Eat like it's 1947

We’re doing a summer “learn to try” challenge with our family. In the ten weeks between me saying “I can’t believe it’s over” school-year edition and “I can’t believe it’s over” summertime edition, we have one new activity planned. 

These mini-stretch goals are supposed to be fun. Brian and I want everyone in our house to learn a process for how to try new things. (The things themselves weren’t as important) 

That simple process is:

1. Prep- learn what you can via a book or video 
2. Plan- figure out the first couple of steps to take (OMG, I just wrote “determine your approach” as if I was writing one of my federal project proposals without even thinking-bleh), and
3. Do- then, like Nike, just do it. 

We’ve also done a little post-challenge analysis to talk about what worked and didn’t and what we’d do differently next time. My hope is that the kids get into the practice of seeing new things not as intimidating and impenetrable but just like everything else- something you can try by breaking it down into a couple of do-able steps.

This was a really long lead-in to the preview of what we’re doing this week. We’re eating whole foods for a week- nothing processed. Another way to think about it is, we’re eating like it’s 1947. 

This time 70 years ago, all four of our kid’s great grandmothers had young families. By the time it was all said and done a couple years later, Connie, Frances, Emily, and Jesse would together have 27 children. Among them was MaryAnne, Ricky, Lynda, and Jimmie. 

What were these little kids eating? Of course, a lot of whole, unprocessed foods. There are a couple of reasons for this: fewer processed foods existed, money was tight, and all four of them had strong beliefs about right and wrong. Food was just one. 

Pretending it’s the summer of 1947, here’s our meal plan for the week.

Week 3, Summer "Lean to Try" Challenge, Eat Whole Foods

The idea is to make everything from scratch. Okay, okay. Not everything. Instead, the question I'm asking myself is this: would the kids’ great grandmothers recognize this as food? 

With that rule of thumb, here are the exceptions:

• Tortillas. Forgetting the regional differences, Connie in San Diego would have definitely seen these before. I'm buying 'em.
• Pasta. It might not have been popular at the time in Alabama or California, but Emily in New Jersey would have had boxes of dried pasta in her pantry. Jesse, being first generation from Italy, was still be making pasta by hand. We’re going with Emily on this one.
• Other exceptions to the no processed food rule include flour, sugar, peanut butter, jelly, and condiments, of course. Yes, that last one might be cheating, but I want my kids to enjoy this and not completely revolt. If a little hetchup helps me accomplish that goal, it’s in.

You’ll notice it’s just dinners. Luckily, the kids are all in camp or daycare serving breakfast and lunch each day. One of the reasons we love these programs is that they already provide whole foods for each meal. We’ll likely do this challenge again once school starts. Marin brought her lunch each day and what I packed gradually deteriorated into a lunchbox filled with little packages over the course of the year ☹

In addition to these meals, we’re going to try three new recipes to replace foods we often buy packaged: breakfast sausage, bread, and cheddar crackers (particularly the aquatic-shaped variety.)

So, I’ll be thinking about Connie, Frances, Emily, and Jessie this week. From what I remember and what I’ve heard from our parents, these women had many things in common. Like so many of their peer group, they were resourceful, worked really, really hard, and made things special for their families every chance they got.

As we kick-off our Week 3 summer “learn to try” challenge, I’m imagining them sitting together- each with a new pair of these awesome shoes and a glass of iced tea- looking down laughing, critiquing, and cheering us on.

Catch and Release a Lightning Bug: Week 2 of our Summer "Learn to Try" Challenge

To catch and release a lightning bug was our summer “learn to try” challenge of the week.

Like Week 1’s Do a Cartwheel, I thought this was going to be a gimme. And, I was happy about that. I’m easing myself into this new summer routine and congratulating myself each day everyone makes it where they’re supposed to go (various camps, daycare, work, runs, etc.) by 9 am or so.

So, it’s not that catching a lightning bug is hard. It’s just that I never realized how semi-serendipitous it is. Before I get to the story of our bugs, let me back up…

To prepare for this week, we made a trip to the library. We had to go there anyway because the kids needed more books. Marin and Baya are in a fierce competition to see who can fill out the lines on their summer reading lists first. This race isn’t exactly fair for a couple of reasons, but I’m just the supplier in this case- not judging. We loaded up on books with covers that caught their attention. We then moseyed over to the animal section and picked out a couple on fireflies. Linc insisted on getting one on marsupials because you never know when a kangaroo might hop by while we’re out catching bugs. He wanted to be prepared. 

We then had like five nights in a row of being busy doing other things. So, our bug catching had to wait. 

Finally, it seemed like a good night so we cracked open the books. I immediately put the first one back into the bag- too many words. Seriously, people, I’m not trying to lay here all night reading. The second was much more what I had in mind.

We learned:

• Fireflies aren’t flies. They’re beetles. (I’d suspected as much because I don't hate them.)
• They blink to find a mate.
• And, they come out at dusk.

As I read this, I looked out the window. It was entirely dark. Oops. We ran outside and wandered around the yard for a while. Nuthin’

That meant corralling the kids back inside with a promise to try the next night.

On our do-over night, we dutifully sat on the front step and waited. The blinks did come, alas they were across the street. We kept looking and hoping to find one in our yard. Nuthin’

Finally, we decided our neighbors wouldn’t mind and we all headed over to catch one and transplant him (and a friend because you know) to our side of the street.

Success!

This week’s challenge had me feeling nostalgic and concerned. Growing up, I remember zillions of them in our backyard in Silver Spring, Maryland. Why weren’t there any fireflies in our yard here in Falls Church?* I don’t know.

• Maybe it’s just bad luck
• Maybe it’s our landscaping.  We don’t have any “leaf litter” or many low trees or bushes where they seem to enjoy growing up and hanging out.
• But, maybe it's because we get sprayed for mosquitoes. There are conflicting statements on the web but, sadly, it seems to make sense. This article from the Post outlines the possible contributors- include pesticides. It’s something to consider next year.

Now we can check the box “complete” on Week 2’s summer “learn to try” challenge.

The kids seemed to enjoy the release even more than the catch itself. Our pair of bugs wasn’t in the jar for 2 seconds before the girls were hollering to let them go. So, we did. We’re hoping they like our yard. We’d love for them to settle in and raise a family here. As the second took off from the edge of the jar, Marin said, “Go on, little buggy. If I could fly, I’d be up there too.”

*Maryland friends: Yes, I remember many, many more fireflies growing up in Silver Spring than I see now in Falls Church. Settle down. This anecdotal observation isn’t additional evidence add to your very short list of things that make Maryland better than Virginia. Until you have wine in your grocery stores (ALL OF THEM), Virginia will be the better state. Love you! Blink, blink.

Do a Cartwheel: Week 1 of our Summer "Learn to Try" Challenge

Week 1 of our Summer “Learn to Try” challenge was do a cartwheel- or in my case- attempt to do a cartwheel after spending 20 years hunched over a computer.

When we were brainstorming with the kids, I have to admit that I liked it because it sounded easy. I figured I’d show them a couple of YouTube videos, do one myself for old times' sake, and then they'd be off and 'wheeling. That didn’t happen. Here’s what did and the lesson I didn't see coming on coaching your own kid.

Like every other athletic training program I’ve ever started, we began...by sitting comfortably on the couch doing “research.” By this I mean we watched 45+ minutes of YouTube videos like this one. We actually only needed to see one but they were all so cute. We sort of binge watched, and I decided this was going even easier than I thought.

After doing some wrist stretches (as the 8-year-old in the video's advised), we headed outside. We went straight to the front yard because the grass is literally greener and there is no dog poop to dodge. I was feeling so confident that I didn't even mind that everyone in the neighborhood was going to see what we were up to.

Before I go on, I should tell you that this challenge idea came from my oldest daughter Marin. So, not surprisingly, she was the most interested. Correction: She was the only one interested. Baya and Linc were invited to our after-dinner practice session, but they insisted on goofing off, doing somersaults, and playing hide and seek. Even after I explained the purpose of the summer challenge program AGAIN, they didn’t seem to grasp the opportunity.

Because I have a keen eye for indifference and we had no time to waste, I made the right call and cut them from our fledgling gymnastics team. With confused (and relieved) looks, they went back to hide and seek.

With my focus back on Marin, we picked a soft-looking spot and shot this “before” video.

Then came the moment I’d be dreading: my cartwheel- the first in 20+ years. It was harder than I imagined. Being upside down for that split second just reinforced how utterly weak and inflexible I am.

Feeling incapable and deflated, I reminded myself that this challenge was more for Marin and I didn’t need to participate actively. I could coach from the sidelines.

Then, things got tricky.

We went out to the practice field (corner of the front yard) each night last week. She certainly made progress, but the perfect cartwheel didn’t just “snap” into place as I’d imagined it would. As I stood there trying to offer helpful suggestions, I realized I was at a loss for two reasons: 

1. Cartwheels aren’t my thing either. I didn’t have any specific tips to offer and found myself repeatedly saying “try to straighten your legs more.” Not helpful.
2. This was a self-imposed challenge that was supposed to be fun. How hard should I really be pushing her?

On the second point, I’d always assumed that you couldn’t (or shouldn’t?) teach or coach your own kid. So, I emailed my brother-in-law Kenny, explained the situation, and asked for some advice. You should know that Kenny the middle-aged, bald, white-guy version of Bo Jackson. Kenny knows baseball, basketball, football, and karate. He’s been coaching his four sons since birth, and they’re all outstanding athletes.

Kenny and his boys, circa 2009

When I picked up his call, he barely said hello and launched in with: “3 words: DON’T DO IT.” He was joking but this demonstrates how conflicted he is on the topic. When he got serious, he said:

1. Know what you’re talking about- or, at least, really sound like you do. You have to have the physical ability and game experience to offer specific, nuanced advice and direction.
2. Know yourself and know your kid. You have to be self-aware about your style and know whether or not that works for your kid. Some parents have a one-to-one style match. Both parent and kid respond well to an aggressive “in your face” approach or both have a softer, more nurturing and encouraging tone. Some family pairs are complete opposites. If you have a match, there is a big opportunity to do a lot of coaching. If you don’t, it’s better for everyone to bring in a third party with a coaching style that matches your kid.
3. Be able to turn it off. Kenny is the first to admit that he struggles with this. He realizes that he’s in coaching mode 24/7, 365 days a year. He wishes he could turn off his urge to correct his sons’ technique when they’re just goofing off in the yard with friends.

So, why do it at all?

Kenny- like a lot of parents- is proud of his kids and sees their potential. When they hit a home run over the fence or pitch in a championship game, parents like Kenny can’t help but feel happy about their kids’ accomplishments and their role in getting them there. He added there is a greater sense of control over their sports experience and sees the benefit of the extra hours together.

When I asked my nephew Ben (now a pre-teen) what he liked about being coached by his dad, the answer was simple. “We get to work more at home, and he’s very supportive.” What doesn’t Ben like? “When he’s sometimes hard on me.”

The key, according to Kenny, is to figure out quickly how to push them to do their best-- without damaging the relationship.

So, where does this leave me and my ability to coach Marin on her cartwheels? Well, we're going to keep at it but not on any specific time frame. I mean, seriously self, there's no rush to check this little box. I'm also going to do as many as I suggest she do. Lastly, since I'm clearly not the expert, I'll give her a chance to coach me back.

While our cartwheel challenge was small in the scheme of things, it did provide a window into the world of coaching your kid. It’s an entirely different dynamic than regular parenting.

Overall, this was a fun challenge that wasn’t as easy (or engaging) for all as I’d imagined. However, it got us all playing outside with something specific to do- which, for me, was a bonus.

Catching a firefly is up next. More to come next week!

I've included a couple outtakes from practice below.

Summer "Learn to Try" Challenge

If the school year is all about learning reading, writing, and math, summer is supposed to be the opposite, right? Summer is messy, sticky, unstructured, unscheduled, made-up fun. At least, that’s how I remember the 80s. And since everything 80s is awesome, I don’t want to stray too far from that free-spirited approach to summer. But, I will, just a bit, with our 10-week summer “learn to try” challenge. 

Here’s the scoop.

Our oldest, Marin, just finished kindergarten. So, for our family, this is our first summer on the school schedule. In previous years, the seasons blended together for our kids in the same way they do for adults. Nothing was really different about our routine except what kind of shoe they were told 487 times to put on so we could leave the house.

All of that changed when she got off the bus last Thursday. The last day of school meant the first day of summer, and I felt ready-ish (which means I made a spreadsheet.) Camps and a vacation were booked for each of the ten weeks. Sun-screen permission slips were signed, carpools arranged, dog-sitters reserved, and new flip flops ordered. We also planned to swim and grill and put a serious dent in the summer reading list.

So, what else? We came up with a weekly summer “learn to try” challenge aimed at learning about how to set a goal and try something new. We hope each will be fun and offer a chance to pick up some less-than-academic (but handy) life skills.

Here’s our family-sourced list:

1. Do a cartwheel
2. Ride a horse
3. Cook and eat whole foods for one week
4. Ride in the front car on a rollercoaster
5. Host a mega dance party
6. Spot constellations in the night sky
7. Sleep outside in a tent
8. Catch (and release) a firefly
9. Pick and arrange a bouquet of flowers
10. Have a lemonade stand to raise money for A is for Africa

Each week we’ll pick one. While none are particularly challenging in this "challenge," a few require a bit more planning and logistics, so we’re going to be flexible on what we tackle each week. I’ll document the process and take some pictures to share here on the blog.

Come back each week to check on our progress!

If I don't say thanks, I'll cry

It’s June 22th, and I can’t believe it. It’s not June’s fault. I’m just amazed that the month is two-thirds over. And since summer is only three months long, two-thirds of one-third equals, like, some significant portion over. There’s a reason Brian does our taxes.

Today also is this sneaky fox's last day of kindergarten.

Marin with fox face paint

Every time I take a precious minute to reflect on time, I feel a little disoriented and out-of-breath. Still all I feel like writing about today is time and how it’s flying but, I won't. We all know it and saying it over and over again doesn't seem to help. There isn’t a thing any of us can do to slow it down, you know, aside from standing in line at Target with a toddler who has to pee. Unfortunately, I can't do that everyday.

So instead of talking about flying time, I'll do what I think Oprah would want me to do and focus on gratitude. And, what specifically am I thankful for this school year? I don't know- a lot.

While my brain was getting warmed up, I asked Marin in my awkward mom-to-6-year-old concept translation, “what happened that made you really happy this year?” Of course, she immediately rattled off all four of the right answers: her teachers, the fun stuff she got to do, meeting new friends, and lunch. And, of course, she’s totally right.

Here are her teachers. They’re seriously awesome. These two people are smart, creative, and infinitely kind. And perhaps most importantly if you have to work in a confined space with 24 people repeatedly calling your name, they are a really fantastic team. We couldn’t have asked for a better start for Marin. They’re so great, in fact, that we're hoping to go kindergarten again with them next year when Baya starts school. Yep. It only took about six months for me to do what I said I never would. I became "that parent" and name-requested these teachers for my kid. Actually, I name-requested these teachers for Brian and I. We're not quite ready to leave Room 2. 

To her second point, below are just a handful of the great things she got to do this year. There were field trips, art shows, music shows, high school sports, community events, special classroom guest speakers (Grandma!), and more, more, more. It made me want to be back in elementary school—except as an adult who could drink wine at night with her chicken nuggets after a long day reading, adding, and gluing tiny pieces of paper together.

And yes, she made some new friends. They’re delightful. I get to overhear their hilarious conversations when they compare knowledge on reptiles and Sketchers shoes. They sing loud and demand attendance at impromptu talent shows that, frankly, would benefit from a little more planning and rehearsing.

Lastly, lunch. I guess I understand why she was thankful for food each day but lunch definitely did NOT make my list. Lunch-making must be the most mind-numbing, monotonous task ever. It makes me want to do laundry. Night after night after night, I made the exact same thing: a sandwich with one slice each of ham and turkey (no mayo or nothin’) cut in half and put into the baggie, one bag of Fritos, one Tupperware with fruit, and an occasional stray cookie. It looked nothing like the fresh and colorful bento boxes that all the better moms on the internet were fixing. Sigh.

In addition to Marin's list, there are a handful of other things I’m thankful for…

I'm thankful for the couple extra minutes she and I had by ourselves on my drop-off and pick-up days. I'm not sure what we did with this time except take a lot of silly selfies.

I'm also thankful for these two. Seriously, they’re wonderful friends and are the only reason we never missed the bus. Not once. People who know me know what a truly remarkable feat this is. They’re like a Swiss train and could be counted on to be on our corner at precisely 8:10 every day with a cheerful “good morning!”

I’m also thankful for our community and how everyone just shows up- both literally and figuratively- for our kids and each other.

Last but not least, I’m thankful for Brian. Few people know his "less is more" communication style was the inspiration behind Twitter’s 140-character limit. And though he says few words, the ones he does make a ton of sense.

So, I might not be able to stop time but I can say thank you for the gifts. Through the blur, it was a truly been a wonderful school year.

Do you have a condiment?

Some people don’t like them, but I won’t eat dinner without ‘em. It’s not just about whining-prevention- they enhance the experience.

The picture below is the line-up from the other night. These jars and bottles are patiently waiting to be transferred to the dining room by wobbly little, table-setting gnomes.

I'm not sure it matters but I'll tell you anyway. We were having salmon, potatoes, peas, salad, and watermelon... and each of these condiments was ESSENTIAL! Here's the issue. I’ve gone way back to basics recently with cooking so I don't have to consult a recipe amidst the chaos that's common in my kitchen. This basics-only approach frees up the time and mental energy I need to repeatedly yell, "BACK up, that’s hot!” 

So, our dinners are super simple: a protein, veggie or starch for the kids, salad, and fruit. It’s like eating an outfit from the Gap. Because the menu is so dull on it's own, accessories become pretty important. That's why at Chez Camarote, we have a "thing" for condiments.

Allow me to make some introductions.

I’ll start with the reining king and queen: ketchup and honey mustard. Purchased separately, these two are always combined on the plate to make “hetchup.” Hetchup goes great with everything. From fish sticks to apple slices, my kids don’t eat without it. These two darlings are so essential to dinner that we keep backups in the pantry. Running out of one would mean one of parents would be running out to the store for more. If you look closely in the picture above, you can see the ketchup top is broken. That was my fault. Those bottles get slippery after being handled by thirty small, slimy fingers. I was trying to put it away the other night when it hit the kitchen floor head first. Now Linc reminds everyone, every single dinner that “Mommy broke the ketchup. It was an accident. No problem.” Aw, thanks bud. It's like he's heard those words himself 1,000 times before.

Butter. While a condiment in most people’s book, butter is considered a side in our house. The dish goes to the table last. Forget knives and matches; my kids require constant supervision around butter. Without one of us hovering, they’d eat an entire stick with their bare hands. We're so proud.

The olives, sundried tomatoes, and feta in the back were for me. I love Greek salad more than I should admit. I have fantasies of someday laying on the beach in Mykonos on a bed of spring mix with a bottle of SPF15 vinaigrette. I'm alone.

Remoulade. I have a problem. I love having stuff and hate clutter at the same time. I’m in a constant cycle of buying and then immediately trying to get rid of whatever I just purchased. I got this remoulade for crab cakes a month ago. It was pretty good, but we’re not getting through it fast enough. In fact, there has been no progress in weeks. I keep just putting it on the table hoping someone (the kids, maybe) will be confused, think it’s hetchup, and eat some. No such luck.

Panera salad dressing. This cutie is just one of five siblings that live in our fridge. One more trip to Target and I'll have the complete set. I love Panera. I love their salads. And, I love that I can now buy their dressings at the store. Store-bought dressings are such a gamble. With these, I already know how they taste. Delicious. 

One of my “go to” homemade dressings, a jar of pesto, and a ramekin of dijonnaise complete the picture.

• The dressing in this recipe is super simple: lemon, garlic, onion, Dijon, and olive oil. It’s like my hetchup. It truly can go on anything.
• I’ve talked before about my love of pesto and Ina Garten. I typically use this on eggs, but it can parachute in to save any other boring protein on a moment’s notice. It’s another one that’s always in the fridge.
• Lastly, I throw together the yummy mayo/Dijon combo just for salmon. If you like patronizing recipes, here’s “expert advice” how to assemble these 2-ingredients from Epicurious. Thanks, assholes.

Salt might be the spice of life, but there are an army of condiments in the running for second place. I don’t know how we’d get through our meals without them.

What about you? What are some of your must-haves for dinner?

How Not to Take a Picture of Your Wife

(especially when she asked nicely, and you’re not doing shit)

I occasionally ask my husband to take my picture like when I've just given birth to our first child, or I just got my haircut. It’s a rare request and here’s why. He acts like a big baby about it and doesn’t do a very good job.

So, when there is an urgent need to document a moment and a random stranger isn’t available, I take a deep breath, quickly lower my expectations, and say, “Hey honey, can you take a picture with my phone?”

A perfectly fine and nice way to ask, right? I think so but...

I know what’s going to happen next. First, I get an eye roll. Next, he puts his hand out like I’m giving him a dirty diaper. And then, I have .2 seconds to get ready. Sometimes, he’s not even looking at me or the camera. I know going in that he only has the energy to take one. It’s like it’s 1987 and we must conserve film to avoid another trip to Rite-Aid in the Taurus. So, before he halfheartedly clicks, I make a little wish to the universe that it turns out okay. It never does. Let me show you.

Below is the picture he took last Saturday of me and my lovely friend and neighbor, Jen. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s Jen. It’s hard to tell because it’s WAY too dark. No filter is going to fix this. Our other neighbor’s house looks great though.

Here’s another example. Now, I should have set this up better and just swiveled around on the stool. I blame both Brian and sleep deprivation for missing this chance to document baby Linc and I bonding over our love of stripes.

Aw, here’s one with me and my girls after hiking up a large-ish hill to see this waterfall. It’d be an okay picture except my eyes are closed. Of course, that’s not technically his fault either. But can anyone explain why he is only capable of shooting a single picture?! Asking for a tap, tap, tap is apparently too, too, too much.

Here’s one of me and my friend Liz getting ready to run a half marathon. I specifically asked him to get the start line in the background. Check. But in the excitement, I apparently forgot to ask for her lower jaw, as well.  She has a chin but I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. 

An actual photographer told me once to be careful not to indiscriminately cut off limbs in pictures. Subconsciously, it makes people uncomfortable. I see his point. This picture makes me squeamish, but that might be because I look like a hard-boiled egg. 
 
Let's move on.

Here’s a recent shot of the extended family heading out for a wedding. It’s not often that we’re all together in metallics. Let me be clear about my issue with this picture. Yes, my daughter Baya was distracted by something on TV. Annoying but no problem. Kids are kids, and they’re notoriously difficult to pin down for posed pictures. I have 7,256 pictures on my phone that prove that point. 

No, my issue with this picture is that a large sea creature appears to be either sucking my brains or telling me a secret. Either way, I don't like it.

Again, I take responsibility for not anticipating this problem with the background in advance. However, a little input from his vantage point would have been welcomed. He doesn't robotically execute any of the rest of my commands so, why just this?
 
Brian didn't actually take this last example. (I’d already cropped the fuck out of the similar ones on my camera.) However, they're worth including because they illustrate a common problem: WAY too much background.

My otherwise darling brother-in-law, Mike, took these pictures of my sisters and me after lunch (and a lot of rose) at their house. Mike is very smart and has an actual Ph.D.-- just obviously not in photographic composition.

He took a couple pictures and proudly handed the phone back. Upon getting clear and immediate feedback about the amount of brick wall, he did something interesting though. He smiled and took the camera back to try again. He then shot 22 more identically bad pictures, but I appreciated the effort. He’s Canadian.

In the hopes of getting a different reaction to my most recent request, I tried a different tactic. I told Brian that the picture was for his mom. I was thinking he'd see the obvious value in having two women he cares about happy at the same time. No such luck. The words he said back were deeply concerning. “No need. I send her pictures of the kids all the time.”

So, Lynda. Mrs. Camarote. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was happening. If you don’t mind, please delete everything he’s sent you over the years. I'll forward a new batch straight away. Forget whether they’re too dark, too far away, or oddly cropped, you shouldn’t be receiving any pictures that aren't prescreened for cuteness and cleanliness. If any made you think the carpet needing vacuuming, I assure you that’s not the case. It’s an optical illusion created by your son’s crappy photography.
 

'Til Dirt Do Us Part

I’m occasionally surprised. It doesn’t often happen because I have ESP. A fortune teller told me so. When I asked her directly if I had psychic powers like hers, she said, “a little bit” which means I do. Being psychic is like being pregnant. You are, or you aren’t. I think she downplayed my abilities because she worried I’d set up shop next door and steal away business with my lower rates. She also might have been a little thrown off by the fact that I didn’t ask anything about future love or money.

Anyway, it’s not a good sign that this post got so off-track so fast. I sat down to write about gardening.

We have a garden. It consists of 3, 4x8 foot raised beds. The royal "we" grows lettuce, herbs, tomatoes, peppers, and snow peas. So, that’s the thing. This garden is totally my husband, Brian’s, baby. I just get to enjoy the veggies of his labor.

So, what was the surprise? I’ve known Brian for roughly a gazillion years—which seems funny because I still sometimes think of him as my new boyfriend. Kisses, honey! When we met, he was an government IT cost estimator. Yes, that’s the job and, yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted to be when he grew up in New Jersey. He drove a Porshe and liked to shop. Actually, I don’t know if he liked to shop, but he liked to dress nicely. You could blindfold and spin him around in the middle of Brooks Brothers, and he’d be able to find a matching shirt and tie. He just didn’t strike me as someone who’d dig in the dirt.

Years later when he floated the idea of starting a garden, I was taken aback. I was so shocked, in fact, that I immediately called my mom (master gardener) and said, “Get this! Brian wants a garden! Hahahahahahaha.” By sharing this detail, I set into motion a series of events I should have been able to predict. My parents immediately packed up their car with all the materials, soil, and seedlings he’d need to get started. It was like reliving the moment when he asked for their blessing before getting engaged, they saw their opening and sprung into action- perhaps afraid he’d change his mind?

They helped get everything set up and then we waited. Even with my parents' help that first year, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. How was this going to work? How were we actually going to grow stuff?

Then, I was surprised again. Most everything we planted grew, and it was fun. And this about when my interests diverged from Brian’s. He leaned into the work: the strategies, planning, building, buying, weeding, watering, pruning, checking, and nurturing. I conserved my energy for clicking on recipe sites. That’s it- no surprise there. Four years later, it’s a pretty good system.

So, if you’re looking for actual gardening advice, I have none. Instead, I might offer some words of encouragement. From where I sit on the patio watching with a glass of wine and cookbook in hand, gardening doesn’t look that hard. Your husband could totally do it too. The kids seem to enjoy it and are presumably learning some valuable lessons about where food comes from. Though, I mostly just see them fighting over whose turn it is to squirt the hose.

Marin with green bean plant started at school and transferred to our garden.

Here are some pictures from where our garden is now.

Apparently, this is what happens when you dump an entire package of seeds- just to see. Surprise!

Can you see the lettuce through the leaves?

We also have kale for green smoothies and herbs creeping along. In the come weeks, we’ll probably have some snap peas. Sometime in July, I’ll be wishing fresh mozzarella grew on trees because we’ll be inundated with tomatoes. And when it’s too late in September, I’ll think about how nice it would be to have planted Halloween pumpkins.

Although rare, surprises like this can be fun- and delicious.

All's well that ends well: Linc's birth story

So, you think YOU’RE a procrastinator? I had this baby in a car.

Lincoln James, May 26, 2014

It was just about 5am, and I was in the front seat. My husband Brian- completely calm- was driving about 80 miles per hour towards the hospital. Though we were only a few miles away, I knew we weren’t going to make it. The speck of my brain that was still thinking rationally was telling me not to push. But when I say I had to, I HAD to. It’d be cliché (and not quite right) to say it was like trying to stop a train. It was more like I’d jumped off the high-dive and changed my mind mid-air. There was just no way to stop this gravity-like force. The baby was coming out whether I was in the stirrups or not.

My body took over, and after a couple of hard pushes, the head was in my yoga pants. Then slip, slip, slip as they do, the rest came out. I pulled the little body to my chest. There was no cry but just the sound of strong, raspy breathing in my ear and my husband casually turning to me to ask, “Is this where we turn?”

Minutes later, we pulled into the ambulance bay at in front of the emergency room. Brian got out to tell someone, anyone. I sat there stunned and alone with this new baby. We were now in the light, and I could see it was a boy. It was Lincoln!

The only thought I had was, “thank god it’s over.” The pain, I mean, the pain. The chaos of the emergency room, the doctors and nurses, the car mess, wondering if my mom had made it to our house, and the transition to being parents of three, three and under was just starting.

Arriving at Virginia Hospital Center

Within seconds the car was surrounded by dozens of people- including several people who appeared to come from the waiting room (like that guy on the far right!) The emergency room doctor opened the car door and said, “Hi Mom, how are we doing?” And before I could answer he started giving instructions to someone else, “…I need an OB kit with a plastic clamp…”

I looked up at him and said, “The cord is still attached.” The look on his face said, ‘Dumb Ass: You’re the one sitting in the front seat of a car with your pants down in front of 25 people holding a slippery baby. Who’s the idiot here?’ Instead, he just said, “I know.”

From there it was a blur. I got on the rolling bed. Hospital staff checked me, and they checked Lincoln. Fine and fine. They patted Brian on the back and handed him a pack of industrial-sized wipes and wished him good luck with the car. Not so fine.

I briefly wondered if they’d let us stay. They did. (As a side note for anyone considering this strategy to save money, please don’t. You pay twice.) Anyway, we then went up to Labor and Delivery to get our ice packs and paper underwear. We were completely average again.

When I tell people this story, they immediately ask, “Are you kidding?” When they realize I’m not, they ask, “How did this happen?”

My canned answer is that he just came really fast. That’s sort of true. The reality is that I didn’t leave my house in time. It was my third pregnancy and I was totally “fucking over it.” This is the actual medical term for the 40th week of gestation. (The language only gets more colorful for those moms who go into week 41 and beyond.) I was big, worn out, generally sweaty, and anxious to meet this baby.

Leading up to my due date that holiday weekend, I put my multi-pronged eviction strategy into effect. Brian and I did a 4-mile hike and I'd tried on clothes from my Stitch Fix. I’d had labor-induction foot massages and was eating a whole pineapple per day. The day before, we took the girls to the zoo, set them up with art projects outside, and then walked to dinner.I was trying everything Google suggested- except for the “Italian method” which was out of the question.

I was trying everything Google suggested- except for the “Italian method” which was out of the question. The problem with using any multi-pronged approach is that you have no idea what works. So, I’m sorry. When I approach in line at the grocery store with unsolicited advice, I’ll tell you to try it all too.

The night labor started, the signs were there. I’d woken up with contractions. I laid there for a while switching between timing them on my phone and reading about Lucky Lindy in “One Summer: America, 1927” by Bill Bryson. I’d hoped this would be a funny distraction, it wasn’t. The contractions came every 18 minutes, then every 12, then 7. When I got up to go the bathroom and get a drink, suddenly it was 5, 4, 3, 2… grunt. I had the urge to push and knew I then I was officially running late.

My mom wasn’t yet there to watch the girls, our doula was 45 minutes away, and I hadn’t even called the midwife yet. When labor started, I’d hesitated. I knew as soon as I made all those calls, several people were going to spring into action. I didn’t want to bother anyone until I was sure. By the time I was certain, it was too late. I kind of set myself up.

Oh well. They say, and I believe it, that- all’s well that ends well. Linc’s arrival was dramatic but uncomplicated. The girls slept through the whole thing- only waking up after grandma had arrived. Brian was able to trade in the car without having to confess to its gory past. And, of course, we got another great kid to go with a story we’ll never forget.

Totally Soaked

My typing fingers are still pruney after my run this morning. I was soaked.

Like many, managing work and life for me means striking a balance between my plans and staying flexible and open to whatever might come. I set my running schedule for the week on Sundays, and it’s one of the few things that I try to stick to no matter what. So some days, that means I’m out in the driving rain looking like a fool. That was today.

A couple of things from my week:

• I came across this playlist with the 100 most (surely subjective) uplifting songs in Apple Music and am loving it. If you’re looking for something different for your workout or commute, you might enjoy it too. Which, by the way, my toddler unwittingly bought Apple Music for me when playing with my phone a couple of months ago. I’ve never gone back in to cancel because it does come in handy when you need the latest Kids Bop tune in a hurry.
• I met a man named Noah Currier this week. He’s a paralyzed vet and entrepreneur who created Oscar Mike, a rad t-shirt company. He has an inspiring story that you can check out on his site’s “About” page here. In short, he started the company six years ago as a way to fund other paralyzed vets’ participation in the adaptive sporting events and adventure races he credits with saving his life. I snagged a shirt this morning and am looking forward to the next sunny day to wear it.
• Lastly, the Kentucky Derby is tomorrow! I don’t care for juleps, and my only suitable hat is rather unspectacular. However, this is one of the few sporting events I look forward to each year. My kids and I have a complicated horse-selection process that starts with the question- Is there a filly in the field? If not, we move on to picking by saddle blanket color and horse name. We'll be watching and doing some friendly betting with neighbors tomorrow.