A month or so ago I stumbled upon a blog post about kids learning to ride a bike without pedals or training wheels. The basic idea is that without having to worry about pedaling, they can focus first on getting the hang of balancing on two wheels. They can just sit on the seat with their feet on the ground, move their feet and walk. They’ll eventually start coasting along, balancing with the security and knowledge that they can easily catch themselves if they start to tip. Once they have the balance thing down, it’s much easier to then get the hanging pedaling – instead of doing it the other way around like you do with training wheels.

Observe.

Ava’s been riding a training wheeled bike since she was 4 or so. Now at the ripe old age of 6 she’s expressed an interest in taking her training wheels off – especially watching so many of her peers riding without them.

So if you rewind the tape of our life here to a few weeks ago, you’d see an attempt at Ava learning to ride her bike sans training wheels – at her request, mind you. Watch in slow motion as the realization spreads across her face that this is not going to be quite as easy as her fellow 5 and 6 year olds were making it look. Fast forward through the small melt down that then ensued. Press play as you watch Zak put the training wheels put back on. Roll credits. The end.

But then I saw that blog post. And then training wheels in my head started turning. She needs a small bike where she can easily reach the ground to get the hang of balancing, and then she can worry about pedaling once she’s got the balancing part down pat.

Here’s a video from Strider Sports that explains it all nicely. No, I am not selling these bikes. No, I don’t make any money if you buy one. I sure as hell didn’t buy one. This video just saves me from having to type it all out. Wait, I think I already did type it all out.

So… a small bike, a small bike… what we need is a small (free) bike! Well ask and you shall receive! Last week at a girlfriend’s house I spotted a small two wheeled bike in their shed. Turns out they weren’t currently using it for their young daughters so I snagged it to give this small bike idea a whirl. Ava, who is not in the least bit afraid to be disagreeable, was willing to give this idea a whirl too.

Here she is on Sunday.

And within about a half an hour or so she was off and riding! I didn’t have to run behind her holding the seat. I didn’t have to let go and yell “yeah, I’m still holding the seat!” only to have her look over her shoulder and see that wasn’t in fact holding the seat. She didn’t have realize she was doing it by herself, promptly lose her balance and come crashing to the ground.  She didn’t refuse to ever try again and then give me the cold shoulder for the rest of the night like you might see in some smarmy TV show from the 90′s starring Dave Coulier and the Olsen twins.

Nope. None of that. Instead I sat on my ass on the porch steps with my camera and watched as she figured it out on her own.

And now she’s an old pro!

We haven’t taken the training wheels off her big bike yet as the meltdown alarms for the nuclear kid reactors start to sound at the mere suggestion of it. Soon enough, I’m sure.

The moral of today’s story is: got small kids?  Buy a balance bike. Or don’t. Better yet, save some money and find a small bike on the side of the road or in your friends shed. Maybe take the pedals off if you’re mechanically inclined. Either way, I highly recommend doing what it takes so you don’t have to live out a scene from Full House.

• Weekend Randomness
• Scary, Scary, Quite Contrary
• Can't You Read the Signs?

The time period of our lives before now will be referred to as “Before the Haircut”. The time period from this point forward will be referred to as “After the Haircut”. BtH and AtH, if you will. And although this isn’t the first time I’ve blogged about a hair incident, I do hope it might be the last.

A couple of weeks ago Maxine decided to cut her own hair.

Notice the missing bangs and partial mullet on the left side of her head?

When I asked her Why On Earth Would You Do Such a Thing? she responded that she wanted her hair to look like Ava’s American Girl doll “Elizabet”.

(That’s right, ElizaBET, as in no “h” – AKA “Kit Kittredge” to the rest of the American Girl Doll loving world.)

Umm, not exactly kid, but I think you’ve got potential.

My mom asked me if I was going to take her to the hairdresser to get her fixed up. At first I thought, “Yes, definitely.” But then enough people said to just let it grow out, you could hardly notice it, it sort of looked as though she had her hair tucked behind her ear, maybe she’ll start a rockin’ new half mullet hair style trend.

So I decided to leave it.

Apparently though, Ava had her own opinion on this issue and quite literally decided to take matters into her own hands. Yesterday while I was taking a shower (YES I REALLY WAS TAKING A SHOWER ZAK) Ava decided to play Barbie Hairstyler Magic with Maxine.

Except Maxine’s hair doesn’t grow back with the click of a mouse button like Barbie’s does, does it? click click click CLICKCLICKCLICK

Nope, it doesn’t.

When Maxine walked into the room before I knew she’d been to Ava’s Magic Hair Emporium, she was sort of lurking in the shadows. I could tell something was “different”.

From the angle I was at it in my dimly lit bedroom, it looked as though her hair was very neatly slicked back. Cocking my head slowly to the right and then slowly to the left, rubbing my eyes and then squinting them, straining my neck forward like a mother snapping turtle ready to bite the head off of her offspring, I asked her to come a little closer.

Ohnoyoudidnt.

My mouth dropped open and I said nothing. She immediately said “Ava did it!”

And I still said nothing. And my mouth still hung open. I raised my hand to cover the gaping hole in my head as to not catch any flies.

It was at this point that I requested Ava’s presence upstairs.

When I asked Ava Why On Earth Would You Do Such a Thing, she replied that she wanted to “even out” Maxine’s American Girl Doll styling attempts. When I said again Why On Earth Would You Do Such a Thing and the followed it with a What Did You Think I Would Say If You’d Asked Me First, I sent them both into their rooms to get their piggy banks before she could reply.

Girls, I think an impromptu trip to the hairdresser has just been added to today’s agenda.

Ava, being 6 years old and knowing better, was fined $6 to help pay for Maxine’s repair hair cut.

Maxine, being 3 years old and with the vocabulary of an adolescent, surely could have said “No Ava, please don’t cut my hair.” was fined $3 to also help pay for her repair hair cut.

Me, being 31 years old and foolishly thinking I could run off and leave my children unattended while I saw to my own personal hygiene like I have countless times BtH, was willing to pay up to $31 to pay for Maxine’s repair hair cut.

You know, for $40 I could have just bought them Barbie Magic and saved us all a lot of heartache.

The hairdresser said “This has been my challenge of the day!”

Ya don’t say? You know, I could almost say that exact same thing myself.

He also commented on the “very strong lines” of Ava’s attempts to fix Maxine’s ‘do as he did his best to blend those “strong lines” in.

We returned from the hairdresser mostly unscathed,

but still feeling pretty defeated.

Oh well, onward an upward.

Life goes on, AtH.

• Everywhere You Look
• Can't You Read the Signs?
• A Fish Tale

Dear Scale,

I would like to take this time to thank you for having so much in common with a well known antagonist.

You have taunted me, pointed fingers at me, cackled at me and threatened to steal away my little dog. (OK maybe not that last one. But then again I don’t have a dog.)

But now, thanks to some splashy children and your inability to bear so much water weight due poor placement at our new house, you are dead.

So here we are Scale. You are refusing to turn on even though I didn’t drop a house on you. But lucky for me, I have a brain. I know when I’m eating healthy. Daily physical activity is second nature to me and my heart now. I can tell by the way my clothes fit and look if there’s a steady imbalance between the calories in and calories out equation. In fact, most mornings I could wake up and predict precisely what you were going to tell me. Any increase or decrease in your numbers never came as a surprise. I knew you that well scale!

Or maybe it’s more accurate to say I’ve come to know my body that well.

Scale, you were an incredible tool when I was learning how to nourish and fuel my body properly. You were a huge factor in learning the caloric mathematical formula that is weight loss. But now? I don’t need you. And you certainly never needed me. Now Scale, my munchkins will be forced to use the real stool when they stand at the bathroom sink to brush their teeth and make a huge mess.

I think I’m going to do me and the other math equation in my life (Checkbook) a big favor and not replace you. I’m no coward! I can live without your numbers! I’ve still got that giant, public, for-the-whole-world-to-see scale at Wegmans if I get really curious after all.

I can I tell if I’m at healthy weight without you Scale! I can see with my own two eyes that my children are robust and healthy – they don’t need you either. All you really are now is one more thing to pick up when I get out my broom. (Stop cackling Scale, you know I do sweep sometimes!)

In summary Scale, I have put you in the trash and will not be replacing you with another scale from the Wicked Target of the East. An offer of a free pair of sparkly red shoes with every scale purchase won’t convince me either, so don’t even try it.

It’s been real scale – thanks for everything. There’s no place for you in my home. See ya at the doctor’s office, or maybe at Wegmans if I ever get the courage.

• Glitter
• Whensday?
• When the Garmin Strikes Midnight

In my continual quest to show my brood that food doesn’t grow on grocery store shelves, in conjunction with my desire to save money on produce whilst flying under the child labor law radar, we went strawberry picking this week.

I’m trying to get you to believe that I’m this do-awesome-stuff-feed-my-kids-right-awesomely-incredible homeschooling mom, but really it was about getting the hell out of the house for a few hours and finding something different to do that wasn’t going to end with me paying a bunch of late fees to the library.

Maxine, who will not eat a strawberry even if was hand picked by Barbie herself and served up on a My Little Pony platter, delighted in the task of picking red berries and hunting them down like Easter eggs.

Who’s hiding these Easter eggs anyway? They are everywhere yo!

She did this exact thing after every strawberry she picked. Pull up a chair, we’re gonna be here a while.

OK gang, do you see how many green baskets I’ve filled? It’s time to pick up the pace here girls, my one armed grandmother picks strawberries faster than you! I want those fingers stained red! With strawberry juice! And blood! No rest for the weary! Is it any wonder they don’t pay kids very much?

After 40 minutes in the field I was now $20 poorer (could’ve just gone to the library) but one flat of strawberries richer!

I fully admit that a large percentage of our hand picked berries were devoured during the prep process. When not playing one for you, one for me with the bowl, I busied myself with scalping strawberry heads and tried to figure out what I might do with these red beauties. Not wanting to go the well traveled Strawberry Shortcake route, I bypassed Strawberry Shortcake Lane and instead took the Strawberry Salsa Turnpike, picking up a couple of other tropical fruit hitch hikers along way.

Strawberry Mango Pineapple Salsa

2 c finely diced strawberries
3/4 c finely diced mango
3/4 c finely diced pinapple
1/2 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 medium onion, diced
Juice from one lime
2 Tbsp dried cilanto (fresh would have been better)
1/4 c rice vinegar
salt to taste

Combine ingredients in a large bowl and refrigerate for an hour or so before serving.

The fruit proportions are pretty flexible here, use as much or as little you like or have on hand. I would have thrown in a diced jalapeno here too if I’d had one – but sadly, no jalapenos were to be found in my fridge on this day. After mourning the loss of a jalapeno, I rejoiced in the fact that I had a bag of Food Should Taste Good Jalapeno tortilla chips to use as the vehicle for which to travel down Strawberry Salsa Street.

That’ll work.

I read a bunch of fruit salsa recipes before concocting mine, and I’ll say that I was really skeptical about fruit with red pepper and onion but it was pretty dang good. The flavors complimented each other well and the jalapeno chips pitched in nicely with a little gas money for our strawberry road trip.

Those spicy little buggers even did their part in keeping small strawberry blood stained hands from returning to the bag!

In short, the moral of today’s story is: Having children does indeed pay off. Just another 2,000 or so flats of strawberries and these babies will have paid for themselves.

• It’s Not Even December
• Confessions
• Thanksgiving is Officially Over

I’m not a professional barefoot runner (simply because no one has offered to pay me. yet.) but I got to thinking that I am sort of experienced at this barefoot running business. I ran barefoot on the beach in Florida once for about a mile. And I regularly run the recycling out to the curb barefoot, even in the winter. I also find that I’m often running in my dreams (and it feels like I’m running through molasses I might add) … and of course given that I am barefoot when I sleep, that surely counts for something in the barefoot running department, right?

So with the exception of the beach run, any barefoot running up until now has been unintentional. Well friends, times they are a changing. I set out for a couple of quite intentional barefoot runs this week – not on the beach, with the recycling bin nor in a horizontal position, but still barefoot nonetheless.

The first was in the midst of a normal run on a sunny, breezy afternoon. Instead of sailing through the park on this particular day though, I stopped to take off my shoes and socks and give it a barefoot whirl. I tried to resist feeling paranoid about leaving my not-exactly-cheap sneaks alone in a semi-sketchy park, but I figured I’d just be running big laps around the picnic tables where I’d be leaving them and would be able to shoe away any homeless peeps or pesky squirrels looking to snatch up a pair of hot pink Puma sneakers and black Asisc socks as needed.

I ran a little over a mile, through the grassy fields, alternating grass and pavement, wood chips and stones, moving back into the grass every time I was positive the bottoms of my feet had been ripped open by the macadam and I was surely leaving a trail of blood and skin in my wake.

It was quite the experience, and after I felt satisfied that I had given my arches and calves a sufficient beating I went back to the pavilion where I’d left my sneakers to get ready to run the mile back home – only to discover that one of my socks was missing! I knew it! Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you! But who would steal ONE sock? And why? Seriously? They’re nice socks homeless man! You’ll run like the wind in them! And if it was you squirrel, think of all the nuts you could haul back to your hole with TWO socks! I mean if you’re gonna take them, at least take them both. They’re a set for crying out loud.

Convinced that no one would steal just one sock, I was now positive someone was just playing a trick or simply messing with me. When I looked around to find the sock stealing prankster surely snickering and pointing at me as they watched the scene unfold from the bushes, I found my sock in the shadows of the pavilion, just a couple yards away. I was now sure that as soon as I bent down to pick up my sock a gang of teenage squirrels in the bushes would reel in the fishing line my sock was attached to and laugh hysterically at me as I chased after my sock in the park – but alas, that didn’t happen either. No pre-pubescent rodent perpetrators in the bushes. No homeless men scouting the local parks for women’s socks. Just me and the sneaky wind that somehow scooped my sock out of my sneakers and blew it out of plain site.

The next barefoot run was a bit less about paranoid delusions and more about multitasking.

The same park, but this time with the kids. “I’m taking the kids to the playground” is now code for “I’m going for a barefoot run”.

Children piled into the car, sneakers on but left untied, off we went to the playground for some running – big and little people alike.

This time though it was barefoot from the very beginning through the very end. I kept waiting for the people I ran past to notice that I was running without shoes on, but no one did. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything. Well fine then. Next time I’ll be sure to bring along my “Notice me! I’m running without shoes on!” sign. Or then again, maybe it’s not my shoes I should be taking off if what I want is to get noticed on a run.

I spent 40 minutes alternating running with some walking, on grass and on pavement, checking in on the two excuses I brought with me to the playground every once in a while. When my arches felt fatigued and I was sufficiently sweaty, I called it a barefoot wrap after about 3 miles.

I did take advantage of the free foot strike evaluation sponsored by the local puddles before collecting my gang and packing it up though.

When I retrieved my children from the plastic structures they played on while I ran laps around them, they too were without shoes on, but in stocking feet instead of completely barefoot.

At least someone noticed my shoeless run! But what am I gonna say to them? Get your shoes on? Doesn’t your mother teach you anything?

(This one is for the people who find my blog when they google “Filthy Female Feet“. You’re welcome.)

• Whensday?
• Weekend Randomness
• We’re Off to Weigh the Wizard

From my omnivorous days of yore, I think I miss meatloaf the most.  I mean seriously now – how have I been getting by without eating a loaf of meat these past three and a half-ish years? It’s a meatless mystery for sure, and it’s time to do something about it!

That’s a joke in case you couldn’t tell. Actually I miss turkey subs the most. OK that’s a joke too. Who needs turkey when you’ve got lettuce, tomato, onion, red, green and banana peppers and (gasp!) mayo and provolone cheese on a sesame seed roll from Wegmans? I rest my case.

Wait, so what was I talking about? Oh yes. Meatloaf. Meat. Loaf. What does any sensible vegetarian use to substitute meat in meat dishes? Why beans of course. (Except in subs.) Time to grab your legumes and get a loaf on.

Bean Loaf:

2 cans Cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1 medium onion, diced
1 clove of garlic, minced
1/2 c ketchup
1 c rolled oats
2 eggs, beaten
1 c frozen corn
a dash of salt & pepper
a couple good shakes of dried oregano and dried basil

And don’t forget the most important ingredient:

1 sad three year old who is extremely disappointed that you are using the last two eggs to make your bean loaf instead of making her scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and get mashing those beans with a potato masher. Stir in the rest of the ingredients as desired – the order doesn’t seem to matter a whole heck of a lot here – it’s all just going into the loaf pan as a bean and vegetable mash when you’re done!

Ketchup is probably my least favorite ingredient in this recipe – BUT! I must say, if I might jump ahead and spoil the ending, it really gave the bean loaf a great taste! At least it was organic ketchup and contained no high fructose corn fun. You could probably even substitute your favorite barbecue sauce or even salsa to mix it up.

Grease a 9 inch loaf pan (I misto‘d mine with olive oil) and bake at 350 for 50 minutes.

I just so happened to make this bean loaf in the morning. (Note the Strawberry Shortcake pajamas above, although admittedly that’s really no indication as to what time of day it might have been…) It was nice to have dinner crossed off my to-do list early on.

In other exciting veggie news – this week marks the start of our CSA pick up! Earlier this year we purchased a share of vegetables from a local, organic farm. From now through mid fall we’ll head out weekly to the farm to pick up our share of vegetables.

And boy oh boy did it feel like we hit the green motherload this week! And to think this is only Week 1!

Turnips? OK, I have never prepared a turnip before, or even eaten a turnip for that matter… I smell a Turnip Loaf post in our future!

In addition to turnips we picked up radishes, garlic scapes, red and green leaf lettuce, bok choi and 1 1/2 pounds of mixed greens including arugula, mustard greens, broccoli raab, red mustard and orach (??)

With a produce drawer now positively overflowing with leafy vegetables, re-heated bean loaf was served with a side of steamed mixed greens.

Before you ask, no – sadly, my kids won’t eat one bite of this. I do have high hopes for the future though! Please let the record show that there was absolutely a time in my life – not even that long ago I might add – where I would have raised one corner of my upper lip like Elvis in his blue suede shoes at the thought of eating a big pile steamed greens like that instead of rice or potatoes.

Beans for meat, dinner for breakfast, greens for grains, that’s a wrap! Or better yet, a veggie sub.

• Two Lefts Don't Make a Right
• Thanksgiving is Officially Over
• Strawberry Shortcuts

Well, I have no pictures of our woodland adventures today because we were not there long enough to take any pictures. Within about 10 minutes I had two very cold, cranky girls on my hands that not even a backpack full of refined carbohydrates (pretzels, granola bars, kashi crackers) could turn around. It WAS cold though, the thermostat in the car read 18 on the way home. Oh well. We tried.

Interestingly enough though, Ava said she “couldn’t wait” to go cross country skiing when we got home. Zak brought his childhood cross country skis to the house yesterday and Ava’s been in love with the idea of cross country skiing ever since.

So off she went, cross driveway skiing immediately after bailing out on our homeschooling friends because it was too cold to play outside.

Maxine stuck to her “it’s too cold” guns and we stayed inside to watch Ava and her maiden voyage on cross country skis.

I have to say, she did pretty well for her first time, especially considering how cold she was barely an hour earlier.

With our schedule suddenly clear for the afternoon, I had no choice to but get started early with dinner.

On tonight’s menu? Something I haven’t made in what feels like ages: Enchiladas!

One of the reasons I haven’t made enchiladas in a while is my reluctance to use the canned enchilada sauce that I typically use. The ingredient list on the can always make me screw up my face and put the can back down to go find something else to make instead. Tonight was no exception… but with a perfectly ripe avocado giving me the evil eye and practically daring me to make it in to guacamole, I decided to find a way around my canned enchilada sauce dilemma.

After a bit of googling and looking at the label of the enchilada sauce can for clues, I went to work making my own enchilada sauce tonight. This is what I came up with:

1 6 oz can of tomato paste
1 tbsp canola oil
2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 cups of water (approx)
1 tsp agave nectar
2 tbsp chili powder (more or less to taste)
1 tbsp cumin
1 tsp paprika

Add tomato paste, water and spices to pan on low heat, whisk until smooth. Add spices, canola, agave, and vinegar and continue whisking until simmering, remove from heat.

I took French in high school, but I’ve watched my fair share of Dora the Explorer and I’m fairly sure that “Enchilada” is Spanish for “make a big mess on your stove”. Either that or “use a bigger pan next time, you dope.”

I ladled enough enchilada sauce into the bottom of a baking dish and then added 5 handsome enchiladas to the pan. I filled each whole wheat tortilla with refried black beans, cooked (frozen) corn, whole black beans and pepper jack cheese, swaddled them like a newborn baby and laid them into the dish on top of the sauce. More sauce ladled over tortillas and then placed them into a pre-heated 350 degree oven for about 35 minutes.

This recipe made more sauce than I needed, but it worked out well because I had plenty to drown these suckers with, when normally I don’t have a drop to spare when using sauce from a can.

While my enchiladas were baking, I got to work on that avocado that was giving me dirty looks.

Homemade guac consisting of 1 fork smashed avocado, 1/2 a diced onion, the juice of one lemon, 1 glove minced garlic and salt.

Guacamole is Spanish for “creamy goodness”, right?

I meant to make rice, but I forgot – by the time I remembered I didn’t care anymore so I went wild and ate my enchilada with guac, salsa and no rice.

How do you say “This is the end of my post” in Spanish?

• Strawberry Shortcuts
• Not Chili
• It’s Not Even December

So what did we do with ourselves today you’re surely wondering?

Why we took up the offer of a fellow homeschooling mama to blow this pop stand in favor of the YMCA and burn off some energy this afternoon.

Not me, mind you. I burned off a bunch of energy at 6 AM with my new running friends. These kids though? Yeah. They’ve got a ton energy to burn and let’s call a spade a spade: They are driving me nuts.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love them – but let’s face it. It’s winter. They’re kids. Our new yard is small and sort of boring. We miss our friends. It was time to herd some sheep and get the flock out of this house for a little while.

After some time in the padded room, I decided to write a children’s book.

I’m going to call it: The Monkey and the Snorkeler Go Swimming

Is it possible we burned off a little too much energy? After I accepted my Children’s Lit award, we hit up Goodwill and the monkey fell asleep while we waited in the donation drop off line of 100 cars. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had the idea to donate stuff today. It’s all about the tax breaks, baby. Well not for me it’s not! I just moved, peeps! I need to get this stuff out of my house! Here, you can have my receipt if you let me cut to the front of the line!

Oh great. Now she’s going to be raring to ring in the new year. Quick, someone set the clock ahead 3 hours! That’s the only way I’m going to stay up until “midnight”. I’m celebrating with my pillows and a little bit of drool tonight.

After sheep herding fun we came back to the sheep pen (do sheep live in pens? Or is that pigs? Bah. Details.) and I did my best to avoid cooking once again.

Not only am I not cooking, I’m not even making hummus! Blasphemy! Good thing Sabra hummus is so damn creamy and good. I’m jealous actually – what the heck do those Sabra scientists do to make it so flocking creamy?

I bought the roasted garlic variety (because you know, vampires) and holy garlic breath batman we loved this. In fact, “we” loved this so much “we” barely left me a tablespoon for faux-cooking tonight.

My sad little layer of hummus on my slice of toasted sesame Ezekiel bread.

Light on the hummus, heavy on the spinach. Isn’t that how that saying goes?

Wow. My last post of 2009. Do I know how to ring in the blog new year or what?

• Whensday?
• Thanksgiving is Officially Over
• Rest Day

So admittedly, I’ve been doing very little cooking in recent weeks, this last week in particular. I feel like I’m just now getting my bearings in this new kitchen. I’ve been busy finding a place for everything, trying to figure out what’s going to work, what’s not, what I need and what I don’t, what can be donated, thrown away or put into storage to be dug out as needed all while wondering where the hell all this crap came from in the first place.

This would be why I haven’t been writing much about new recipes or foods I’m trying lately – there are no new recipes or foods to speak of. I beg for forgiveness as I veer wildly off course for a short while here.

Ready to veer?

While packing and unpacking, Zak uncovered the fish bowl – the same fish bowl we used to house our monarch caterpillar this summer actually. Thinking back on how that ended and the fate of our poor little caterpillar, we probably should have seen this coming.

Take note, this is a bit of very obvious foreshadowing.

At one point after Christmas, a conversation went down between Zak and the girls that ended with the promise of some fish to fill the aforementioned fish bowl. I absolutely would have vetoed this decision had I been there to cast my vote. In my mind fish = a dirty fish bowl = one more thing I have to clean. The only way he got me to agree to fish before they walked out the door to the pet store was by signing an affidavit stating that I would never have to clean a fish bowl and that he and the girls would take care of everything.

Fine. Sign here and then you can go get your fish.

Did you know that at Petco fish come with a 15 day warranty? True story. Just bring back your dead fish and a sample of the water and they’ll scoop another one out of the tank for you, no questions asked.

(More foreshadowing.)

So on Sunday they got fish. Two fish to be exact, one for each of them. And then on Monday morning when I was on the phone with the phone company trying to figure out why our internet is still not working (this post would be brought to you by some neighbor we’ve yet to meet named “Ruth” who very fortunately has her wireless network wide open. Thank you Ruth for unknowingly keeping me sane until the phone company gets their act in gear) and at that exact same time as luck with have it (or unlucky, if you are a fish) Zak was on a work call – therefore leaving the girls relatively unattended with new fish and a brand new container of fish food.

Do you see where this is going? Let’s just say that on Tuesday, Goldie wasn’t looking too hot. She was spending an awful lot of time at the top of the fish bowl last night. I think we better just jump right to the punch here and reveal what we woke up to first thing this morning, shall we?

As Maxine pointed out in the video, we don’t have nets. So I went down to the kitchen to scrounge around and came back upstairs with the best thing I could to find to scoop out our poor little fish.

A 1/3 c measure.

Ava showed Maxine and suddenly it started to sink in.

Uh oh.

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no no no no no put the camera down you stupid woman and comfort your child!

What to do? What to do?? Wait! I know!

Who wants left over chocolate cheese cake for breakfast?!

OK – let’s not go there. Cheesecake for comfort! Are you sad? Here! Feel better! Eat something sweet!

Why is that the first thing that comes to mind? Although come to think of it, how many times did I whip out my boob to nurse this child when she was sad or hurt or frustrated or bored? Is it any wonder we use food to make ourselves feel better? It’s practically built in and ingrained into us from Day 1!

Comfort food musings aside, after putting the camera down and saying good bye, we skipped the visit to the fridge and headed for the couch instead to spend 20 minutes crying about fish and talking about what we believe happens after someone dies. These things happen. It’s OK to be sad and mourn the loss of our little friend. He was a good fish and he was probably sick before he even came home to us (back peddle! back peddle! I didn’t expect her to be so sad! Quick QUICK turn this ship around QUICK!) and he’s not sick or suffering anymore.

Why don’t these kids come with a manual? Did yours come with a manual? Check the index for me, is there a section on Dead Fish?

A few more tears and lots of hugs instead of rich desserts, I think we’ve all recovered from our fishy incident that greeted us with the rising sun this morning.

And no, we are not going to take Petco up on their offer for a replacement fish. Obviously. Goldie is in a better place now and therefore long gone. Instead we’ll allow what’s left of the fish food to last 50% longer than it would have otherwise.

Now… who wants cheesecake for dinner?

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Dear Blog,

Hi. How are you? I am fine.

That’s a big fat liiiiieeeee I ammmm insssssaaaaannnneeeee!!!

*ahem*

My Dearest Blog, I’m terribly sorry that I’ve been neglecting you in recent days – please know that I am here and still love you. We’ll be moving into a new house together in just a few days so please hold tight and know that I still love to run, eat healthy food, write crazy posts and return library books late. My daily insanity will return when real life insanity subsides – I promise.

So Blog, the very least I can do is fill you in on some of things I’ve been up to when I’m not packing, carrying all our worldly possessions out to the car in boxes or wiping cobwebs from the basement out of my eyebrows.

First, we’re still doing our homeschooling thing.

Yesterday we hit a park that just so happens to be right down the street from our house. This would be the same park where I ran trails this fall and found a big wad of cash on the ground. Remember that, Blog? Good times.

We had a lesson on gravity, potential energy, kinetic energy and selected a sacrifice to be an example and show the rest how a catapult works.

Another lie. Well, really – a joke. They just played. They’re kindergartners and preschoolers for crying out loud.

Maxine actually did pretty well at the start of our trail walk, but before long was cranky and into the sling she went. I considered signing her up to be the next catapult sacrifice but we moved on to other things before the sign up sheet came around to us.

Right after I took this picture she cried “Don’t take my picture! Did you take my picture??”

No honey, I definitely did not take your picture.

I’m up for mother of the year, did you hear?

Our trail walk ended with a little ice skating booting in the woods – fun for kids and adults a like.

As far as food goes, all you’ve been missing out on Blog is lots of cinnamon raisin Ezekiel toast with almond butter and bananas and giant salads too. When the going gets tough, the tough make a salad.

I did buy a green Kombucha today though.

A 10 day course of antibiotics (thank you infected tooth) is my excuse to spend $3.49 on a bottle of this stuff thanks to it’s probiotic magic.

I also like the Multi-Green variety because of all the B vitamins it’s got from the blue green algae and other sea shrubbery. Given my quasi-vegan lifestyle I like to believe drinking seaweed helps out with some essential B vitamins I am otherwise missing out on.

I should probably be taking a supplement but I hate supplements. I’d rather get it from food. I’m happily living in the dark and hoping my b12 stores are holding strong. What can I say, Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. Or wherever the hell the Nile river is.

That’s right I am HOMESKOOLING ! I am totaly kwalified to teatch these kids.

I can’t forget about the vegan-minded man in my life either! I had a little one-on-one time with my boyfriend Brendan today too.

This Whole Food Energy Bar came from Vega and was one of many that was sent a while ago. It’s been in hanging out in my stash of the bars and I snagged it as I ran out the door today to make my 174th trip to the new house in the last 13 days.

Oh Brendan, you still rock. Thanks for everything you’ve taught me, I still think about your advice daily!

Sorry about the glare on your face, bro.

I do like these bars and they definitely do a good job of quelling hunger pangs on the run.

I’ve been eating a ton of oranges lately too (just one today though), much like the rest of the produce loving world. It is winter after all.

So Blog, that’s what’s been happening around here. We are slipping ever closer to the brink of insanity as our moving day continues to inch ever closer.

Wait, what do you mean Friday is CHRISTMAS?? All I’m thinking about is Saturday!

And to all my fellow blogs out there in blogland that I know and love – I miss you and will be around again soon.

Yours truly,
Alison

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