What, we always come to breakfast in our Hello Kitty ears...

The traditional "dance of the packages."

Checking to be sure the piles are equal (God help us if one kid has a single ounce more than the other.)

Airtight security

This is the security code you will need to use if you want to go into Audrey's room. The room is also, technically, her brother's room but more and more she is just referring to "my room" when she speaks of it-- BE THE CHANGE you wish to see in the world, right?

So you have to tap in the security code, which is composed of both letters and numbers. The numerical part is made up of the ages of everyone in the house in some kind of Zoroastrian pattern that only the designer understands.

And if you get stuck, you just hit the "Free" button and you're in. Nice!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Turkey Lurkey

Audrey volunteered- honest!- that she wanted to follow the Thanksgiving tradition of sharing the things she is thankful for at our holiday meal this year, and she decided to rehearse, tonight. So did her brother. Here is my dictation:

Audrey:

"I am thankful...

--to be free.
--for the Presidents.
--for policemen.
--to live in a really lovely part of the world.
--for my Mom and Dad.
--for my brother... sometimes.
--for kitty and lovey. [security objects]
--for the sun.
--for animals, including our dead cat Neko, rabbits, and pet fish.

[it was here that I thought this list of "thankfuls" might be about to turn into a wish list for Santa, and I redirected her to thinks more appropriate for expressing gratitude.]

--for my friend Alice.


Calvin:

"I am thankful...

--for popcorn.
--for the Easter Bunny.
--for art supplies.
--for the stove, which makes popcorn.
-for kitty [security object].

May your Thanksgiving weekend be full of sun, friends, family, animals (including your dead cat, if you have one in your past) and popcorn.

Audrey explores the feminine mystique

Searching for a way to kill time, one of Audrey's babysitters bought her these lurid press-on nails, which are fun and incredibly creepy.

She seems to understand both their intended and unintended effects quite well, because when she pressed this purple talon onto her hand she said to me, "OK, now look at this until you throw up."

I'm just about there.

Ain't Necessarily So (Chickpea carries on. And on and on and on.)

A shout out to Jill B. and Richard H. S., two real-live Chickpea readers who continue to stay out of Facebook Nation, and good for you!  I just wanted to assure you that my idle threats to stop blogging were... well, idle. It was all just a bit of bleating for attention.

Which worked, I dare say.

But let's return to our blog roots, since it's a family-oriented holiday today. Here is a photo of the kids, eviscerating a pumpkin.

Happy Halloween, y'all. It's good to have your company out there.

Mommy Blogger Apologizes to Nonexistent Readers For Not Posting More Often

AP Top News at 12:37 EDT...

All good things must come to an end. And also, things that are less good.

That’s the story told by Kris W., a semi-employed mother of two who announced that she may be calling it quits on her blog, ChickpeaCentral, a six-year chronicle of her madcap adventures as a fertile, overeducated, middle-class white lady.

In her press release, Kris says she feels “totally bad” about not posting more often, although it is unclear to whom this concern may be directed. “It’s a new era,” says the once prolific poster on topics as varied as the toileting habits of her two year old, and the toileting habits of that same two year old, six months later. “When you have to drag friends to your blog by updating your status to say you’ve updated your blog, it gets awkward for everyone.”

Friends alerted to the blog’s demise were surprised to hear that it still exists. “She’s all over Facebook,” said one source, briefly glancing up from her phone, “so I just assumed she was done with the baby blog thing. Do people still do those?”

Kris acknowledges that readership is down from her peak month when the site received 700 hits after a post containing the words “spica cast” went mildly viral. But she points out that her husband, her mother and at least one person in Thailand still regularly stop by to see what’s not happening. But despite the gratingly cheerful editorial style and that headachy bubble backdrop, a close friend of Kris W. (who spoke on condition of anonymity) pointed to what appears to be a darker side of Chickpea. “It can be funny sometimes, like, those kids say the gosh-darndest things! But then she’ll get a little shrill and crazy-sounding, especially mid-winter, and I’m like… is she OK?”

Asked for his response to the shuttering of Chickpea, a co-worker of Kris’s husband remarked, “Mommy blogs are like snowflakes. There are a gazillion of them and each one is exactly like all the rest. But at least it never became one of those screechy things where she’s screaming at us in ALL CAPS about stuff like the washing machine breaking down. I mean, news flash! That happens to everyone.”

When asked what projects she envisions next, Kris mentioned a possible foray into the mash-up genre she just invented called “bliction,” in which she will blog about her imaginary family as they travel the world collecting folk art and home schooling one another. The new project, tentatively titled “Happy, Fantastic!” will feature recipes and craft projects not tested by Kris or anyone else.

At press time, Kris’s husband was working at his actual job and could not be reached for comment.

Mommy's New Hideaway

Dear Plow and Hearth catalogue, 

What a pleasure to set down my plow, and curl up by the hearth this afternoon to page through your fall catalogue. Now that I have tossed it into my Classic Wooden Hearth Bucket with the rest of the lavender-scented kindling, I had to send you my thanks.

I’m aglow, just like my incredibly well tended fireside, at the way you’ve anticipated my need for Fireplace Bellows, Wellingtons that take me “from garden to grocery store” (the only two locations I am aware of) and—the piece that truly captures the rustically absurd comforts of my home, the Space-Saving Canoe Shelf. Until today, I have saved space by simply not having indoor canoes, but I love your fresh ideas!

Yet it’s a much humbler product that captured my heart this season: fake boulders. Or as you’ve impishly named them, Mock Rocks. No more will I lie awake in my solid oak, four poster bed, burning with shame at the thought of “pipes, meters, stumps and bare spots” in our yard, nakedly exposed as if no one had even thought to put a pretend stone over these obscenities.

Never again will I pass by a “boulder” on someone else’s lawn and mistake it for simple geologic reality—no. I’ll see it for the sly, yet sophisticated decoy it really is, covering up some unspeakable foulness like maybe a bunch of really lame-looking actual rocks.

But if I may point out a missed opportunity: Mock Rocks are not simply a chance to to “camouflage a variety of challenges” but to actually hide oneself from challenges. Your Extra Large Mock Rock in Brown is just two discreetly placed eyeholes and a beverage holder away from being my new favorite get-away (except the hearth, obviously). How cozily I could snuggle there in my Reversible Juliet Quilt, secure in the knowledge that I am providing “visual contrast to beds and borders” while remaining completely invisible to my family!

To throw them off my scent, I have only to set the Laptop Rabbit lawn ornament out in front of my hideaway. Because (as you clearly know) my children no longer know the difference between my face and the back of an Mac PowerBook, they are unlikely to realize that this cute bespectacled rabbit is not their real mother!

But I leave the details to you, and eagerly await your spring catalogue. Back to turning my compost, or maybe just rotating the selection of tasty holiday nutmeats in my Snack Carousel…

Kris

At sister's soccer practice

When he got tired of running around the perimeter of the field at Audrey's soccer practice, he started flower gathering, "for Frank," he said. I finally worked out, with Scott's help, that Frank is the guy who is doing some landscaping work for us this spring and Scott told Calvin that if he picked all the dandelions, it would make Frank happy.  I guess Calvin took that to mean ALL dandelions, everywhere.

Calvin has taken to putting his hand on his hip for photographs, and also when he is talking to strangers-- I guess trying to strike a pose that conveys warmth and credibility at the same time? It seems to work.

Bit loose, but it fits.

Picture day tomorrow, and Audrey has selected this dress which my mother made for me for my eighth birthday. She looked at herself in the mirror and said, "Now I look like someone from the olden days, who works in an office!"

And when I laughed, the dust and cobwebs fell all around me.

Actually, what I remember doing when I first put on this dress was pretending to give a lecture to a Biology 101 class. That's what I thought the dress looked made for.  What made the look slightly less sophisticated in my case was the knee-high white socks and blue sandals I paired with it.

And you know what? I just realized Audrey has no shoes to wear with that dress tomorrow. She'll have to go in the 3-sizes-too-big-but-she-loves-them-anyway black Mary Janes. And white socks (but at least not with sandals.)

Calvin's shirt is pressed and his Dinosaur clip-on-tie is ready to go.

Easter Special: The blog is resurrected

I promised and promised Scott that I would not drop the blog all together now that I'm in a new relationship with Facebook, so, today, we rise again. Feasting on bacon and candy and a lot of coffee, and now, on pictures and videos of the kids hunting Easter eggs!

There was more squabbling this year as Calvin is now old enough to actually notice his sister scooping up his share of the eggs before he can get to them. Here's how egg hunts work at our house: because the Easter Bunny is extremely busy, he has subcontracted with Scott and I to hide the eggs that our family decorated together the day before. So Scott stayed inside with the kids-- drapes closed-- while I dashed all around the yard and hid eggs. This was made significantly harder by the fact that we raked and cleaned the yard yesterday, obliterating most of the good hiding places in the still-leafless spring yard.

I hope you enjoy the sound of the twerdeling birds in the video as much as I do.

Happy spring, happy Easter. Welcome back, sunshine.

Old footage, an exclusive for Gramma Jean

Hi, Mom- A little something for you, especially.  I can't email this because the file's too big but just ran across it and I don't know if we ever showed this one to you? It's a couple of years old. More, actually. I like Calvin's burbling commentary in the background and Audrey's "one more, one more."

Happy New Year's Eve, in which we lose our pants to the dance

Last post of 2012. I have to get ready for my incredibly exciting plans for New Year's Eve which involving sitting right here, on this couch, in my flannel pajamas, and watching a movie. Exactly what I always wanted to do on New Year's but when I was young(er) I felt more pressure to do something fun and memorable, like freeze my keester off in a long line outside a crowded club with a $20 cover charge (which would turn out to be $40 by the time I made it to the door) and inside of which I would have to stand crushed against the bar with my head in the armpit of some undergrad who didn't even see me there but was standing on my foot and making it impossible for me to flag down a bartender.  Oh, I miss my wasted youth.

Everyone thinks that videos of their own kids dancing are funnier and more adorable than videos of someone else's kid doing exactly the same thing, but we suffer from the delusion nevertheless. Feast your eyes and ears and GET DOWN with Calvin, and have a Happy New Year, from all four of us.

Christmas morning: The Big Reveal, plus tips on Lemon Meringue you did not ask for but, trust me, you need.

Scott is so annoyed with me for not posting anything for so long that I'm going to skip the text (I know: who's missing it?) and just throw on all the photos and videos that he has asked me (and asked me and asked me) to please just post already.

The kids were really rather spoiled by it all this Christmas. They loved it. It was fun to watch. And so far they have not discovered the great big bag of toys I'll be donating, in order to make room for the new. I'm on a New Year's organizing kick, but don't worry, I'm not going to blog about it. Nor am I going to share my recipe for Lemon Meringue Pie with Graham Cracker Crust, because actually, it's not mine at all, I got it here, and you should go there right now and download it because it is FOUR STAR INCREDIBLE and I've made it three times in a month already. And if I may just get a little food-bloggy for a moment, here is a tip worth following from The New Best Recipe, in their also-very-good-but-not-as-good-as-the-above recipe: don't let the lemon custard cool before you apply the meringue to the top. Put it one while it's still hot and then the underside of the meringue won't undercook and ooze that really disturbing clear liquid.

Did I say I was not adding text? I lied.

He walks, and talks. And kvetches.

Many have asked us if Calvin is walking yet, and what the walk looks like. Here it is. A bit less of a gimpy-leg lope each day. And you can see here that his general sense of being irritated with the service is still fully in tact.

Merry Christmas to all

Nativity Scene by Granny Stark (manger constructed of scraps of polyester plaid pants from Granddad)

Decorating Batch 2 of gingerbread cookies. Batch 1 incinerated. We are blaming a "tricky oven."

Thank you, Gramma Jean, for sharing all your cookie cutters.

Candy buttons are handmade candy made by our neighbor Jane from her family's recipe. We're not even close to that kind of holiday sophisticated around here, as evidenced by Mr. Gingerbread's sadly squashed head.

Merry Christmas to all!

What I'm writing to the NRA

I'm putting this in the mail this morning.

December 14, 2012

David Keene, President

National Rifle Association of America

11250 Waples Mill Road

Fairfax, VA 22030

R.E.: Please reconsider your support of assault weaponry and make American children safer.

Dear Mr. Keene,

I have begun many different letters to you over the last week, knowing that my letter will surely be read by an exhausted member of your staff who is putting letters into piles of “Supportive of NRA” and “Not Supportive of NRA.”

Please put my letter in the “Heartbroken and Scared” pile.

When I dropped off my children at preschool this morning it was hard to get all the way back to my car without crying, but I am terribly frightened for their safety, which is why I am writing to you.

I can’t make it any less likely that a violent or mentally ill person will enter my children’s school, or any school, with an assault rifle and an intent to kill, but YOU CAN. You and the NRA can support reasonable changes to gun laws that will make assault weapons—which no sportsman or civilian needs for any sane or humane purpose—illegal.

Mr. Keene, public opinion is changing steadily in favor of a sensible ban on assault weapons. More and more of your own members are realizing that assault weapons can be made illegal without dissolving the Second Amendment.  I know that my beliefs about gun laws will never match those of most NRA members, but I do believe that you and the members of your organization have compassion and mercy. Many of them may have sat in their cars this morning, as I did, having just left their children in a school or day care center, and wondered how they would go on living if their children were hurt or killed.

Please, please reconsider your position on assault weapons and work with others toward a sensible ban. It is the right thing to do, for everyone in this country.

Hopeful that you will hear me,

Kris

Mother of Audrey (5) and Calvin (3)

Bea and Audrey, and a really big tree

From last weekend. Bea lives around the corner and came by to help us decorate our first tree at Ely Rd. This tree, which brushes the ceiling, really did not look so big at Mahoney's...

The entire house smells piney. Ah. This picture of the girls is pure deliciousness, too. Bea is Audrey's friend and also her clothing benefactress, although Audrey's going to be just as tall as Bea pretty soon so the train of beautiful unstained clothes (how is Leah managing this?!) will have to end.

Secured to his chair by a cargo strap, Calvin adds a bauble or two.  Now we can just use the cargo strap for lashing him to the top of the car.

Smell ya later, spica cast! Our bizarre six weeks comes to a close.

Right now, Calvin is in the next room, snoring gently and lying on his back with his two rather spindly legs straight out in front of him, a bit toneless in muscle and flakey in the skin, but healed and whole and stable.

I feel as if I fell down a rabbit hole, six weeks ago, and just came back up.

We were just raking leaves, and the kids were peddling around the driveway, Audrey on her bike and Calvin on his scooter, when I saw him tip and then I heard him scream. The next few minutes, hours and days are a little sketchy in my memory but my main recollection is wanting to close my whole body around Calvin and prevent his pain.

How incredibly lucky we are to have medical care and treatment within a few minutes drive, and things like morphine (who ever imagined we'd be so excited to have our not-quite-3-year-old given morphine?) and pediatric orthopedic surgeons and everything else we needed-- friends. And family. And resources. And time for him to heal completely, with follow up care. Most children in the world have few of those things, or not enough of them. Many have none. I can hardly stand to contemplate this but children endure what Calvin went through without so much as an aspirin.

During the hospitalization, every doctor we spoke to, starting with the on-call pediatrician in the E.R., told us that we Calvin could have, and should have, and would have, the pain medication he needed and that we should ask for it, advocate for him, and make sure he got what he needed. About 180 degrees from what a parent would have heard in the past. (A thought that makes me feel sick for those children, and grateful on behalf of mine.)

Oh, and they've worked on bedside manner a lot in medical schools, it would appear. Example: late on the night of Calvin's accident, we have arrived at Children's Hospital Boston (transfered by ambulance from Winchester) and I've just been shown the x-ray. The break is so big, and so complete, that at first I don't even understand what I'm seeing. The doctor-- who is nine-- has to show me the line along which Calvin's one femur bone became two jagged, completely distinct pieces right below his pelvis. I am blank for a moment with horror-- and shame, and panic at how this must have hurt and still be hurting.

I blurt out that I probably made the initial break much worse by picking him up right away-- in my total ignorance-- and jostling him in my arms, trying to comfort him. I set him on the couch and put an ice pack on it, for heaven's sake and then sent Scott off to the hospital thinking we were being overly cautious. My voice may be going up a few registers. The nine-year old doctor steps very close to me, right into the space that no one ever steps into in the course of normal conversation, and says carefully, "It's very important that you understand this: you did not do anything to hurt your son." He puts his hand on my shoulder. Someone has told him to emphasize these words with warm but appropriate touch: I can tell. I want to crumple very quietly into a chair at this kindness, but I go back to Calvin, who is numbed and semi-asleep. He is tiny in the bed.

**

The sound of the little saw they use to remove the cast frightened him, and he cried, but he also smiled in between bouts of tears, and chatted with the nurses, before crying a little more. Last night he slept in his own bed again, instead of the beanbag he's been heaped onto each night. Every night we did a midnight "flip" from back to front and then from there until dawn, me, sleeping beside him, at his insistence, on an air mattress. (Being back in my own bed, too, is a welcome change.)

He is sore and his leg muscles are quite stiff but he was already taking some assisted steps today with the help of Judy, the lovely nurse who spent time with Calvin at home this month and stayed with him at school while he was in the cast. This morning when I left them both in his classroom he was seated on a beanbag (beanbag's are as essential, it turns out, to spica cast care as they are to dorm room decor) and he was just holding forth to his classmates about the whole thing, and pointing to his healed leg. I guess this was probably his last day of being a minor preschool celebrity and he was making the most of it.

He is already asking about his scooter.

In reverse order, the removal of the Movember Beard Experiment

Does it work with just the soul patch? Uhm... that'd be No.

And this? Get. That. Off. Your. Face. Now.

The full beard was pretty cute, I have to say. But it itched til it drove the poor man mad. Movember, move on please. The cause goes on; the facial hair must go.

I'm listening... with my giant pink ears.

I asked Audrey if that was a pink bow in my hair and she said, "No. Those are your hairy ears."

!!