Ventura bound....

My chickadees and I are off on an adventure with Julie and her brood in her giant Suburban. I have visions of sunshine and sand, ice cream, iced coffee, sparklers and dirty-faced happy kids. And with two slightly unstable Mamas + 5 ten-and-under maniacs, that's totally, um.... possible? Given enough iced coffee, anything is possible. Back next week!

(straw)Berry (black)Berry (rasp)Berry Nice Jam.

2. Have a picnic, with kite flying.

Picnic, yes. Kite flying, no. Which is surprising because we live in Livermore, which could be mistaken for a wind tunnel more often than not. But we managed to choose the one windless day of the summer to try out our new kite.

I think I should get a couple of Mama-didn't-go-to-Cal-Poly-for-nothing points for putting together the Darth Vader's Tie Fighter kite, though. This thing is so complicated, I might as well have built Darth Vader's actual Tie Fighter. So.... one point for putting the kite together, and one for being able to tell Darth Vader's Tie Fighter apart from your every-day, run-of-the-mill Tie Fighter. 

How lovely is that?

Cheeky Weeds Vintage Silverware Garden Marker

$12 at monkeysalwayslook

New do: blue!

Have I mentioned cosa verde?

Honestly, I can't say enough good things about cosa verde.

cosa verde is what happens when a programmer (Jeff Fein-Worton) and a graphic designer (Liz Grotyohann) meet, fall in love, and decide to build something. The site is gorgeous and innovative and easy to use and connects independent and emerging artists with environmentally-conscious consumers. Yeah!

Liz writes the awesome blog everyday and curates a group of shops so lovely I'm stunned on a daily basis to be among them. And she's nice.

And, ahem....BananaSaurus Rex is featured on the front page today.

Pajama day.

One member of my household wore his pajamas all day today. It's not a superhuman feat or anything. You just have to ignore all suggestions that you get dressed and not spill on yourself too much during meals. I'm very proud of him. And I think it reflects well on me as a mother. 

3. Tie dye.

Feral children need tie-dyed shirts. And these gap-tooth urchins are certainly less than civilized. They were probably raised by wolves. I'm going to try to lure them into the bathtub with a trail of Oreos. ssssssshh.

Two books by bloggers.

Will wonders never cease. Actually it's more surprising that I'm reading - than that both of my current reads are by women who blog. The first is It Sucked and Then I Cried by Heather Armstrong, who I totally admire because she's honest and brilliant and funny and has an enviable vocabulary. But also because she curses in her blog. And I - well it's not that I curse like a sailor in normal conversation, but I am a very passionate person who happens to be fond of the F-word, and could use it in any sentence, and do, sometimes in front of other people's children (sorry). But I have yet to summon the courage to use it here. Just give me time.

You probably already know about Heather's blog because she's only like the most famous blogger ever - but if you don't, I think you should go there right now and read it! Unless you're a boy and/or don't already know what a mucus plug is, in which case you may want to run screaming. I'll give you a head start.

Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously by Julie Powell, I'm not as far into by virtue of it being lent to me by my friend Julie (no relation) rather than being due at the library um, today (like some other book which shall 1. remain nameless and 2. be overdue). But I must say that I bonded instantly with Julie as she poached eggs in red wine, because that is exactly the type of desperate overachievement to which I am prone. And? She's a big fan of the F-word as well. I couldn't be happier.

You can read Julie's blog here, and even the Julie/Julia Project blog here. It is glorious!

Straight-up Strawberry Jam.

Because there's nothing better than stirring a pot of molten preserves on a summer day.

Party time....

Today is the first day of summer vacation and around here, that's reason enough to have a party. Excellent!

Summer Mom is ON!

And do you know what Summer Mom wants? A complete breakfast.

I want salty scrambled eggs with sliced tomato and a buttered sourdough english muffin. I want a heaping bowl of sweet granola with milk. I want strawberries. I want coffee with cream. I want a big gooey cinnamon roll. And I'm going to get it. Tomorrow.

This all may have something to do with the fact that my breakfast this morning consisted of the discarded remains of Fin's granola bar, string cheese and a cookie. Eaten while walking to school.

The new BananaSaurus Rex-mobile!

I wish. But you know what they say: If wishes were VWs, beggars would ride around in lowered 1966 21 Window Deluxe Walk Thru Splitty busses. Sigh. It's yellow, even.

Ordinary little jars.

Just some ordinary little jars - I think they're extraordinarily lovely though. Wait 'til you see what goes in them! It's rather an over-abundance of loveliness.

There is an up-side.

Today, I taught Fin to dip his chocolate chip cookies in milk. Seamus, of course, was not having it (because foods should not touch), but the look on Fin's face made me think: oh yeah, That's why I had kids.

Stupid biology.

Remember the lamentation? All of those complaints were valid.

And yet, one look at my sleeping baby takes it all away. And he's not even a baby. He's four. He can write his own name. He can write my name. But, one look at those lashes, the sweaty curls, his little hand against his freckled cheek, and all of my exhaustion and resentment evaporates.

Yea, though I am his slave, I weep not for I have looked upon him while he slept. Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, maternal instinct and biology have conditioned me to think that that is a pretty good deal.

Stupid biology.

I heart hearts.

Instead of lamenting today, I sewed all these little hearts together.

100 of them.

O, the lament of the suburban housewife.

My attention to the Sisyphean tasks of laundry, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, and cleaning again goes unnoticed. Honestly, I think they'd rather just wear the same clothes every day and eat straight out of the refrigerator without even using their hands. And they can't hear me to save their lives. But what do I expect? If someone said don't-step-on-your-brother's-head or it-doesn't-flush-all-by-itself to me a couple of thousand times, I'd stop listening too.

In the immortal words of Judd Nelson, "I might as well not even exist at this school."