The Rinrins

Pancakes

One hands-down favorite meal I can get anyone in the house to eat--all at the same time--is pancakes. Funny how they can seem warm and wheaty on a cold day, or fast and light on a hot day. Nothing is quicker to make, save a bowl of cereal. And goodness knows I've had Mothering days that ended in a cereal dinner for all.

At some point I started making small pancakes, maybe plum sized. That makes it easier for little kids to just dip into the syrup so I didn't have to go around cutting everyone's stack up into manageable pieces. I'm nothing if not efficient (lazy) when it comes to food. We also use much less syrup this way. It takes longer to pour and flip all those wee pancakes, though. But after years of making them little, the big kids are nostalgically shunning large cakes.

I should have guessed: small pancakes only open the door for smaller pancakes. The kids each like to lobby for the smallest cake, so I alternate. I found myself one day, gripping the sides of the oven, struggling to remember who I had given the tiny one to the last time.

Ridiculous, I thought. I'll just make them big, 6 giant slabs of dough all in one shot, I get to be done soon and they can just eat it. And I did.

"Thanks. Mom."

"Tasted a little different this time, though."

"I think mine was soggy in the middle."

"No, thanks, I don't need more."

"Do you have any baby ones?"

I admit, big pancakes don't taste as good. Too much inside and not enough crispy outside. I am an exclusive baby-cake maker now.

And with the baby pancakes now taking the role of "normal", six little eyes are always looking for something smaller. 

Ellery always like to help in the kitchen. Her favorite job is to stir. She didn't know what I was doing but wanted to help. She dragged a chair over to the stove, grabbed a spoon, and started stirring the batter. While in her own world of happiness she suddenly looked over, and with much surprise and glee shouted, "MOM!! A PANCAKE!!!" as though a little leprechaun had materialized right in front of us out of thin air.

You'd think all these tiny pancakes would suffice, but there's a new sheriff in town. And that's the Pancake Drop.

It's what drips from the scoop and survives in a somewhat circular shape. This species was discovered by Brenna, who is famous for her conservation efforts in nature.

Naturally I have to flip it to cook both sides and serve it up. Ellery was helping today so she got the drop. She was shouting, as I was trying to get this thing off the griddle without smearing it into oblivion, "Mom! It's me! It's like me!"

Sweet as they are, I am absolutely putting my foot down at pancake drops.

Twelve

I'm sure it sucks to turn twelve while you're sacked in bed with the flu.

A few days later, a bit of fresh air for him (and a few pictures as close to his birthday as possible for mama) did the whole Flu family some good.

I keep catching myself getting all wobbly on the inside from the fact of his Twelveness. 

He still owes me a proper birthday photo shoot.

Grievances

From 2 year old Ellery, top of the stairs:

"Mooooommmm!!!!! Sissy keeps organizing me!!!!"

Halloween a few days late, but you can't blame me because my kids have swine flu

This year we did the traditional trick or treating in a very traditionally trick or treatish neighborhood. Remember in ET when they go, and there are kids everywhere, crossing the roads, running in groups, tripping over each other? It's like that. Really fun.

It happens so fast, though. If you spend too much time out, you don't get much time back at home handing out candy. I think the entire neighborhood was out by 6 and done by 8. Live fast, die early, is this hood's motto. 

Garrett couldn't decide if he was even going to dress up this year, until I reminded him what kind of family he was born into, to accept his fate and suck it up. Once he thought of being a mad scientist, though, he was game.

Costume: genuine lab coat, Darth Vader gloves, faux test tube, black smudges on face, Willy Wonka goggles, and lots of hairspray and 80's style teasing.

Brenna wanted to be a raccoon, and since there are no good raccoon costumes out there that aren't body zip suits, I went old school and made a tail and a mask. She was happy.

Costume: mask with felt on face side and faux fur on outside, faux fur tail, both with black spray paint accents and elastic to hold them on.

Ellery and I had discussions in September that led to her thinking a pink and purple owl would be good. I bought all the felt, and she refused. She wanted to be a kitty. Fine. I can do kitty. But what am I going to do with 3 yards of purple felt and knit?

Costume: black tutu, gray pilot cap with felt ears sewn on, black facepaint. She didn't have a black shirt, and I told Rick to just go pick something that would work. He picked the best choice, don't you think?

My sister in law made her baby into a bag of Skittles. Baby Scarlett appreciated it from the Otherworld of her subconscious as she was carted around in her Daddy's arms completely asleep.

That's fine, Lovey. Your little newborn self is but a canvas for our own Halloween satisfaction anyway.

All in all, it was a grand time, a flurry of activity propelled by the promise of sugar.

The Spider and the Little Toddler Fly

Ha. Finally caught the little bugger for a good enough shot to hand out to family with the yearly portraits. She's fast.

In the Night

It is 2:53 am. I am waiting for the spray-painted stripes to dry on a faux fur raccoon tail I have created so I can sew on the elastic band. The raccoon is attending a harvest party at school, leaving the house "tomorrow" morning in 4 hours. The mask, though, she is done.

 

I thought, might do some contemplating while the paint dries.

A friend of mine, an activist and ACLU representative, mentioned the other day a quote about confusing motion with progress. I replied that, in my opinion, motion without progress is what I call flailing.

I flail.

Badly.

I flail, I flit, I flutter needlessly. 

As a mother, I know when I am doing well. It is a tangible energy that instantly appears. It can be a happy moment, or a moment of diffusing and taking control of a tantrum. Remarking on effort in homework, or rubbing a head as I pass by, teaching, resisting the urge to yell, or giving undivided attention for a few moments creates something that is greater than the sum of its parts. 

When I am not doing well, I know it. It is also a tangible energy. When I am lazy, or allow myself to get distracted, or shout, or fail to listen attentively, the flailing begins. I am caught doing catch-up. I forget things, both important and trivial. I snap at the little souls around me. The cascading effect begins, and I am in a whirlwind of crap, people are crying or mad, everything is ugly.

Truth be told, I am enjoying myself right now, staying out of bed to make a simple mask and tail that will light up my daughter's eyes when she comes down from breakfast tomorrow.  No one makes raccoon costumes that aren't full body jumpsuits of mascot hell. Tails and masks are simple and old fashioned, just my kind of Halloween and the execution of the costume isn't difficult. But, true to form, I waited until the last possible moment to get started, because of all the flailing. It's nice to feel as though I am taming the whirlwind of crap, though.

Being a mother is like a years-long effort to circle the wagons. Account for everyone and everything, make a plan, impose order, follow through, keep the pattern steady. The circle doesn't last.  The group has to move on, the landscape changes, someone loses a horse. The energy turns ugly and everyone is bickering, unhappy, sour. The circle must be recreated every single night. If I fail to do that, everyone is lost and wandering, sometimes for days or weeks.

Must resist the flailing. I think I want to make that into a little sign for myself.

Happily, Halloween always provides lots of good wagon circling, in either making or finding costumes, staying up a little late for pumpkin carving, playing in the leaves, trying new homemade soup, snuggling for stories, helping with the real homework after the back to school honeymoon is over, or remembering to get hot cocoa for trick or treating night.

Must get hot cocoa at store tomorrow.

Incidentally, Halloween season has also brought us a ghost cat.

 

Photos for a friend

Some of my favorites from a photo shoot of a friend's children at a bird sanctuary (that happens to have a junkyard next door):

 

The Pumpkin Patch Trials

We have two perfect pumpkin patches: one in Spokane that we make the long drive to every year and go with family; another back in Snohomish county, WA where we used to live.

Here in Oregon, we just haven't struck gold yet. But we are still trying.

This year in Spokane the weather was brutal. Clear, thin sunlight and WINDY WIND blowing from all directions of WIND so cold that my skin shriveled like Tutankhamun the moment I stepped from the safety of the van. I am already not a good sport when it comes to bad weather. I don't rally. I don't grin and bear it. Oh no. Add WIND and I am downright bitchy.

But it was our patch, and we had driven 7 hours to be there to enjoy it with our family, so we got out of the car. 

19 minutes later we were back at the car. With no pumpkins.

Quick look at the animals, run around twice, swear, get back in the car.

But we did try to take our annual group photo. Here, half the family huddles while I check exposure.

It doesn't look that cold. But it was.

Really, really cold. Even the trees looked cold.

Back to the car with NO PUMPKINS makes a little girl very grumpy. Especially when said little girl's family has been hyping up the patch for a week.

On the way out of the countryside, I hopped out into the WIND when I saw this sad dandelion, frozen in fear, not letting go of even one seedling despite being battered. 

The next weekend, back home in Oregon and very conspicuously pumpkinless, we tried a new patch. From their website, they appeared to be a down home, simple, country farm. When we got there, it was like a cheap fair in the parking lot of a firearms and bait store. We left.

We drove up the road to a farm we know and have picked berries at before. They had a hay maze (score!) a corn maze (score! though didn't have time to do it that day), no stupid rides (score!), and a hayride wagon (score!)

Awesome stormy-but-warm weather for picture taking.

The handsome almost-12 year old using his black hoodie to play Death in the hay maze:

The super self-conscious girl who has no idea how pretty she is:

The littlest imp who wanted to (and almost did) sit on every pumpkin in the patch while I ran around and chased her:

I did not tell the kids that this pumpkin patch was fake. It was a FAKE, people! They put us on a wagon, drove down into a little glade, and let us out to walk around a big clearing with pumpkins that had been set down there. It appears the farm grows them on the other side of the road and hauls them in.
I felt totally ripped off. But we got pumpkins.

Next year, we will continue in our quest to find a patch as good as the one back in Washington.

But between the three patches we went to, it added up, eventually, to a pretty good pumpkin patch outing.

Sweet

I get to soak up more of this in just a week!

Aren't you jealous? Look at that mug!

I've only gotten to snug on her for five days of her whole life so far, and that is just not enough!

Backyard firepit

 

It was a dark and stormy night.

 

All day long the boy was counting minutes between downpours. "We've had 26 minutes without rain! I bet that means we can have a fire!"

Hot dogs, warm chicken pie in bowls (that tasted weird to me, and I know it's because I could smell the hot dogs), and tiny ghost shaped marshmallows which look hilarious spiked on a stick and being held over the flames.

 

Poor toddler is missing it all while she dreams of sugarplums and has nightmares of me putting diaper rash cream on her bottom. Really, she woke up a few nights ago...."NO!!! NOT THE C R E A MMMMMM"....

She needs her sleep.

Fire's still burning. Back out I go!