Mogk, author of That's Not Your Mommy Anymore has taken a very prestigious role in our family of late.  You see, Urban is OBSESSED with all things zombie.  It started with Plants vs. Zombies on the XBox.  It seemed innocuous enough.  Then came Zombie Smash on the iPad.  Then Zombie Dice.  Then a constant stream of zombie talk.  You would be shocked how much my 4-year-old has gleaned about zombie lore on his own.  And one thing Brett and I have always done is to try and immerse ourselves in Urban's interest du jour.

So, since May was Zombie Awareness month, and we are trying to encourage Urban's early reading skills anyway, I decided it was a great idea to get him Mogk's book.  Yep.  Great idea.  We now read it every night.  Every night, AFTER we play a rousing game of dice, that is.  Zombie Dice, of course.  (but, I must say that Urban can add and subtract up to 13 without even thinking about it.)

And now we can no longer just walk to the bathroom to brush teeth, we have to have "slow" races because, "zombies shamble, Mama.  That means slow-walk."  (Thanks, Mogk.)  So we shamble to the bathroom to scrub our zombie choppers and rinse with "brain juice".  (That's mouthwash for you non-zombies.)  We read That's Not Your Mommy Anymore in chorus, and then it's a zombie-back-ride into bed.  Mommy-zombie (that's me) can never quite reach the yummy, tender brains on her back.  They are always just out of reach.  Ah, zombie culture... you have taken over my house!

So, the other day as we were sitting on the couch, Urban was explaining to me how cool math is.  It's a hard sell, I assure you, and he looks at me and says, "You know, Mama, zombies aren't real."

"They're not?"

"No.  They're 'maginary like unicorns and sharks."

"Urban, sharks are real."

"What?  Nooooo... They're just on TV."

"No, they're real.  Don't you remember seeing them at the zoo?"

"Yes.  But those were TV sharks, on the big giant TV.  That one tried to eat us, but he hit the TV screen and went away."

"OK, he didn't try to eat us buddy, he just was interested in looking at us.  And, that was an aquarium, like at the doctor's office, only bigger.  See?"

"Mmm.  Kinda.  So sharks are real?"

"Yes."

"But zombies are 'maginery."

"Yes."

"But giants are real.  Cause they live in the clouds and grow corn and chickens."

"Um..."

"Yeah, really big chickens.  But just one corn."

"Well..."

"Yep.  Giants and sharks are real."

"Sure, buddy, whatever you say."

At least we don't have fears of zombie attack, right?  Although, now I do get nervous when the clouds are super fluffy.  I don't even want to think about what happens to the chicken droppings when the giants clean the coops.

As seen on TV

On Saturday we went as a family to the Forest Lake Applebees for a fundraising breakfast for the Forest Lake Girls' Synchronized Swim Team.  Urban's cousins, Stephanie and Josephine, swim on the team which took 3rd at state last week.  Urban is OBSESSED with his cousins, Stephanie and Josephine.  If you say either of their names around him, he turns all pink and gets coy.  It's absolutely adorable.

Of course, Urban is also obsessed with older girls and attention, so this breakfast was right up his alley.  By the end of the meal, he had 6 high school girls gathered around him as he told stories and did his prat falls.  He even asked them all to smell his cheeks.  (He had put aftershave on that morning with Daddy because, "girls like it when you smell nice.")

At the end of the breakfast, Josephine and her dad, Brett's cousin Patrick, invited us back to their house.  Urban was ecstatic.  Josephine asked Urban if he had ever seen a bunny before.  He looked at her and said, "I've seen one on TV!"  You see, Josephine raises chickens and rabbits.



So, apparently, I am completely failing my son.  We live in a metro area, yes, but we do not live in the concrete jungle.  There are wild rabbits everywhere.  How has he never seen one?  How have I missed pointing out rabbits??  Urban is clearly living up to his name.

So, anyway, off we went to Josephine's house to see the bunnies and chickens.  Urban was in heaven.  He held REAL (squeal!!) chickens and a duck.  He chased a rooster who "cock-a-doodle-dooed" at him the whole time.  And (swoon) he helped Josephine with the rabbits.  By the end of the day, he had crawled inside the hutch with them and was feeding them grass and flowers from his hand.  It was one of his best days ever.  And, as we were leaving, Josephine gave us a carton of eggs from her REAL chickens.

Urban looked at me all serious and said, "Mama, these are special eggs because they are REAL eggs.  Not the store kind.  REAL ones from REAL chickens, Mama.  Real ones."

So, wait, they are real eggs??  Wow.  I'm glad they aren't pretend like those ones I pay $3 for every week.  Now I have the pressure of doing something awesome with the REAL eggs.  He is dying to eat them.  Do I boil them?  Make them into a cake or sweet bread?  Do they become cookies?  I have to figure it out before the REAL eggs become REAL yucky.

And, let me tell you, this has done nothing to dissuade my desire for city chickens.  You hear, me Brett?  I think we need chickens at our new house.  ::grin::

Crazy Magnet

I have a gift.  I have cultivated it for years.  It's a natural gift, one I have tried hard to reject, to cover, to mask, but when you have a gift... people know.  They can sense it, you know?  Sometimes, no matter how hard you try to cover it up, it comes out even stronger than had you just accepted it in the first place.  So, yes, you who know me have already figured it out, but I AM A CRAZY MAGNET.

Some of you have witnessed this phenomenon first hand.  It happens most often near bus stops, but, really, they come out of the woodwork wherever I go.  They tell me their stories.  They engage me.  There is irony here.  I have developed this very closed, dower demeanor in public.  I don't talk to anyone except service providers when I'm wandering about.  I'm not a chatter in public places.  I'm hardly a chatter anywhere, really.  But the demeanor that says, "Whoa! Disengage!" to your average person looking for socialization and camaraderie, says, "Totally talk to this person.  They are fascinated by your antics," to your garden-variety crazy.

My best crazies I met when I rode the bus to and from downtown every day.  I began to categorize them.  There are always mumblers and drunks, you know, the harmless ones.  They would usually sit next to me and begin ranting.  It became somehow known that I was a kind of crazy-whisperer on the 12, and the bus drivers would often give me silent cues to "help direct" said person off at the next stop.  I could usually oblige.

Then you have the dramatists.  (They are secretly me favorite.)  They are fascinating and harmless.  There was "the chief" - he wore feathers all over his body that he picked up on the road and walked with a garbage poker.  There was "safety guy" - he wore about 20 blaze orange safety vests piled together.  He told me he wanted to be visible when he wandered from St. Paul to Minneapolis and back everyday.  That's just plain smart.  Then there was "the human chalkboard" - he asked everyone he met to sign him.  He was almost always covered in signatures... his clothes, bags, skin, everything.

But my favorite of all time was the "E. Coli Outbreak Lady."  She was a gem.  She stood on a corner with her hand poised like a puppet and wrapped in a doll dress.  Her ratty hair hung down to her knees, and she swayed as she shouted like a sidewalk evangelist, "E. COLI OUTBREAK!  SAY 'NO' TO PEACHES AND STRAWBERRIES!  E. COLI OUTBREAK!  SAY 'NO' TO KISSING!  EEEEE COLI OUTBREAK!  SAY 'NO' TO DATE RAPE!!!"  Very sound advice.

So, although I have yet to figure out a way to use my gift for the betterment of mankind, I have, at the very least, gathered some excellent stories to tell at parties.  Do you have any Crazy Magnet stories?  I'd love to hear them!

Hosta Haters

As I was driving to work this morning, listening to The Current, as I do every morning, the substitute host Jackie Fuller made a major confession.  One that I thought would get one run out of Minnesota by mobs brandishing pitchforks and torches.  She hates hostas.  Yep, that's right, those squat little plants that coat the suburban landscape of Minnesota shooting their alien little flower appendages up waving in the breeze every summer.  Well, world, if Jackie can admit it, so can I.  I hate hostas.  To the point I have stricken potential homes from the list purely do to the abundance of hostas.

What!? you might say.  But these plants are hearty!  They'll grow anywhere!  You never have to tend them!

Yep.  Don't care.  I think they are weird and not terribly attractive.  I kind of take issue with any flora that starts as a little plump mass and shoot flags into the air like Yosemite Sam's pistols, "Shoot!"  But that's just my opinion.

So, I hope my Minnesota card isn't revoked because I have come clean with my dark little secret.  If there are hostas in my yard, I dig them up and send them to hosta heaven...or anyone who wants them.  There.  I said.  Now I feel better.

Problem Solving

I just read the opinion piece, "College is a Waste of Time" by Dale Stephens.  It's a fascinating take on higher education and has a lot of really valid points.  In a lot of ways it flies in the face of how I was raised and the way I mapped my life, but it also speaks to many of the values that I hope to impart to my own boys.

Growing up, there was no question that I would go to college.  Not because it was crammed down my throat, or because I was given no choice in the matter.  It just was.  My mother was the first of her family to go to college, and my father earned his degree as well.  My mom was a high school counselor, and one of her many roles was to prepare kids for college, help them find the right place and get their applications in order.  It never came up as a topic for discussion.  I just knew, that for me, school would be 16 years (or more) and not 12.

Even as a kid I would pretend to be a college student.  I would look for apartments in the paper and page through old catalogs that Mom would have around.   OK, I totally admit that I was a strange child.  But it was fanciful and exciting for me.  The irony in it all, is that I did everything in my power to get through college as quickly as possible.  I got focused on my career path by my senior year in high school.  I knew I was going into the arts in some fashion, and by the end of my senior year, I knew I would be a graphic designer.

I chose a college, after dozens of campus tours, based on the breadth of classes and not the specialties.  I decided I wanted to know more than color theory and perspective.  Kind of like my oldest, I wanted "to know everything."  I wanted to draw theories of my own and gain perspective on my expanding world.  Some classes did that for me.  Others did not.  There was a direct correlation between the amount of time I spent on a class and the amount of problem solving and critical thinking involved in said class.

The graphic design curriculum was relatively new when I started school (the internet didn't even have pictures until half-way through my freshman year), and the small class size worked to my advantage.  We were able to shape the class into what we wanted it to be.  We began freelancing as a group by the time I was a sophomore, and one of my classmates even dropped out to start a very successful internet design company.  And by the time I was a junior, after taking summer classes and studying in Europe, I had completed my requirements and was able to go to part-time status to work almost full-time at my internship.

Sometimes Brett, who is also a graphic designer, and I sit and talk about the classes we took in college.  One stands out specifically, Art History.  In Brett's art history classes, there were projects and discussions.  In mine there was rote memorization.  Don't get me wrong, I can memorize with the best of them, but what stuck with me from that class was not artistic movements and influential artists, but a dark room with a slide projector rhythmically flashing images onto the wall and an overwhelming feeling, of "how will this apply to my life?"

Now that I've added "mom" to my job title, I think a lot about my boys.  (Obviously.)  Brett and I talk continuously about college funds and such, and I wonder, is that where they will really end up?  Is that what will be best for them?  Is it bad if it's not?  As my career has progressed, I have found myself more than once in meetings thinking, "how is it that you not only can't see the problem here, but also can not see the solution?"  It seems so obvious to me.

And, after reading this piece on college, it seems even more clear.  Stephens is right, we are often times not teaching our children how to think, but how to regurgitate.  It is important to learn about the past, to understand the facts and know the parts and pieces of things.  Those bits are integral to problem solving as well, but if we do not teach our children how to take that knowledge and create new things from it, where will we be?  Will we be in a world of Hollywood Blockbuster-type living where every "great new thing" is just the reprocessing of a truly great new thing form 20+ years ago?  I don't want to live in that world.  I already saw that movie... the first time.

I want my children to imagine, create and push the boundaries of possibility.  I want my kids to be able to say, "Yes, I know how it was done, but what if we did this?"  And I want my kids to know that if college is not the place that will make that kind of thinking a reality for them, that's OK with me.  And any college fund that may materialize in the next 18 years can be used for education – whether that education is in a classroom or on a train or the side of a mountain or even in their own basement is totally up to them.  I want them to learn how to think.  Period.

The Weatherman

Urban started talking when he was about 6 months old.  It sounds ridiculous, but it's true.  He said kitty (we have 3), ball and bus and lots of nonsense garble in between.  The kid has had a lot to say from day one.  And, I promise you, he has not shut up since.

One thing he talks about a lot is the weather.  He always has an eye on the sky, and we get a running report of whatever he sees.  We try to give him as much information as we can about weather and how it works –   what makes snow, where hail comes from, why rainbows happen – anything and everything he might wonder about.  He has gotten to the point where he sits and watches the weather reports on television, which can be a little nerve-wracking lately with all of the severe weather we have been having, but kinda cool nonetheless.

This past winter, Urban informed me that he likes it when it's cloudy because it means it will be warmer.  That's true.  The clouds help keep what little heat we might have from escaping back into the atmosphere.  "But," he says, "they have to be cumulous clouds, not cirrus clouds.  Because those are too high and wispy."  Right.

But these days, when the weather has has turned warmer, there is a direct line in Urban's mind to The Splash Pad.  He is definitely my warm weather kid.  (He also informed us this winter he wants to move to the desert.  "At least it doesn't snow there," was his reasoning.)  He now insists on watching the news every night before supper to check to see how many splash pad days there will be in the coming 7.  He listens intently to Sven Sundgaard explain the daily highs and lows, whether there will be cloud cover or sun, and if there is a chance of stormy weather.  Then he looks at me very seriously while walking over to the TV screen, points at the weekly projection and says, "See, Mama, 2 days of splash pad, then 2 days of rain, then 3 days of splash pad."

"Right." I agree, thinking to myself about all the other things I have to do that don't involve running through community sprinklers, but this is his life right now.  He starts school in a month, so he should take advantage of his splash pad time while he can.

"So, Urban," I say, "are you going to be a weather man when you grow up?"

He thinks for a moment and says, "Yes.  And a foot doctor and a girl."

That's my boy.

Garage Sales, Cragslist and Consignment... OH MY!

What's the best way to get rid of stuff?  Tell people you have it.  At least, that's what I've found.  This weekend we really started our purge.  Brett and I spent most of Friday night sorting and boxing some of our stuff.  This was after the boys were in bed, of course because who can get anything done with one constantly trying to toss himself down the stairs and the other DEMANDING we play Zombie Dice "NOW!"?  By Saturday morning, we had one pile to take to consignment shops, another to donate and yet another to take to our friends' garage sale that morning.

In the process, I spent quite a bit of time gathering all the pieces of one of our china sets and tidily packing it into two diaper boxes.  (Classy, I know.)  Brett and I had picked up the set at a garage sale ourselves, and the plan was to load it up and sell it at one again.  We paid $60 for it, so we figured someone else might too.  For added bargaining power, I decided to hop on ebay and see how much it was going for there.  Well, I discovered it was going for A LOT more than 60 bucks!  More like 10 bucks a plate!  Our sorting stopped for a while as we discussed what to do.  We really want to get rid of extraneous stuff before the move, but we also would love to have some more money to spend on our decorating projects.  What to do?  What to do?  After a debate, we decided to go ahead and move the plates and put them on ebay ourselves.  It's a gamble.  We'll see what happens.

The rest of the stuff got packed up with the boys in our little Scion XA and hauled over to South Minneapolis where we made a whopping $5.  What a days' work!  The rain and cold kept the buyers at bay, and Brett and I realized, we're really more garage sale shoppers than havers.  We re-packed the Scion and donated the lot.

Next stop: Craigslist.  After a small discussion about, "what will we sleep/eat on," I listed our table and bedroom furniture on this amazing site.  I have had a love affair with craigslist for years, and it never fails to amaze me the things the practically fly out of your house and the things that leave you hauling them to the curb while scratching your head.  The table was gone in a day, the boys' blue dresser took about a week.  The couch is still in the garage...  And, anybody need a modern bedroom set?

Amazing.

So, now at least we have a nice, open space to pile boxes in the dining area.  Does this mean I can start more packing?  JOY!  I love progress.  I want to see less and less stuff and more and more floor/cardboard.  Onward and upward, family!  Onward and upward!