You are currently browsing the archives for August, 2009.
It just doesn’t get much better than this.
One of my favorite photos, possibly ever.
This has been one of the hottest weekends in recent memory. And we spent three hours at an outdoor birthday party yesterday. Then rode a solid seven miles on the bike in the heat today. John worked on the boat both days, too. The things we do for love, and friends, and our future . . .
Yesterday I asked Sophie to tell me a story and I would write it down. It’s been a hit. Today she “wrote” this one:
Meow-Meow and Herbert got Married
By Sophie
Meow-meow saw a dog named Herbert and they got married. And then they had a little tiny fuzzy cute little kitten. And I came over and I held the baby kitten and she liked me. Then I left and they were hugging their little kitten.
The little kitten was black and gray. She grew up to be a big fat fat fat cat. A dog saw her and then he tried to chase her. The dog did get her. The owner of the dog got the kitten out of his hands. And she was O.K. She went back to her mother and father.
And that’s all of the story.
The End
Reading this weeks’ posts on Zach Aboard- really AWESOME crafting all week long . . . has made me a bit antsy to get back in the swing of art-making with Sophie. She makes art every day. Her drawings are in a pile by the scanner, all “signed” with a sun on the back, “so they know it was me who drew this.” I scan them or take photos and will one day compile a big book of them, as saving them all would be an impossible mess of paper. We use them for wrapping paper, photo mats, greeting cards, etc., and the leftovers get recycled as grocery lists.
But today we went beyond our ginormous stack of drawing paper (and btw, this is the time to buy markers and paper and such- all the “other” kids are going back to school and Office Depot is practically giving stuff away). A few weeks ago we made a sandcasting with plaster of paris and while it was fun, I was looking for a way to keep Sophie more involved in the process. Leave it to Jan from the Artful Parent to solve the problem. We simply gathered a bunch of fun stuff from our “tiny box” where we keep beads and shells, and some dried edibles from the pantry, filled a plate with muddy plaster, and went to work. It was fun and mildly addictive. Sophie started drawing in the second one, like wet cement. Like Jan says in her post, the process is what it’s all about, and while the end result is fun, it’s the act of doing that teaches and inspires.
Next time I get off to the mainland, we will get some felting supplies, as I know how much Zoo would love to make Zach’s felted soaps. Painted rocks are also on our list, and homemade stamps. What would we do without the internet to inspire?
First off, a great blog John and I’ve both reading to get inspired about being aboard with kids. Mike, Alisa and their three-year-old son, Elias, sailed from Alaska to Australia over the past two years. Their blog, Once In a Lifetime is honest and endearing- a great read.
Meanwhile, the boat update. John has welded new steel frames for the large ports in the main part of the cabin. This week he’s going to install all new acrylic “glass” with fancy tape they use to attach windows in skyscrapers. Then it’s all about two tasks- preparing the deck for the mast! And preparing the interior for human occupancy. With the help of two babysitters/friends, and my parents, we are scraping together some “alone time” on the boat for the first time possibly ever (since children, but that’s an entirely different epoch). John will negotiate the exterior. Next week I’m aiming to get the overhead at least somewhat together, deal with the issue of a water supply (flexible water bladder in an old tank- my only trepidation is drinking from PVC?), and start scrubbing. Let the countdown begin!!
Dear Roo!
Happy fourteen month birthday! Last week I took a video of some of your first words and you’ve been learning like crazy ever since. This morning you rolled onto me and said, plain as day- “Hello!” You sing Sophie’s name all day long and will look in the mirror at yourself and say, “MY-eeee.” Accurate in a weird, wonderful way. My other favorites are “Shuuuu,” “Sit Down!,” your tickling sound, and “Catty-Catty,” which comes out very much the same.
We get up in the morning together, before your dad and Sophie. We come down and make some coffee and then I put on one of our signing videos. Just in the past week you’ve mastered almost all of the signs and will sign and say words at the same time. “Tank-uuuu” is now accompanied by the sign. Today we “talked” about trees and birds. Your favorite new sign is “Go,” which is like rolling your hands forward. You use it to mean “Bus” as well, as it’s the motion Chris does for “The Wheels on the Bus.” Speaking of which, the library is now as much for you as it is for Sophie. You’re working diligently on mastering the motions to “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” and “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.” There are few things more precious than tiny you and your enthusiastic clapping at the end of every song. I remember being so floored when Sophie started to learn those very songs. So proud to have her in my lap. And suddenly you’re that one. More than our tag-along, you’re a participant.
That’s what this month has been about. You’re becoming a playmate, a conversationalist. You give as much as you take now. John says, “Suddenly there’s so much behind every expression.” Synapses are being made every day and your world is exploding by leaps and bounds. As quickly as you can scale the couch, you are becoming an expressive, humorous little beast with your own agenda. Just two months ago I never had you out of my sight. Now you will play and explore on your own for long stretches of time. You color along with Sophie. You eat voraciously. You follow directions when I ask you to put things away, or to show things to people. You aim to please. And please you do.
If I could bottle the fourteenth month and sell a bit of it in concentrated form, I’d be a millionaire. The accelerated learning, the joy at having mastered important things like walking and climbing. The insatiable curiosity. A new love of books. Fearlessness. Love. New-found independence. The very best in a human being. Not yet exposed to the angst and worries that come with being three or four, or thirty. This is great stuff, Rosy. You are great stuff. I love you more every day, if that’s possible.
To the moon and back,
mama
Always talking. To herself more than anyone these days. She makes up songs, she talks to inanimate objects. She just talks.
Yesterday she named our green Volvo, “Birdpoop Zucchini Car.” And it is exactly the color of zucchini, with some birdpoop mixed in.
Her favorite new words-
disgusting!
Stupid
gross
Horrified!
Terrified!
She’s learning about mean and terrible things like “kidknackers” (a playground game?) and hunters “who hunt children.” We shelter her to no end, but this stuff still comes up.
She’s truly three going on thirteen.
Hopefully by thirteen she’ll be able to wipe her own bum.
FOr some reason I expected the second baby to talk later, that the first would do the translating and she’d be happy to listen. Not so much. Rosy talks all the time. There are few things more precious than when she babbles a full-blown sentence at you that is 100% incomprehensible. A little neighbor asked me the other day, “What do you think she’s saying?”
Every day there are more words. Yes, no, baby, mommy, daddy, hi-yee, fishy, duck, dog, book, shoe, thank you. She parrots most any phrase you ask her to, and she can sign all sorts of things- book, apple, more, drink, fish, all done, horse. She is a sponge for language and loves a good book. Here’s what she’s saying today:
It’s been a busy few days. We got word on Wednesday that some old friends from Germany were in town. Like, two miles away! We invited them to stop by yesterday and we ended up plugging their RV in to an electrical outlet and parking them in the driveway overnight. It was so much fun. John met Tom Herbst and his wife, Chris, over ten years ago when our friend Franjo was working on Thompson Island, in Boston. They were traveling with their then-tiny kids, Sarah and Benedikt, and tell a great story about kayaking through the Harbor to find parking for their enormous RV. John was the ferry captain on their trip to the island.
This time the parking was easier. Sarah is 17 and Bene is 15, and their youngest, Hannah, is 8. We caught up with them four years ago in Germany. They were even lovelier than I remember- funny, smart, kind friends whom we look forward to seeing again soon. Sophie was wrapped up in the arms of the big kids, and loved every minute of it. We always laugh that Tom takes great pride in the fact that his house in Germany, “is older than your country!!” True. But I think he appreciate the fact that our house has a waterfront view.
I just finished reading this piece by Tabitha Tucker, a friend of a blog-friend, about her full-time parenting being a radical, political act. And it is. That’s the part that keeps me interested. Just like choosing the bike makes a statement, choosing to be home is a choice that we didn’t happen upon. We actively decided to have a parent at home with our ladies. Some days it’s mind-numbing, some days it’s wicked hard, but every day it’s a conscious decision we make to slow down our lives and the lives of our children.
Tabitha’s essay points out all of her small radical acts. “Radical” laundry on her clothesline, gardening, preserving food, cooking, walking, mending clothing. Rosy has a radical bum, I have radical boobs. Sophie is about to embark on a radical homeschool journey. We started our radical journey when we moved onto our boat. Fewer possessions, a smaller footprint, freedom to relocate. We have tried to keep ourselves as “small” as possible while living ashore- biking, breastfeeding, cloth diapering, eating fresh and local as often as we can, all of it is part of the picture. We are itching to pare down again and as soon as the boat is liveable, will be back in our tiny abode.
But what makes me laugh about the larger “Slow” movement- and it has become one, a movement to slow down, buy less, eat better, and stick it to corporate banality; what I love about it is that it draws upon the skills my grandmother and great-grandmother held dear. They were considered imprisoned by their laundry, their cooking, and their child-rearing. That is exactly the stuff we’re taking back. We want to simplify but we also want to work harder. I don’t buy jam anymore. I make it. Rather than buy paper towels, I use rags and take the time to hang them to dry. I want my kids to get the chicken pox, and I’m happy to spend the time to take care of them while they’re sick. John and I design our little homestead in Maine on a daily basis, with its chickens and maybe a goat, a big garden, and a root cellar.
It’s conversations like these that make me want to do a bit of time-traveling. Would my great-grandmother have a good laugh? Would she say, “Be careful what you wish for.” Or would she trade her relatively “hard” life for this one filled with BPA-lined cans and smog and the fear of global warming (and it is something I truly fear).
What I wish she would say, and something I’ll say when I’m the great-grandmother, is what Tabitha ends her piece with, “I’m not sure, but I do know that if I don’t do it, if I don’t seek to be the change I wish to see in the world, there is no hope.”
It is what gets me through the day. Being the change. Being the mom. It keeps me challenged and make me feel a little bit better about all of it.
Yesterday we took the bike a couple miles from home and while we were away, what has become Tropical Storm Claudette blew through Key Largo. We holed up at a friend’s house and when we got a good break in the rain, I started home. The girls were quickly asleep in the trailer, which is like a little cocoon with the rain flaps down. We were fine until we turned onto the main road and then wham . . . the wind. You’d think my boating experience would have kicked in and told me that what follows a good thunderstorm is wind and lots of it. It was like mountain biking meets the Keys. Every gust was a Category Three climb to me. It was crazy hard, and so much fun.
Biking is just about the only exercise I enjoy. Especially on a day when I can leave the kids and bike without the trailer. It’s like riding down my parent’s street as a kid, all over again. But for us, it’s become a second vehicle. I can bike to most everywhere I need to go with the girls. The library, the post office, the pool, our friend’s, the beach. I can carry them and a few bags of groceries. We’ve toted a stroller, a fishbowl, a few pool floats (and lost one!). Rosy sleeps on any ride more than ten minutes, without fail. Sophie often sleeps, but likes to hold the trailer flag and sing to herself too. It’s a slower existence. It’s clean, healthy, and guilt-free. It’s wicked cheap.
I must admit I was inspired to bike more by Sarah Gilbert’s Car-Free Diet and her INCREDIBLE bike, the Mamabikeorama. Then Jim from Sweet Juniper had to go and buy a bike and trick it out with two kidseats. It’s rad. And this family bike site is far too much eye-candy for me.
In short, biking gets me out in the weather, makes me work a little bit harder for my modern conveniences, and makes a tiny bit of statement in a town of air-conditioned SUVs. It keeps me connected to the boating people who come in for groceries on their impossibly tiny folding bikes. I wave to the local with the Xtracycle, and the woman who works as the supermarket deli and rides the enormous tricycle. We are a tiny community, but if the blogosphere is any indication, our ranks are swelling. Just you wait.
