Gracious Goodness

Here is my excuse for my lack of posts lately:  "........"

I have none.

Mostly it's just that I've been so busy enjoying the embarrassment of riches this time of year brings, I haven't made time to write about it.  Which is a shame, so I've made an internal deal with myself to post with a certain frequency throughout the summer.  I'm not going to tell you how often that is, because the end of spring/ beginning of summer always turns me into a foolish optimist ("We're going to do a craft every week!  And go on many educational excursions!  And do two separate library summer reading programs!  And volunteer this many hours!  And blog every day!" whoops); not to worry, come mid-July, the children will have whined/bickered/ground me down into submission, and I will be back to my somewhat cranky self.

Still, it's not July yet!  It's spring, and it's Atticus and Adelaide's last day of school- as a matter of fact, they'll be home for lunch- and my mom and Mark are coming for a visit, and we're eating at Zombie Burger tonight, and I have so many things blooming in my yard!  Exclamation points!!!!!!

So, what haven't I told you about that May brought to us in all her glory?  First off, these gorgeous petunias, courtesy of Derek's mom:

Adelaide was with her grandma when they walked by these at a nursery, and Daughter was immediately besotted, saying they looked like a starry night.  And wouldn't you know?  

Becky then generously got them for us.  Thank you, Becky/Grandma/Mom/Flower Enabler!

The rhubarb has been plentiful, but because my rhubarb is somehow always very green with little lovely, traditional red coloring, the desserts I make with it end up tasting delicious but appearing very questionable indeed.

That rhubarb cheesecake bar is topped with rhubarb sauce, not salsa verde, as it might appear.  Señor Google informs me that my rhubarb is most likely green because of the cultivar I have, and that if I want red rhubarb, I will need to plant a different type, which means I need to get that in this year, as we all know of the cruel constraint that requires you to keep your dirty gardener's mitts off of rhubarb until the second year after you've planted it.

Other May happenings:  Adelaide turned 10.  TEN.  DOUBLE DIGITS.

That is the long bow Caedmon made as a gift for his sister out of a tree branch, twine, and kebob skewers.  More on Adelaide and sharp objects soon.

Speaking of Adelaide, Caedmon was organizing our art cabinet (Caedmon loves to organize spaces- drawers, corners, whatever, if you have a mess, he will have a blast organizing it for you.  I can only think he gets this from Derek, because it sure as heck isn't from me.), and found some old coloring and activity books.  One was Adelaide's that she filled in when she was four, maybe five years old, and it sure brought me back to that fun-yet-always-morbid stage went she through.

It reads, "Pinkalicious Likes to Sing- Can you make up a song?  Write the words here."  (Adelaide's words edited for clarity.)  "I love Jesus I pray the Lord God to keep me safe when I'm scared and when I think my family's dead."  

If I had a time machine, it would behoove past Me to go back a few years and tell myself, "DON'T WORRY.  She grows out of this."  Except according to Back to the Future and Albus Dumbledore, those time-traveling sages, one should never meet up with oneself.  Paradox!

And speaking of our resident Organizer, he graduated from preschool.

Cute as a dang button, both of them.  Adelaide there in the background, well, she's also cute, but in a ferret-y kind of way, at least in this shot.

We do still have an Atticus.  He's been lying the grass, responding to my queries of, "What shapes do you see in the clouds, Bud?" with answers like, "Mostly cirrus.  Wait, there's a nimbus cloud!"  So much for sweetness and whimsy.

He's also getting ganglier and bigger-footed by the minute, I swear.  

In other good news, apparently today is National Doughnut Day, a made-up holiday I can actually get behind.  Here's to grossly unhealthy rings of doughy goodness I plan on consuming with wanton abandon!

My First Scary Bulb Sale

Yesterday morning, the nearby public garden had its first ever Bag'O'Bulbs sale, where, if you showed up at a certain gate with grocery bags, you could get freshly dug tulip bulbs for $10 a bag.

The whole shebang began at 8 AM, which means I was there promptly at 8, eagerly clutching a bag and a Hamilton (maybe in a few years it will be a Hamilton/Mott/Truth/Anthony/Stanton/Paul, because apparently it's just too much to actually put a woman on the front of the bill, so instead they'll try to appease us with five women on the back, where they belong, amIright, fellas?) and wearing multiple layers of clothing, because it's May, so of course it's 30 degrees outside!

Gracious, that was a mess of a paragraph, wasn't it?  Ah, well.  I meant every word.  I really was there at 8.

I was joined by a host of fellow gardeners, and I, along with one other family from my church, probably brought the average age down by four decades.  This made me think, not for the first time, that I was made to be an old person; I mean, I love to garden and talk about birds, I am always cold, and I can pinch a penny until it screams for mercy.

Now that my stereotyping is done for the day, I can tell you about the actual event, which was a little bit of a fiasco.  I felt bad for the director of the whole thing, as he seemed to realize that it was not going that well and even went so far as to say multiple times, "Keep in mind this is our first year, and the first year of any event is always a learning experience, so this will only get better and better each year."

Their method in this inaugural year was to have us pay our money, shuffle into a small area just inside the gate, and wait for twenty minutes.  Then, an employee would drive up in a gator with a trailer attached, which was piled high with freshly-dug tulips.  At that point, The Frenzy would ensue.

You know those photos and videos you've seen of Black Friday hordes swarming through stores, hunting for marked down electronics they probably won't even use in a year?  It was kind of like that.  Or maybe sharks circling prey.  I like that analogy better, as it tickles me to think of these gardeners as predators.

I watched two big, full trailers come, be mobbed by grasping tulip junkies, and five minutes later go, depleted.  The third trailer just happened to pull up and stop right in front of me, so I filled my bag as quickly as I could lest someone cut me with their AARP card, and left.

In addition to his pseudo-apology, the director had some other interesting information, such as his suggestion to perhaps come later in the morning next year:  "I've been to these bulb sales at other gardens, and everyone lines up as soon as it opens, thinking that if they come later, they won't get any.  Well, folks, we have 47,000 tulips bulbs we're digging up today, so I promise, there will be bulbs for you to buy, even if you walk in at 10 AM."

I asked him what they've done with the bulbs in years past, since this was the sale's first year, and he told me they've always been composted, to which I audibly gasped and clutched my heart.  He also said that they can't simply give the bulbs away, but have to charge money because they're a public institution.  He was also very careful to instruct everyone there to plant their bulbs that weekend, NOT to store them over the summer until fall planting, and explained why.  Feel free to google this, because I'm sure not explaining it to you.


It really didn't feel like I'd gotten that many bulbs, but when I opened up the bag that afternoon, I counted out 65 BULBS.  For $10!

Atticus got to help me plant all 65 late yesterday because of some choices he made earlier in the week.  There's just nothing like manual labor for behavioral adjustment, is there?

I have no idea what colors these will be next spring, only that they'll be a mix, like what we saw when we were at the garden two weeks ago.  I'm sure by then I'll have completely forgotten any of this ever happened, so what a pleasant surprise it will all be!  I do have plans on being at next year's bulb sale, except next year I'll arrive later, and wear more armor.  I can't wait!

Tulips and I Need Some Help

It's been a colorful spring for our yard.  The tulips have been productive, although I've definitely noted slowing in the cultivars I planted several years ago.  Shayla's Favorites (I have no idea what these are actually called; in my mind, they are always and forever Shayla's Favorites) are still producing the same number of blooms, but they're beginning to show their age with multiple blemishes on the petals.  Just not quite as hale and hearty as they used to be.  If I can find more of the exact same type- or more accurately, if I can remember to look for them in the first place- I'd like to fill in this bed with new bulbs of the same shade this fall.

I did the thing last fall where I plant a bunch of new tulips, don't write it down anywhere (except maybe here), forget over the winter, and surprise myself with fresh flowers in the spring.  I am so dang thoughtful.

These were unusual in that both Derek and two of the kids commented on how pretty they are. Every so often I drag various members of my family around the yard, forcing them to admire all the beauty I'm filling it with, but they don't generally make comments on the contents of my flower beds.  I was a little shocked to hear these compliments, and may or may not have made each person repeat themselves several times just to make sure we were talking about the same thing.  "Hang on- what?  Which flowers?  Those?  The tulips?  You think those tulips are pretty?  You like those?  Did Daddy tell you to say that?  He didn't?  Well, say it again.  Please."

They're possibly even better when viewed from above.  Excuse my favorite running shoes, photobombing a perfectly good tulip photo.

I always wonder why I planted the tulips below when their buds first form, as they're a somewhat unflattering yellow hue with just a hint of purple on the edges- "Shirley" tulips, because it turns out I do keep a label or two.  This photo is a few days after they first opened.

Over a period of weeks, however, they only become more beautiful as time wears on, and I remember how much I love them.  They bloomed for around three weeks, so they're some of the hardest working tulips we have.

Caedmon's getting better the older he gets, too.  Actually, all our kids are.  It's fantastic.

These surprised me.  I'd forgotten Derek's mom gave me some Gryffindor tulips last fall ("Gryffindor"- another tulip name I made up to suit my own whims and fancies).

I took that picture early in the morning as my family waited in the car, all packed and ready for a trip.  I was afraid the tulips wouldn't still be blooming when we returned, and just had to snap a picture before we left.

I think it's safe to say I was not everyone's favorite person when we returned home to these.

I was happy, anyway.

We have all kinds of other  delightful blooms dotting our yard right now, but what I'm excited about is this:

I need someone to make me a tiny sign like you see outside commercial construction sites:  "Future Home of Gladioluseseses, Zinnias, and Delphinium."

And now, for the help I so severely need (save the wisecracks, jokesters).

See this patch of yard, all around our dogwood tree?  Nothing will grow here.  Do you hear me?  Nothing.

"But Kristy," I hear you say.  "I see a number of green somethings growing in this picture."  Let me amend my statement to nothing you would want to grow in your yard is here.  That front-and-center space in our yard is 80% creeping Charlie, 20% grass.  Those little white things are the dogwood petals that have recently been blown and rained down upon the ground.

I have tried daffodils.  I have tried phlox.  I have even gone against my flower-loving heart and tried grass seed, all to no avail.  This is the Dead Zone, take heed all who venture and attempt to root here.

So tell me, friends, what do I plant here?  It's boxed in by sidewalks and our driveway, so I'm okay with trying something with a spreading habit.  It gets little sunlight, and the roots of that tree are very close to the surface.  We do walk through this a lot, but for the most part it's on stepping stones to get from the driveway to our front steps. 

Suggestions?  Anyone?  Please?

Sick Kids Watching Baking Kids

Two out of three Crisler children are home from school today, because Derek and I love them until they are literally sick.  Or something.

Lots of prone bodies and glassy stares in this house.

I am the consummate homebody, but even hermits have to escape their shell from time to time lest they start to say things like, "Wow, that relentless moaning you're doing obviously serves a terrific purpose.  It must be making you feel so much better because you've been doing it for forty straight minutes.  I also don't want to smother you at all."  Then Daughter begins to cry in self-pity, and I lock myself in my room to write a blog post.

I told Adelaide she was an over-achiever when this was her temp.  Unfortunately her sense of humor evaporates when she's sick.

It's not all whiney daughters and sarcastic mothers around here, though; I've been trying to make the best out of being stuck in this house for so many days running.  (Had the temerity to run to Wal-Mart this morning for some essentials.  School nurse called before I could even get out of my vehicle to walk into the store.)  I'm trying to remember that Derek and I don't have to make the tough choice as to which one of us has to miss work, or worry about losing my job because our family has been sick so much.  I'm allowed a small pity party, but only streamers are allowed; absolutely no piñatas.

I've been doing all the things I've put off doing, like making and trying out some new laundry soap-

Okay, so quick side note:  I've used the Duggars' recipe for the past couple years, and although I always added a ton of lemon essential oil, it was never strongly-scented enough for Derek.  I found this new recipe for a powdered soap, and it contains two whole bottles of those scent-boosting crystals, and after using it on ten loads of laundry in the past two days, I've been really pleased.  It's smelly enough for Derek, but not so smelly to give me a headache, which I'm prone to, because my olfactory sense is crap right up until it smells something too floral or perfumey, at which point it morphs into a diva and the head-pounding begins.

-switching out all our flannel bedding for something not quite so sweaty, hemming Caedmon's too-short pants into shorts for summer, then transplanting some of my seedlings that were getting too leggy for their tiny egg carton containers.

"Nice stems."

And then, because we all know what happens when you're all work and no play, the kids and I sat down to watch

and you guys, it is so good.  First of all, you get to see all these frighteningly competent children throw around terms like pâte à choux and watch them make things you've never even attempted, but they're still kids, so they're dropping things and helping each other and happily saying things like, "The ice cream's a little over-churned, but I'm just like, 'I'm eleven years old, I just made ice cream!'" 

The two hosts/judges- Duff Goldman and Valerie Bertinelli- are also quite well-cast, (yes, even Valerie), because they're so, so good with the kids:  Kind and encouraging but also honest when the food isn't what it should be.  There's only one season available on Netflix, and that's only four episodes, which is my sole complaint.  Yes, we tried the show because I thought the kids would enjoy it, but I'd absolutely watch it on my own.  Here's hoping they'll get over this crud in a jiffy and feel inspired to bake me something amazing.  (The only other downside to watching these kinds of shows:  You get real hungry and wonder why you don't have any lemon tartlets or an abundance of gruyère cheese in your house rightthissecond.)

Munchausen the Gardener

I am terrible- TERRIBLE- at knowing when to keep our kids home from school.

On the mornings when they're lethargic and kind of puny, I send them anyway, because we all have mornings like that, right?  It doesn't mean we're sick... except for all the times I get a call from the school nurse telling me a kid has a temp of 102.1/ is pale and droopy and complaining of an excruciating headache/ has vomited all over the library (all calls I've received just this school year).

When I do keep them home, though, because they weren't doing well the evening before?  They run around like a prisoner who has received a last-minute pardon (which is kind of what they are, I guess), no fever, no lethargy, no pain.  It's like some kind of miracle!  [Heavy, somewhat bitter sarcasm.]

Such was the case Wednesday morning.  Atticus has been fighting a cold, and that coupled with night after sleepless night made me decide to keep him home so that he could sleep in, because that makes sense, right?  He'd get the extra sleep he needed, and a little extra rest to help his ailing body fight this cold.

Except he didn't sleep in.  He got up ten minutes after the time I usually have to drag him out of bed, and was up to joyously wave his sister out the door to the bus.  Forget "Man plans, God laughs;" around here it's "Mom plans, children cackle viciously."

Still, because Atticus loves to help and he obviously wasn't as sick as I'd been led to believe, he got to spend a glamorous morning learning how to properly scrub toilets, clean his own mattress, and plant egg carton seeds.  Believe it or not, he appeared to enjoy all activities equally, although he was a little concerned when he found out that I put one of my favorite cleaning agents in his food regularly (baking soda, so just calm down, DHS).  I tried to explain how I use it in different ways and keep it in different containers depending on where I use it in the house, but he remains unconvinced that I'm not perpetrating a terrible crime against our family.  I think the next time he questions me on it, I'll just shrug and tell him, "Have it your way, bud, but that means no more cookies- I use baking soda in 99% of my cookie recipes."  There's no chance this could backfire like all my other plans.  [Heavy, somewhat bitter sarcasm.]

Somehow I didn't get a picture of the scrubbing or the cleaning, but I did get one of the planting.

What's in our cartons this spring?

Long Island Cheese squash, apparently named (according to the back of the packet) because they look like a wheel of cheese.  I love Seed Savers Exchange, as they're dedicated to preserving heirloom varieties of plant species.  In a perfect world, I would only buy my seeds from SSE, but as I am a deeply flawed human being, that never happens.  I also tell my children, "NoOooOoo, there aren't any sweets hidden in special, precious pockets of this house!"

The sinful, mass-produced seeds that we planted were

because how the heck am I supposed to resist a squash bearing the name "Turks Turban"?  (Although I keep questioning whether or not there should be an apostrophe somewhere in that name, and where.)  Also some sunflower seeds from last year, because I always have a couple different varieties of sunflower seeds tucked away, and then some pumpkin seeds that allowed me to feel extremely superior, having harvested and dried them myself.  

And now, because I'm too lazy to find a way to tie the end of this post up with a bow, here is a picture of Caedmon I took mere minutes ago.

Pretty sure we were talking about superheroes, as that is his superhero stance.  This hero's genesis story would no doubt talk about the tragic loss of first his parents, and then his neck.

Beauty Upwards, Beauty Downwards

As an introvert, I am apparently supposed to loathe small talk.  The problem with this is, of course, weather.

I love to talk about the weather.  Everyone else is evidently annoyed by this, at least according to the internet.  But... but why?  Why wouldn't you want to talk about the weather?  It's so wonderful and weathery, and, get this, it changes every day!

Now, it's possible that I'm just easily amused (um, more than possible- let's call it probable), but I think much of the problem is that all these people who say weather conversations are pointless and not deep enough are hopeless navel-gazers who need to get over themselves.  As a blogger who also sports a psych degree, I don't say that lightly; navel-gazing and overthinking all manner of trivialities is kind of my thing.

It's also possible that these anti-weather people just need to get outside.  You know who does like to talk about the weather?  Derek, thank goodness.  We live by the hourly forecast, because it dictates when golf (him) or a run (me) is going to happen.  Other important people who will talk to excess about the weather:  Gardeners (me), farmers (not me, but who doesn't want to spend some time talking to their favorite farmer?  Time to brush up on your weather lingo, weather-chat-haters), and small children.  This means that, between the five of us, we spend a lot of time talking about The Weather in our house.

As a weather-loving person, this time of year is fantastic.

The skies after piano lessons yesterday, complete with beautiful, beautiful thunder and lightning.

Yes!  It's STORM SEASON!

Now, the good thing about living in Iowa during storm season is you get ominous, brooding skies like that one up there, and the one below.

This pic was taken maybe a minute after the previous one; one was the sky to the north, the other was the west.  (Raise your hand if you're SO IMPRESSED that I know which direction I was traveling?!) I love that beam of light on the left; either Scotty is working desperately to beam someone up, or God has had enough and is like, "Stop being such a jerk, Bill.  Yes, I'm talking to you; is this shaft of heavenly light not enough to clue you in?  Why are so many of my children such morons?"

Meanwhile, in Kansas, there were tornadoes circling hither and yon, because the severe weather in Kansas is significantly more, well, severe.  You never know when you're going to show up at school only to find that Noah's house was destroyed in a tornado, or when you're going to get a call saying the same thing happened to your sister.  I'm not saying you need to avoid Kansas, but maybe don't plan a cross-state trip during the month of April, unless you have not only gas stations but also storm shelters marked on your map.  

When I haven't been gazing in a no-doubt extremely flattering stupor at the sky,  I've been staring at the ground in appreciation and wonder.  Either way, the neighbors think I'm bananas.

This hyacinth is in my very favorite purply-blue color.  Hang on, isn't purple-blue the very definition of the color indigo?  But I thought indigo was darker.  Someone more color-oriented help me with this.  Anyway, if flowers weren't enough, tomorrow I have plans.  Big plans.  GRAND plans.

Squeeeeeee!

Crocuses and Edison Lights

The kids and I made our triumphant return to Iowa yesterday; "triumphant" because as a recovering procrastinator, one of two things tends to happen after I travel:  Either I unpack immediately, putting things away and starting the laundry and keeping the kids on task, harnessing all that energy sizzling out of them after seven straight hours in the car, OR I do nothing and spend the next week ignoring the pile of bags sitting in the corner, acknowledging its presence only by gesturing vaguely at it when the children ask where certain necessary items are.

This time I suppressed my natural inclinations, pretended to be a high-functioning grown-up, and did all the necessary post-road trip chores, which means today I was free to enjoy the March snowfall,

Uuuuuugh.

and rejoice over my crocuses, which, yes, have bloomed!

Remember, I planted those bulbs two autumns ago, then lamented over the zero blooms that emerged last spring.  Foliage, yes, but flowers?  None.  The day before we left a single crocus bloom had opened up, which made me feel elated and victorious and vindicated as a gardener.

Now I'm wondering if all those crocuses and daffodils just needed a milder winter to help them out.  I'll try and remember these spring flowers when we're drowning in Japanese beetles this summer.

Other than snow, today involved Derek proposing we perform a mastectomy on one of the boob lights in our house.  This is what has been watching us eat for the past six years:

Thankfully Menard's had the fixture we've had our eye on for a solid year now (had they no longer stocked it, no doubt it would have been a least another year before we could find another one we both agreed upon) and it was on sale.  Then there was fun stuff like Derek removing the boob and making an additional trip to the hardware store and doing things with wires while I took pictures.

At that point an actual contribution was required on my part:  I held the light fixture up while Derek worked on connecting stuff up in the ceiling... or something.  Astonishing news!  My upper body strength still sucks.  Thanks for nothing, yoga.  

But now- ta daaaaa!

Ooooooo!

Aaaaaaah!

Much better.

Important Pi Day Happenings

It's spring break around here, and when I woke up this morning it was cool and misty and foggy:  Perfect weather for a trip to Reiman Gardens!

The children didn't quite share my opinion- I mean, they were happy enough to go to the public garden, but didn't understand why foggy and chilly made it perfect.  I, in my more advanced years, knew that such conditions would serve the two-fold purpose of 1) keeping away any crowds, and 2) make it possible for us to pretend that we were on the English moors, or wandering through an English winter garden, or any number of things foggy and English.

And I was right, on all counts.  

We saw all of two other visitors.  This is possibly also due to the fact that in March, there's not a lot blooming in the garden- not a single thing, actually, at least outdoors- but there are still things to do and see and hills to ramble over.

We found a spiderweb, which for once I was happy to see, as our winter was mild enough that the freeze only reached a depth of six inches.  This makes me worry that we'll have a buggy spring and summer, so bring on the spiders!  As long as they stay out of our house!  And away from my hands when I'm gardening.  So bring on the shy spiders!

There were some not-so-shy red-winged blackbirds sending up a racket in the lily pond.  I was surprised at how long the kids wanted to pause and observe these.

The kaleidoscopes in the children's area is forever one of my favorite features.  We found they still have wintery plantings in the container, which created some beautiful fractal designs.

Look into my eye.

Adelaide and I also made a quick trip into the women's bathroom, not because females feel a compulsive need to travel in herds to those places, but because you never know what kind of flowers they're going to have in there.

Live daffodils!  Just what Iowans need after a cold winter (although apparently not cold enough, hmmph), and on a dreary spring day.  Keeper of the Reiman Gardens Women's Bathroom (I'm pretty positive that's an official title), thou art wise.  Strangely, the boys reported no flowers in the men's room.  I'm not sure what that means.

On the way home, Adelaide saw a sign for "Apple Pi," and after I explained to her that today was 3/14- or Pi Day- she begged to make a pie.  I told her a bunch of true things, about how I already had a million things to do this afternoon, like laundry and calling about the possibility of a new hot water heater (a tale for another day, hopefully), and packing for tomorrow's trip south (beware, thieves; the muscle's staying behind to guard the new sconces).  She cared about none of these things.  All she cared about was pie.

I ended up making a deal with her:  I would roll out the crust if she did the rest, from finding a recipe to making sure we had all the ingredients to prep work to mixing, all of it.  She chose Strawberry Pie, and then she just, like, made it.  Because yes, baby thunder thighs are oh-so-squeezable, but older kids are where it's at.

I may have dropped the ball on supper (and packing... and most of the laundry) because the outdoors and my flower beds beckoned, but who cares?  We have pie!

Yes, she's wearing different clothes.  When one of your children asks if they can shower, you don't ask questions, you just let it happen.  She was in her jammies at 3 PM, but again, who cares?  We have pie!