Spring

Paddy loves Hummus.

Recently I had a funny discussion with my sister about the hilarious food we ate as kids.  Mac and cheese with fish sticks.  Hot dogs, baked beans and potato chips, fried baloney, taco salad, lasagna;  we were products of the 70's.  Our parents had parties where they put out little wooden bowls of peanuts and cashews and the adults all played Pinochle and drank vermouth.
There is a certain comfort in those processed food, it isn't like my mom didn't work hard to give us good food, she made homemade applesauce so delicious I hold all others I eat up to it, they all fall short.  She baked bread and cookies and cakes.  It was different time and we were that sort of family, the kind with banana seat bikes and a van.
I am pretty sure I didn't eat a black olive until I was 20, about the same time I had hummus, a rather repulsive looking mass on the side of my plate at Korey's Mediterranean restaurant. At that time, Greek food was, well, all Greek to me...and I had no idea what to order, let alone, what it was.  My love affair with hummus started that day, and as our children grew old enough to eat "real food" it was always comment on, with the sad exception of Asher, who is more particular with taste buds, that "your kids will eat anything"  Our boys love hummus, Emmet will eat it with crackers or bread or baby carrots, so will Fra, but he prefers pretzel sticks.  Today I offered Paddy some on a saltine.  It went over quite well.  Although, it must be admitted, he loves fish sticks, too.

Why I love baseball.

I love baseball.  It doesn't even make sense for me to love baseball, I don't like sports.  But I love baseball. I love it because my family is from Chicago, and baseball is sorta a religion there.  

There is a loyalty to baseball, like my Grandfather's faithful devotion to Cubs, he would never swear or shout, good or bad games.  He would smile or shake his head.
 There is always next year, you know.
 There is a sentimentality to baseball, that makes great movies like "Field of Dreams" and "The Natural" that people like my mom watch over and over until they can quote whole sections.
 I love the sun to hot on my face and a beer in a paper cup watching a farm team. I love being able to see the players faces, the way they spit and scuff, the fights, the squints, the little hand gestures.  I swear I don't have a freakin' clue what they are talking about, but, hell, the ball goes up and I'm on my feet with rest of them, yelling.

I don't like sports.  Really.  

But I love a sweaty little kid smell and a sprinkle of freckles under a baseball cap and opening day circled big in red on the calender.

"The one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past...It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. "

In all the world, my nest is best.

One of the great gifts of parenthood is learning to care (less) about what everyone else thinks.  I find it impossible to fully let go of my insecurities, but as time goes on, I realzing that pleasing the people who I love, the people who love me and myself are the ones that matter.  Everyone else, well, why are you passing judgement on me? 
Lately I've been thinking alot about my home.  We have a great home.  It is loud and often messy.  It has tall ceilings and alot of light.  It has a big yard and a nice new kitchen.  It is in an amazing neighborhood with a great park near by.  We are house proud.  And there are alot of people out there who think we are nuts.  Heres why, we are at the tail end of a renovation project that will turn our two bedroom house into three bedrooms.  Yep, you read that right, 7 people, 2 bedrooms.  Soon, it will be 7 people , 3 bedrooms, Girl's room, Boy's room and parents room (in which the Twins will remain a little longer.).
No, we don't feel cramped.  No, we don't drive each other crazy.  And no, we don't feel we are depriving our children.  They like sharing rooms.  Yes, it's true.  They giggle in bed every night and we have to tell them to be quiet.  And while it is true, I will like the day it is my Dh's and I' s room only, I was reminding of the sweetness of my luck last night as I opened our bedroom door to go to bed and I could smell the unique scent that is baby, not stinky, but the almost feral and completely wonderful.
It is much more trendy to live in small house these days, most people call it downsizing or rightsizing.  For us it wasn't trendy, it was a choice made for many reasons, but mostly...because this is our place.  This is our home.  You don't understand, but we do.

Go Dawgs!

Mostly, I am not a sports fan.  Oh I love a baseball game, especially live, I love my kids soccer games,  well, I like soccer...but really see no point at all to football. Basketball season usually comes and goes and I don't notice.  Except this year when in the NCAA a little university called Butler slowly gained speed and power until this past weekend when they beat Michigan to play in the final game, tonight.  Now my sister went to Butler, lots of friends did, we live not two miles from the pretty campus... so you know we were supporting them.  A small Cinderella team, kinda like the movie Hoosiers.
So I'm talking to my sister in Belfast today, (She put a tenner on Butler) and she is on holiday this week(for Easter) and she is eating "American Food" all day in celebration of Butler.  And I think, well...thats a great idea, so we did too.  Hopefully our own way of supporting them will help...go Bulldogs!  And as my sister said...may you each have the heart of a lion and courage of three men.

Our All American Meal.

Hotdogs.

Beans

Waffle Fries

Emmet's plate

Alice had her first pickle and she loved it and devoured it.

Paddy didn't.

Wordless Wednesday

Today

Have you ever seen those people who dive off cliffs? They are always in some sort of exotic location, with blue-green water below them...never scared or uncertain, they just put their arms out, take a deep breath and dive right off-swoosh.


Yup, thats my life. Every morning I wake up on the edge of that cliff, toes curled over the edge, arms out ready to leap. Only in my ears isn't the sound of wind and surf but Fra's demands for "some!" (food), the babies crying or cooing, the big kids fighting or giggling. The day spills out before me, laundry and dishes, breastfeeding, bottles, toast and eggs and cereal on the floor. Maybe the park, maybe we'll make cookies, play trucks, check my email(is anyone out there?), call my mom,my husband, contemplate the bills(deep breathing, )grocery list, more laundry, peanut butter, jam, apples, the sound track of my day is five voices asking questions, demands, delights...

I wonder about those divers, don't sometimes they want to turn back? Don't they sometimes say, "Not today. I'm too scared, too tired, too selfish." Do they always dive? Do they just say, "Screw it, I'm here anyways, might as well jump."

Yeah, I guess thats me.

Waking up on the edge of the cliff, toes curled over the edge, taking two seconds to savor the sweetness of the air and the light, then - deep breath and arms out, I leap.