Picture Window

Picture Window
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Ms. Crazy Preschooler has taken to climbing onto the back of the futon, squishing her knees against the glass and watching the neighbors across the street. The other day she kissed the window and smeared carmex all over the glass. Things have been hectic. I hadn't a chance to clean it off. Today I was feeding Mr. Slobber and I looked over. There she was, in the window, eyes watching the neighbors playing basketball in front of their garage. I looked away. I looked back. It was true. She was LICKING the window.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning the window with my tongue."

Tomorrow I will be hauling out the windex.

Unimportant Aspects of Motherhood that I'm Not Really Good At

A small list:

1. Carrying Kleenex at all times. I do not do this. No matter where I go, I seem to end up with one or two children with runny noses and nothing to wipe them with save for the sleeve of my sweatshirt, which I try to use discreetly when no one is looking.

2. Driving Car carts. Car carts are those cute carts at the grocery store that look like a car. They are the most wonderful invention in the world since Ms. Crazy Preschooler can sit in the front and drive, while Mr. Slobber can ride in the basket near me and there is still room to haul enough groceries to feed a family for a week in the main cart compartment. Unfortunately car carts are extra long, and because they involve the word "car" it seems that my poor driving skills apply. I am constantly running into things in the grocery store: banana racks, meat freezers, stacks of boxed oatmeal, you name it. Today I nearly even toppled an elderly gentleman. He was, thankfully, very understanding.

3. Checking children for matching socks. Ms. Crazy Preschooler loves to wear crazy combinations of socks. Mr. Slobber loves to loose socks in the house. I leave the house without checking because socks are low on my priority list, and it never fails that wherever I am going I run into thirteen people who are concerned about the state of my children's socks. "Your baby has lost his sock!" "Oh dear, aren't his feet a bit chilly?" "Did your daughter dress herself today?"

Rescued Pansies

rescuedpansyformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

I enjoy a nice pansy. While it isn't my number one flower (tulips and irises tie for that role), there is something about the hardiness of a good pansy that is rather inspiring. This pansy . . . actually it is probably a viola . . . was growing in the crack between my brick patio and my house. When it started to bloom I felt it was in a precarious situation: squashed roots and within reach of Ms. Crazy Preschooler who has a thing about picking pansies. So I scooped it out of the little crack and plunked it down in a cute little pot I found at Target. It is flourishing on my patio table outside.

Intelligence

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Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Pediatrician, off duty.

Crazy Bikes

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Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

We are a biking family. We have two grown up bikes, a bike trailer, a gigantic tricycle, a tiny pedal bike for Sarah (which she just learned to pedal on her own). Sarah thinks it is hilarious when she rides her walking feet bike and Gregory rides the gigantic tricycle, which is made for a five year old.

Lunch

basketchewformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Noah is a chewer. He chews nearly everything, especially his hands. I was out in the front yard last Sunday with my white material taking some special pictures of Noah in a basket. I had draped the material on a bush for a nice background and clipped it to the branches with clothespins. I was lying on the muddy ground on my stomach, camera in hand making weird baby noises in an attempt to get Noah to look at me. I am sure my neighbors across the street think I am a maniac. I was shooting away when Noah tipped forward in the basket and started chewing on the edge. I snapped the picture, and it is my favorite of the day.

Styrofoam Scramble

I never want to see another packing peanut as long as I live. Not one. Ever.

Rushing out of my house this morning, I grabbed the garbage and set it out on the curb. I was thrilled with myself because for the second week in a row I managed to back out of the driveway without knocking over the garbage with the car. About two hours later I arrived home. Unfortunately I arrived home five minutes too late, only to see that the garbage man failed to pick up one of my garbage bags (it was in a black bag instead of white . . . I forgot that only white bags were acceptable in Wisconsin). Even more unfortunately, the bag happened to be filled to the brim with packing peanuts. As I was approaching the driveway I saw the wind lift the bag into the air. I saw the bag explode. I saw millions, billions, trillions of packing peanuts carried away through the air across my lawn, into our neighbor's lawn, up the street.

I dragged my children out of the car, ran into the house and snatched a garbage bag. Over the next two hours Mr. Infant screamed bloody murder in his carseat because he didn't like the wind (How can I have a child who hates the wind when I love it so much?) and Ms. Crazy Preschooler ran around in circles trying to catch the "plastic snow." She caught about three pieces, and I managed to get about three thousand pieces back in a plastic garbage sack, a white sack this time. After two hours I decided it was time for lunch and that the affair was hopeless. The wind was so strong it was pushing packing peanuts into every crevice imaginable.

This evening my two marvelous neighbors, my husband, and I ran around the neighborhood, bending down to retrieve the other twelve thousand packing peanuts. The children had gone to bed. The wind had dissapated into a brief breeze. The evening was glorious. I am thankful for such nice neighbors, willing to scour the backyards of six people who live nearby on their hands and knees and not get testy or grouchy. I am now advocating the exclusive use of cornstarch biodegradable packing peanuts and an immediate ban on styrofoam.

Enough

thelookformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

This is how my husband looks when he is tired of me taking pictures. I snapped 252 pictures when I was on vacation in North Dakota. Only a few were of him, actually, and as you can see, he was not a very good sport about it. Most adults get nervous when I get behind a camera. It's a shame really. You have to get close to get good pictures and they aren't sure what to do. After you snap about eight times they often get testy. Sometimes they get nasty.

Still Talking

robin3
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Talking, Talking

robina
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Talking

robin2
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

My mother will kill me when she sees these pictures, but I am posting them anyway, not because I am an evil daughter, but because I really love them. My mother talks a lot. Her conversation is animated even when she discusses the weather, particularly when she discusses the windy weather, which she dislikes. Few things make her more edgy than a 45 mile an hour wind. I know this because I lived with her for 18 years and visited frequently after that. These pictures are so . . . well, my mother, to me at least. She is famous in our family for THE LOOK, which could make small children shrivel in their pews when she was Sunday School superintendent. When she gave THE LOOK, you were smart if you ran the other direction. But my mother is also a fantastic story teller; her animated face can put you into stitches. Just a few days ago I was conversing on the phone, and she was telling me her adventures at the bank involving scraping out the frosting in Oreo cookies and replacing them with toothpaste on April Fool's Day. I could just imagine her expressive face telling the story, and let me tell you I howled and laughed so much my face hurt and my abdominal muscles were exhausted.

Where I've been

I haven't been writing lately because I caught a cold. Then Sarah caught a cold.
We were on vacation in North Dakota for a week. Then Noah caught a cold. Then the weather got nice and we have been playing outside every spare minute we have available.