Claire's Bookclub: British Invasion

A couple of weeks ago we went to the library and Claire came home with a gaggle of books which all happened to be written by British authors.  Each book was a little more odd than the next but they all were major hits with Claire.

Mr. Gumpy's Outing by John Burningham

We loved this.  We are right in a phase where Claire is working on making animal sounds and this book provided ample opportunity.  I also loved that in this book animals and children act like animal and children and still get to go to tea and eat cakes at the end.

Shoe Baby by Joyce Dunbar

I really didn't like this book but Claire loved it.  It's very odd, though the rhythm and rhyme are good.  Claire loved looking at shoes (shoe was one of her first words) and saying "shoe!" She also liked the elephants and giraffes--anything with animals these days.

Beware of the Frog by William Bee

 WEIRD ALERT! This book is so odd and does not end very  happily but Claire loved it.  She loved the pictures, she loved the silly songs that all of the creatures sing, she loved the little old lady hiding in the house peeking her head out of the windows.

So, in conclusion, all of the British books were huge hits even though they were certainly on the weird side.

**Adults.  Don't forget that we are reading Moby Dick for book club.  I'll be writing about it on Nov 4th.  I'm about half way though and it's fascinating (even if it's a little slow).  So start it if you haven't already.

Welcome Fall

So remember when I used child labor to make a Valentine's Chandelier for my kitchen/dining room?

Just 2 days ago that chandelier came down and it has now been replaced.

Pay no attention to the bats that have eyes all over their bodies and on their wings.  Claire was in charge of gluing on the eyes and I think we have a budding Picasso on our hands.

Red Tide

For the last couple of weeks it's been the Red Tide in San Diego (which despite sounding like some awful video game or a reenactment of Normandy Beach is really just an algae bloom).   The algae in San Diego happens to also be bioluminscent which is pretty much Mother Nature's way of proving that she is, in fact, totally magic.

We planned to head to the beach on Monday for Family night.  There is a park there and we thought that we would be able to distract Claire with swings and slides long enough to be able to see the glowing and not have her soaking wet by the time we left.

We, of course, underestimated her ability to instantly become soaked and covered in sand and despite our best efforts she drove home without any pants on (hers being totally wet and covered in sand even though we were only on the beach for 5 min and it was pitch black).  I tried to get a picture or video of the glowing waves but the camera on my phone and my skills as a photographer just weren't up to snuff so I had to steal this picture from the interwebs.

That people, is not enhanced.  It really does look like that. It's amazing.  And if you haven't see it yet you should.  Last night (after $1 baskin-robins scoop night) we drove up the coast because we wanted to see it again.  It was magical--the glowing waves crashing all around.  A friend told me that if you collect a bottle full of ocean water you can recreate the glowing waves at home.  She was right and it was perhaps the best part of the whole deal.  We placed ocean water in glasses when we got home and poured a little bit of vinegar into each one.  They lit up with their greeny-blue glow.  If you live close you should certainly try it out.

You Gotta Know When to Fold 'em

We've talked before about how much Claire loves her dad.  And I mean LOVES her dad.  One of my friends who is a social worker assured me that Claire loves me and her feeling so confident in my love is what allows her to feel comfortable enough to prefer her dad.  And she does--prefer her dad that is. 

Let's be thankful that the hubbs and I are not in a custody battle for Claire which would be decided by us standing on opposite sides of the room, placing her in between us and calling for her to come to see who should have her a la Henry and Ribsy (all you people between the ages of 30 and 40 don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about). I would lose.  She would walk right over to her dad and sit down in his lap.


On Saturday night Claire woke up crying at 3:30 am.  Usually this is just because she has lost her pass or she is startled but after one experience where it was actually a poopy diaper and we left her crying until morning (with a serious diaper rash consequence) we always go in and check on her.  I slowly opened the door to her room and right when she saw me she yelled, "No. Daddy." 

I  turned around and called out, "Honey, Claire is calling."  The hubbs then got up and comforted her and put her back down and I went right back to sleep.  Should I be offended that my staying home with her has caused her to believe that her dad is the superior parent or should I just be thankful that I don't even remember the hubbs coming back to bed because I was already fast asleep?

When the Mormons Meet...

This weekend is General Conference.  Over the course of 2 days the Prophet and leaders of our church speak to us. It takes place in 5 2-hour sessions (which is daunting if you have an 18-month old--that's a lot of church) and it's broadcast all over the world and translated instantaneously into more than 90 languages.  We'll be watching it from the comfort of our home as it streams live over the internet (I like to call this pajama church which if you are anything like me is the best kind of church). The instruction is good.  It's mostly lots of the same things--be kind, help other people, be grateful, take care of your families.  Nothing ground breaking but always a spiritual experience and always lots to learn.

If I had to make a biblical comparison for understanding sake, I would ask you to imagine that Moses and Aaron were planning a weekend of instruction and they'd asked everyone to gather and listen.  That's pretty much how we feel about it--burning bush and all.

So I've spent this week praying that my heart will be open, that I'll be ready to hear the things I need to hear and that I will be ready to change my life. Consequently it's been a pretty tender week. 

Today I heard this story from story corps which made me cry (like really cry, while I was at the gym--wasn't pretty).  Father Mychal Judge was the first casualty of September 11, 2001.  The story is an interview with the Father who was asked to give the homily at Father Mychal's funeral.  The story is beautiful and you should really listen to it but if you can't here is an excerpt from the homily:

Mychal Judge’s body was the first one released from Ground Zero. His death certificate has the number one on the top … and I meditated on that fact of the thousands of people that we are going to find out who perished in that terrible holocaust … Why was Mychal Judge number one? And I think I know the reason. I hope you’ll agree with me. Mychal’s goal and purpose in life at that time was to bring the firemen to the point of death, so they would be ready to meet their maker. There are between two and three hundred firemen buried there, the commissioner told us last night.
Mychal Judge could not have ministered to them all. It was physically impossible in this life but not in the next. And I think that if he were given his choice, he would prefer to have happened what actually happened. He passed through the other side of life, and now he can continue doing what he wanted to do with all his heart. And the next few weeks, we’re going to have names added, name after name of people, who are being brought out of that rubble. And Mychal Judge is going to be on the other side of death … to greet them instead of sending them there. And he’s going to greet them with that big Irish smile … he’s going to take them by the arm and the hand and say, “Welcome, I want to take you to my Father.” … And so, he can continue doing in death what he couldn’t do in life …
And so, this morning … we come to bury Mike Judge’s body but not his spirit. We come to bury his mind but not his dreams. We come to bury his voice but not his message. We come to bury his hands but not his good works. We come to bury his heart but not his love. Never his love.

Somehow this felt like the perfect way to kick off this very important and spiritual weekend--a reminder that the good we do in this life lives on, that it does make a difference.  That when we are each returned to the dust of the earth those we love and serve will come to bury our bodies but not our spirits, our minds but not our dreams, our voices but not our messages, our hands but not our good works, our hearts but not our love...never our love.

And that's what we call a milestone

Oh the growing up we've been doing around here is pretty incredible.  These days you're more likely to find her running along side me with her hand in mine than you are to find me carrying her.  On Monday we went to the beach and for the first time ever she didn't want to hold my hand as we ran in the waves.  She wanted to play with the other kids and follow them as they ran up and down the beach.

Then, on Monday evening I was cleaning off the table before dinner.  I finished cleaning off the table, told Claire to get ready for dinner and went into the kitchen to put food on plates.  I turned around to this--three matching place mats (her favorite) all on their way to the table.

This photo does not capture the pile of place mats on the floor next to her which she had sorted through to find the ones she wanted.

Ahhhh job chart territory.

Big City Life

When people who are not from San Diego ask me where in San Diego I live I say, "Have you heard of La Jolla?  (it's been in the news lately because that's where Mitt Romney is quadrupling this size of his vacation home)"  When they reply, "Oh yes.  It's so beautiful there."

I say, "Yea, I live in La Jolla's ugly step sister--just a few miles east but a world away."

My neighborhood is high rise apartment buildings (all 1 to 2 bedrooms) set down right next to 10-story office complexes. It's a hot spot for young families and retired couples--more affordable than La Jolla, still close to the beach but without the constant partying of some beach towns.  We love it here.  We love walking to the park and the library but there are some things that are less than desirable.

Our local grocery store has 2 isles dedicated to pet products, 2 isles dedicated to wine and spirits and 1/2 of 1 side of 1 isle dedicated to baking (which also includes boxed cake mixes).  You can buy flour in 5lb bags but nothing bigger.  This makes things tricky if you are trying to live on one salary and consequently have to cook 99% of your meals at home.

All of my neighbors who were not born in the United States (mostly Asian and Indian in this neighborhood) swear by a place called North Park Produce.  It's kind of far away but they swore that you could buy flour (whole wheat even!) in 20 and 50 lb bags and any kind of spice mix you can think of.  Today Claire and I made our way there (we're out of flour after making all of that Artisan bread) and North Park Produce did not disappoint.  It's small and crowded, has almost no parking and we were the only native English speakers there. Even though it's about 1/4 the size of our grocery store it carries a whole array of products that the local Ralphs does not.

We bought a 20 lb bag of what we hope is whole wheat flour (it's hard to know if it's white or red wheat and how finely it's ground because it's from some country where they don't use the same kind of letters we do but the pictures of the flat bread they were making looked like things we'd like to eat.  I'll let you know how it turns out.) They didn't carry unbleached AP flour in bulk so we're still in search of that.  If anyone has ideas let me know.

We also bought spice packs and some strange frozen ravioli (from Russia--which was weird but they looked good).  We bought carne asada, naan and all other kinds of delicious things.

The one thing we didn't buy was candy.  (I'm not sure how we resisted this face)

But my experience is that besides the rare exception of chocolate from Switzerland, Germany and Belgium no one does candy like America.  Sure Mexican sweet cookies are delicious but you know what would make them better?  Covering them with caramel and chocolate--oh wait, that's called a twix bar and it rocks.  Combining some form of baked good with caramel, chocolate, nuts and really anything else you could think of?  That can only happen in America people.