Strawberry Vanilla Jam

I got a bangin' deal on vanilla beans, so I'm spreading them around like a drunken sailor.

Easter

T-Ball

We're living mostly out of doors these days. Dash has t-ball practice on Thursdays & games on Saturdays. When he's not on the field, he spends nearly every evening and weekend riding around the neighborhood on his scooter while Ma & Pa Kettle (us) sit on the front porch reading and kibbitzing with the neighbors.











I'm pretty sure this is what they had in mind when they made America.

Pay Attention

I think I've mentioned before that I write here for Dash. I want him to have a record of himself--of our family--from before he can likely remember. I want him to feel, in his bones, the ferocity of our love for him. I want him to know, too, that he was kinda a prick sometimes, but so were we and mostly we laughed it off.

**

Today I was dicking around online and found this post on Mighty Girl, comprised of some commenters' favorite childhood memories. I have plenty of my own, of course--rolling down the hill at LACMA; Earl Gray tea and soft boiled eggs on sick days; food fights with my Dad at otherwise stuffy dinner parties--but more than anything, reading those memories reminded me of my main job with Dash.

I mean, yes, I need to educate him and guide him and grow him up good, but mainly, I think, I need to make him take notice.

Of the smell of wet asphalt after a Summer rain.

Of the taste of a warm strawberry, plucked from the ground and still slightly gritty.

Of the feeling in his little bones after he's run as far as he could, as fast as he could.

Of the therapeutic properties of bathing suit-clad baths with Mama after a long, long day playing.

Of the scent of rust he gives off when he's good and tired.

Of the sound of the three of us singing at the top of our lungs on long car rides.

Of the sense of panic, followed closely by exhilaration, when approaching a new kid in the neighborhood.

Of what it means to live a big life by living--really, really living--every little moment.

**

One of the commenters on the post wrote of her memory of watching her mother run--one of the last times before she became wheelchair bound. That one kinda killed me a little. It reminded me, again, of why I'm running. Of what it means to live in my body instead of fighting with it. Of showing my legs their purpose. Of not giving up on trying, because Dash is watching. And because I'm watching, too.

I ordered this digital image from Julian Bialowas ($3 and he sends you the high-res digital file to print however you like, yo!) and had it blown up to 36" x 48." It's hanging in the family room as a reminder for all of us (well, those of us who can read) to never stop.

Kumquat

The exquisite Martha Plimpton & I made our first test batch of fair jam. Kumquat-Vanilla Bean marmalade. Josh said it was "refreshing & delightful." We'll see if the judges agree.

Next up, Pomegranate & Champagne jelly.

Messing with the 5-Year-Old

Finally, FINALLY! The kid is old enough for me to fuck with him on April Fool's day.

Bought a bag of chips & promptly ate all of them.

Bought a bag of M&Ms & dumped half of it into the now-empty chips bag. Ate the other half.

Added some gummy worms to the chip bag, to add bulk.

Grabbed a handful of my favorite teensy tomatoes that are about the size of a peanut M&M.

Dumped them into the M&Ms bag.

Sealed everything back up with my lover, double stick tape.

Lunchbox locked & loaded. (Not pictured, PB&J sammich with a marshmallow tucked inside--that was a 6am brainstorm)

April Fool's Day, FTW!