Back from Minnesota

A few pics from our annual Minnesota trip, where we celebrated Zach's high school graduation and remarkable achievements, kept Tate away from the stairs, slept with the windows open, watched Tyler attempt to blow out 40 birthday candles, talked politics late into the night, and marveled at how fast time flies, how fast kids grow.

To see pics, click on the image above...

Beach therapy

OH, wehavebeensosick. Tate's illness was not mushroom-related at all, it was just the good old fashioned stomach flu. And after he got it, I got it. And then Chad got it. And right when Chad and I were bent over the toilet, begging for mercy...Tate got better! And wanted to PLAY!!

Since I was still feeling weak and my stomach muscles felt like they had been taken to with a meat cleaver, I decided it was time to go to the beach. My logic? Well, a 3 hour round-trip drive gave me much needed time to recuperate without toddler-chasing, instead singing songs and pointing at horses and motorcycles and logging trucks. And once we got there, it was pure joy to see Tate. He has been to the beach before, but he could never *explore* it like he can now.

First, he planted his feet firmly in the sand and he just looked around like "WHAT IN THE....."

Then, he found a paper bag. WOO!

Then, he found a crab.

Then, he saw a dog. Then kids. Running now. KITES. (Huge hit.) A pail with a shovel in it. Then...oh my gosh....the water.

Actually, the huge body of water he saw wasn't even the ocean. It was a tidal pool that I let him run up to. To him, it was a vast and magical place where his toes could disappear in the cold sand as the water rushed between them. He literally squealed.

Oh, and if you are wondering why Tate is wearing a huge sweatshirt, and where all of the bikini-clad women are, remember: this is an Oregon beach. Look at what this poor kid had to wear for his day o' fun in the sun.

Doctor Google

My Google search terms tonight started off rationally:

"can babies eat mushrooms?"

"what are signs of possible food poisoning in babies?"

"what to do when baby is vomitting with diarrhea?"

Then progressed to slightly suspicious:

"Are there food safety standards at farmer's markets?"

"Bad wild morels + Oregon + incidence of food poisoning + babies"

And then plummeted downhill to pure lunacy:

"number of cases of botulism in babies in 2009"

"bad mushrooms + baby + liver + kidney failure"

Then, some clarity:

"Portland + pediatrician + 24 hour emergency phone number"

And then finally, after a good talk with the pediatrician:

"vote + American Idol + phone number"

So, sweet Tate is quite sick. He woke up happy but strangely not hungry...and then spent the day losing everything he has eaten in the past week. His sweet little (huge) belly has gone from Santa-Clause-jolly to sadly svelte. It was awful to see him so miserable and confused about what's happening to his body, and to not be able to make it stop. All I could do is just rub his head and tell him that he was going to be okay. I may sleep on his floor tonight, under his crib, just to be close. His pediatrician was immensely helpful and I'm not as panicked as I was a few hours ago.

Praying that tomorrow he will wake up his normal, happy, healthy, ravenous self. Will keep you posted.

Radical Homemaking

NOTE: Radical homemaking apparently is different from totally gnarly homemaking.

This story was in the Oregonian last month and truly, I loved it. Yes, maybe it's because I am not working outside the home right now that I'm cheering these gals on. But I do like that a few renegade "I-make-my-own-soap-thank-you-very-much"-ers are giving the lifestyle a new name, a new respect, and a new mission.

There is something to be said about a life that leaves you utterly exhausted at the end of the day, with tiny wet footprints on the floor, seedlings growing on the windowsill, knitting projects sticking out of couch cushions and recipes strewn all over your dining room table. To do it in the way that these women are - that saves money, is low-impact on the environment, and that honors the importance of skills that have nearly been forgotten in our tech-driven society, is something I aspire to.

It has taken me so long to be at peace with staying at home. To say it out loud when meeting someone new, to write it on a new patient form or when filling out taxes -- it's just plain weird at first. It's almost like you are supposed to back it up with a declaration of "It's only until he's three!" to justify being home. The feeling is, "You should be in a suit right now with a coffee in your hand - what's your excuse??" In truth, I can't think of doing anything else that would feel more authentic or relevant to where my heart is right now. I am learning so much, and I feel more "Leslie" than ever before, but that doesn't mean that I don't second-guess the decision to be home constantly.

The "what's NEXT???" question is always there, so it takes discipline to remain in the present day, to remain thankful, to not feel either guilty for being able to stay home or inferior for not having a career right now. On the days when I just sit back and absorb it all, and stop the constant thinking and questioning, it is as good as it gets.

Forest park hike with Taters

Forest Park is in the middle of Portland and offers hours of peaceful, secluded hiking. Tate and I get out there at least once a week and I bring along a picnic to eat at the top. And only once have a been notified of a "flasher out there" by park rangers. Nice.

Buy yourself some rhubarb. Mmmm.

In the hierarchy of perceived yummy-ness,rhubarb has held its honored place in my mind somewhere between mincemeat and pickled pig lips. I don't know why - it just sounds gross, like the kind of thing you would be served alongside a main course of gruel or slop. But this spring I gave in and tried it, in an attempt to buy produce that is both seasonal and local.

WHY should we eat seasonally when we live in America and can get whatever we want, whenever we want?

1. YUMMIER. It hasn't been transported from, say, Argentina - so transit time is drastically cut from the time the item is picked until it reaches your mouth. The more recently it is picked, the yummier it is.

2. CHEAPER. If you eat seasonally, then you are also most likely eating locally. Which means less transport, less fuel used, and lower prices.

3. HEALTHIER. The longer produce spends on the vine or branch, the more vitamins and minerals it absorbs and the better it is for your body. Also, if it is not travelling long distances, then it will not need to be sprayed with pesticides or with gas to ripen it synthetically.

4. FUN-NER. Yeah, funner. There is something wonderful about anticipating the arrival of something you love. Winters in Kaspi were dark, cold, and full of long underwear, potatoes and meat dumplings. By the time May rolled around, our bodies literally craved salad greens and strawberries. So, when they appeared at the market we bought them by the bucket-full. I remember eating strawberries (only) for dinner. Two kilos of them. I am not kidding. Interestingly enough, spring is the time of year when our bodies need a good thorough cleansing anyways, so the produce that is natural to eat at this time aids our bodies in this task.

5. NEIGHBORLY. It supports your local homegrown farmer. And that is nice.

For all of the above listed reasons, I recently went to the grocery and came home with a carton of strawberries and a bag of rhubarb. It looked a little like red celery, which was scary considering that this was going to be dessert. But let me assure you that this dessert is absolutely *wonderful.* I don't mean "wonderful" like "It will do the job if you are committed to eating seasonally but otherwise it would be nasty." I mean that this strawberry rhubarb crisp ranks up there next to blueberry pie on the 4th of July or chocolate cake on your birthday. If you think that your grocery store doesn't carry rhubarb, check. This time of year, its quite likely that they do.

Here is the recipe, courtesy of Barbara Kingsolver as printed in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. (Which by the way, I recommend half-heartedly...If you're going to read a book on this subject, I'd like to steer you towards The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan.)

A new tradition

We are back in Portland!

It was a truly wonderful three weeks with my folks and friends in Louisiana, full of dirty bare feet slapping on pavement and long afternoon swings under a big oak tree. My mom taught Tate how to bat his eyelashes (which he does often) and my dad showed him just how exhilarating a good game of hide n' seek can be. So exhilarating, in fact, that eventually Tate just lay belly-down on the cold kitchen tile and rested, fully exhausted. He has changed so much. He has made this almost imperceptible shift from baby to toddler that is evident in his newly confident walk, his joyful babble, his goofiness, everything. It's amazing.

After a solid six hours spent wiggling and writhing next to the World's Most Patient seat-mate, we arrived in Portland. Our final descent (why do they have to call it "final?" Ugh.) to the city was so eerily beautiful. The city was covered in thick, low-lying dark clouds, but when we broke through, it was almost as if was lit by something coming from beneath it instead of above it. The trees and rivers and houses glowed and shined. It made me so thankful to be living here, in a place makes me feel small and quiet and happy with all of this enormous beauty around me.

Oh, and our garden has grown! Have I told you about our garden yet? The Bachelor Buttons and Bleeding Hearts and all of the other wonderfully named things growing around the house? It is such fun. While I was gone, Chad planted two apple trees in the front yard: Hidden Rose and Liberty. Yes, they sound like a free-lovin' liberal and a freedom-lovin' conservative. But they are friends, side by side, in front of our house. Currently, they are puny.

I thought it would be a good tradition to take a photo of Tate next to the trees each year, to mark his growth and theirs. Here is year one!