Our New Garden

Yesterday, my upstairs neighbor Carl, and I broke ground on our garden. There are plants growing or trying to grow in our back yard. However, with a couple big trees that block a lot of sunlight and rainfall, the yard looks sub par. So we've taken it up. The research phase came to an end when on Saturday we headed to the nursery and purchased some flowers to fill the one area in the yard that gets a good amount of sun. This is part 1 of our back yard makeover. More to come in the spring, including my own container vegetable garden. But for now, here's what we've done.

Sunny Garden Plot Before:


Sunny Garden Plot After:


In the front of the fence we have a small bed of black eyed susans. Then in the small, 7'x4' plot we have echinacea, phlox, along with two other types of blooming plants as well as a tall, ornamental grass in the back corner. (We bought these on a whim and I need to look again at the names on the containers they came in.) I also have some campanula on the stairs in containers that I'd like to get in the ground. More pictures to come as our garden grows.

Middlesex County 4H Fair

Last weekend we drove out to Westford, MA for the Middlesex County 4H Fair. We had a great morning there. Thora is so taken with real-live animals that when we learned about this, we couldn't pass it up. And it was worth the trip. The fair was held at a fair grounds, and as we first entered, through a tall, forested camping area, Thora's face was agog at the sound of the neighing horses. It's about 90% curious, 10% terrified (as you can see in the photo to the left). The neighing of actual horses are significantly more dramatic than the neighs she hears from Mom and Dad. As are "mmmmoooos" of cows and the snorts of pigs. The roosters really alarm her. Same goes for the the strained and sudden "baaa" of a sheep. (Apparently while I was off running to get a map of the fair, Thora burst into tears in the large poultry barn when, one by one, the roosters contributed to a chorus of cock-a-doodle-do's which were more than she could deal with.)

But don't get me wrong. After the initial shock at how loud real animals are, she is her old self, if only slightly more tentative. (She re-learns this lesson each time we take her to a farm or petting zoo.) Here she is taking in all the horses as we first entered the fair (the video is only 14 seconds long):




In the video, you hear a version of her "neigh," which is normally "hee-hee-hee" while shaking her head. This version is more like a question mark as if she's verifying that this enormous and LOUD animal is what we've seen in books for months. This video also happens to highlight her willingness to greet all things that come into her frame of vision with a "hi" and a wave. This goes for people (of course), animals, moving objects (cars, trucks, trains), animals, and inanimate objects of all kinds. Seriously... all kinds of inanimate objects. Sometimes I wonder how we get anywhere.

Anyway, the trip to the 4H fair was fun. Some other highlights captured on film were:

Here, the kid in the green shirt announced the competitors in the Bunny Race. He used a great voice straight from the monster truck circuit, complete with hilarious bios of the bunnies, like, "'Little Britches' has been known to topple farm equipment if they stood between her and a carrot. Watch her in this race. She's a real contender!"

The race course was to the top of that carpeted ramp, which is about a fraction of an inch on the outside of the photo. So it lasted for about 10 seconds. Still, Thora, on Sean's shoulders, sat in rapt attention. She loves bunnies. Later we were lucky to pet one. I have to admit: the thought of getting her a bunny as a pet not only crossed my mind, but lingered there for a totally inappropriate time. (How do I forget the never-ending episode of Wild Kingdom that is our life at home, with the dog and the cat that, after 8+ years of living under the same roof, still don't leave each other alone.)

I got to milk a goat! This was an exhibit meant for kids, and yet I couldn't restrain myself. I did a pretty good job, too. Much better than the 6 year-old boy who went before me. He totally didn't get the idea that you're supposed to pinch the top off with your index finger and then squeeze with your other fingers.

Thora and a piglet.

New Phone to Reflect my Politics?

I got an email today from the League of Conservation Voters promoting their connection with CredoMobile, a cell phone provider that puts 1% of customers' charges towards progressive causes like environment protection, organic farming, and reproductive and civil rights. CredoMobile uses the Sprint PCS network and so apparently the service is reliable. (Although, Sprint provides the network, CredoMobile solely provides the service.) Also, my email from LCV told me that for new, online customers, they will credit you up to $200 to cancel your current service (however I couldn't find this on CredoMobile's website in my skimming of it). Needless to say, I will discuss this with the spouse tonight. What an easy way to put your money where your mouth is. (Pun kind of intended.)

Thora's Conversation Skills: Exciting and Yet Excruciating

Thora turned 17 months old on Thursday. And she seems to be changing before my eyes. Here is an exchange that can be overheard on our twice-daily walks to the dog's off-leash park and a gazillion other times in between:

Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"
Me: "Yes. There's a light. But that light is off. Off. OFF."
Thora: "On. On. ON!"
Me: "It's a light. That light is off."
Thora: "On. On."
Me: "Oooh, there's a light that's on. That light is on. On. ON."
Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"

Let me remind you that the dog's walk takes about 35 minutes roundtrip. And for the most part, this is our interaction--the WHOLE WAY--with little variation. Once we get to the park, it turns into her saying "hi" to the dogs and doing her new dog sound "Woo woo woo woo," and saying "Poo? Poo?" when Georgia goes off to the other end of the park to "do her business." But then, once we leave the park, and start passing all those houses, with all those porch lights... Well, just writing this gets me a little fatigued.

So--this will seem unrelated, but I promise, I bring it back around--last week, at the playground that has a sprinkler, Thora started using the word "Nunny" for "Running" in the context of "Mommy, pick me up and run us through that sprinkler!" Needless to say, I was quite tickled with this new concept. Not the "Make Mom Run Through The Sprinkler" concept, but that she, right before my eyes, conveyed an idea that, before this moment, she'd been unable to articulate.

A little background: this sprinkler has two cycles, a high-arching, high-pressure spray, and the lower pressure that mirrors the flow of water coming out of a garden hose. And the funny thing is that Thora only wants me to run her through the water when the spray is high and arching, like rain. (Initially she first said, "Nay. NAY," which means "rain.") She generally plays for a minute or two on her own in the garden-hose spray, and then when the rain-spray comes on, she runs up to me, saying "Nunny! Nunny," with an occasional "Muh-moo, muh-moo," which means "more" and is almost always accompanied by the sign for "more". So I pick her up and run through the sprinklers.

The use of "nunny" has since expanded to accompany pointing at my running shoes or at my ipod (which I only use when I run by myself). But back to the first day she used the word, when we'd been at the park playing in the sprinklers. Later, we were doing our afternoon walk to the dog park. A man passed us pushing a jogging stroller. "Nunny!" she said. How smart she is, I thought. My desire to encourage her: boundless. My joy at the new conversational focus beyond porch lights and their enigmatic status of being on or off: ecstatic.

Me: "Yes, running. Running. He's running."
Thora: "Nunny. Nunny!"
Me: "Running. Yes, he's running."

This went on for about 2-3 more minutes, with little variation. I was so proud of her, that she's making these connections, that she can apply a concept to different situations, that she can use new words in the right contexts. A few minutes later, we got to the corner and began following a street that many bicyclers use. And I pointed them out, hoping to ride the wave of language acquisition.

Me: "Look, she's riding her bicycle. Riding."
Thora: "Nunny."
Me: "No, riding. RI-ding. RI-ding her bicycle."
Thora: "Nunny."

It went like this for next minute or so, until we got to the dog park, where the lesson was suspended. ("Hi!" and "Woo Woo Woo," and "Poo?") But we picked it back up when I saw the next bike rider.

Me: "Look, he's riding his bicycle. Ri-ding. RI-ding."
Thora: "Nunny."

Then I tried a different tactic.

Me: "When you run, you run on your two legs."

And I started to jog. Oh, something I should mention is that Thora weighs around 30 pounds and I wear her on my back in an Ergo baby carrier (which I couldn't recommend more highly). And so running in this circumstance is ridiculous-looking and more importantly, uncomfortable. I was only able to run like that for about 10 paces. And then I hear from over my shoulder, "Muh-moo. Muh-moo," accompanied by the baby-sign for "more" which I can feel between my shoulder blades.

Me: "Okay. Mommy's running. Running."

And again, the second I stop, I hear "Nunny. NUNNY!" with the baby-sign for "more." I accommodated. And accommodated. Let me tell you, before I write the next few sentences, that I did this for several blocks, before I said what I thought I wouldn't ever say. I said:

"Is that light on?"

Farmer's Market Bounty: Puckery Pickles

This past Monday, I was compelled to pick up some cucumbers and make my own pickles. To be truthful, the compulsion was probably chiefly driven by the "3 for $1" sign above the mound of ENORMOUS cucumbers. I couldn't resist. I love pickles. And I love having my own pickles in the fridge to shamelessly munch on when the mood strikes, or even when it doesn't. (Otherwise, I'm snacking on the pickles which are meant for tuna salad and hamburgers.) I plan to do a little more tweaking to the recipe to get a punchy but a bit more subtle flavor. Right now, the vinegar hit is unrelenting. But I love it. I'm a vinegar lover, even if it often catches me unprepared most times and causes my throat to seize up and my eyes to tear. Here is the one and only recipe that I've used to make pickles over the past years. These are refrigerator pickles and so last in the fridge for a couple of weeks. (They're not preserved so they need to be eaten relatively quickly.) I found this recipe in the New York Times Food section about 5 years ago. Although I cut the recipe out of the paper, I don't have an author to attribute it to. However, this author adapted it from "Blue Hill at Stone Barns" (which is meaningless to me, but I figured I should include it). I too have made some changes/additions (see what I did in italics below) and I look forward to playing around some more. But for now, here's the recipe:

8 medium Kirby cucumbers
This Monday, I got the three for a dollar good-sized regular cucumbers and 2 were used to fill the 3 jars I used.

For the brine:
1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
I use less (slightly less than 1/4 c.) since I like a more savory pickle.
1/4 cup Kosher salt
2 cups water
I'm thinking of upping the water and reducing the vinegar ratio in the future, maybe 2.5 cups water to 1.5 cups vinegar. Just fyi.
2 cups Champagne vinegar
We didn't have any, I used what I did have on hand: 1 & 3/4 cups white wine vinegar and 1/4 cup white balsamic vinegar.

Infusing flavor in the jars:
I completely eyeball the following ingredients. I'm certain I use more of everything below, plus I added mustard seed in comparable amounts as the peppercorns this time around. Also, I never add the chiles, but I'm a baby about heat.
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
4 sprigs of dill
3 garlic cloves, peeled and halved
2 whole dried chiles (optional)

1. Boil a stockpot of water as deep as the shoulder of a quart jar (or of the jars your using; I use a hodge podge of saved glass jars of all different sizes, so I usually have to boil in batches and adjust the water level accordingly.)
2. Wash cucumbers and slice into 1/8- to 1/4-inch-thick rounds.
3. In a small saucepan bring sugar, salt, vinegar and 2 cups water to a boil over high heat; remove from heat and set aside.
4. Distribute peppercorns, dill, garlic, and chiles equally between 2 sterilized 1-quart jars, then pack jars with cucumber slices. (I layer pickles, then spices, then more pickles, etc., since I think it helps disseminate the flavor. However I have no research to back that up.) Fill each jar with brine to 1/2-inch from rim.
5. Partly close jars, leave gap for steam to escape, and place in boiling water for 10 minutes. Carefully remove jars with jar lifter or 2 tongs and close lids tightly. Cool to room temperature. Refrigerate for up to two weeks.

Farmer's Market Bounty: Yellow and Red Brandywines

Even though we bought tomatoes at the farm stand at Verrill Farm over the weekend, I couldn't resist splurging at our Central Square Farmer's Market on Monday with these two Brandywine (heirloom) tomatoes, a yellow and a red. I picked up a whole wheat french bagette at Trader Joe's, cut off some slices and brushed them with herbed olive oil. (Basically I just dump rosemary, thyme, sea salt, and pepper into a few tablespoons of olive oil and stir.) I put these slices under the broiler for just a couple minutes, until they're lightly browned (or not so lightly since I always forget about them) and then top with the sliced tomatoes. These Brandywines were so flavorful, they didn't need the typical basil and mozzerella that often accompany sliced tomatoes in our house. Sean and I devoured these. Honestly, I can't wait for Monday, when I will pick two new heirloom tomatoes and we'll do this all over again. This makes an easy and tasty appetizer while we're cooking dinner. Although, had I made up more, we probably wouldn't have needed whatever it was we were cooking.

Thora's First Trauma (Don't panic, she's fine!)

Here is the story of Thora's first trauma... a dislocated elbow. First let me say that she is absolutely fine and in the course of the entire ordeal, she probably suffered less than 20 minutes of acute pain. Don't get me wrong. I know that is a lot for a baby. But when viewed among other childhood injuries, like a broken bone for example, it seems rather short.

She had been trying to climb up on the wicker trunk we have in the living room (see photo above). It is less than two feet high. And while she tries to get on it repeatedly throughout the day, (and we constantly make her get down), our real concern has been her standing on it, or rather, her falling off of it while standing. I never would've guessed, watching what she had been doing, that there was any risk for a joint un-socketing.

Anyway, she was laying on the top of the wicker trunk, sprawled out on her tummy, gripping the sides in each hand, when lost her balance and the left side of her body slid off the edge. I didn't see any cause for alarm in watching this happen, because as I said, her feet would've been mere inches from the ground and she could've just stood up. However, she must've held on too tight with her right hand as she fell to her left, and perhaps wrenching it in just the right way caused her elbow to pop out of the socket. I watched it happen; it took mere seconds. My immediate hypothesis was that she must've scraped herself on some loose piece of the wicker. She hadn't fallen, so I admit I was baffled as to why she was screaming so hard. (The poor thing was trembling.) After holding her, and trying to search out the cut, scrape, or bruise and not finding anything, I began feeling around for broken bones. A dislocated elbow is pretty subtle, well, for a non-doctor, that is. In fact, it took me a minute or two even to determine which limb was hurting her and even then, once I figured out it was her right arm, I assumed it was a dislocated shoulder. I never guessed it was the elbow until the doctor started working on it at the office.

Anyway, I called her pediatrician and was told that they could squeeze us in 45 minutes. I laid Thora on our bed in a big nest of pillows and she practically fell into a trance. I think after feeling the pain so acutely, now that she was lying there and the pain had stopped, she became totally relaxed, practically drowsy. She lay there, lazily watching me as I scrambled around getting us ready to leave for the hospital. (I was still in my pajamas when this happened.) Thora suffered a brief minute or two more of pain while I dressed her in some easy-on-and-off clothes--it was cold today or else I wouldn't have bothered dressing her at all--and put her in the stroller. Again, the pain subsided almost immediately and she relaxed during the trip on the train to the doctor's office. In fact, she was completely herself, getting excited about the trains charging in and out of the station, hollering "wooo wooo" at the ambulances parked near the entrance of the hospital, etc. She was totally herself, except that her poor right arm sat limp at her side. But as long as she didn't have to move it, she seemed to be in no pain. Not even the somewhat bumpy ride in the stroller bothered her.

Once there, we met with a doctor who after getting as much information from me as possible, and after doing some brief exploratory examinations, tried (very quickly, so as not to cause her more pain) to pop the elbow back in. She couldn't quite get it, after just a quick try, and so got her colleague to come give it a go. He had me put Thora on my lap facing out, and while holding her elbow in place, flexed her wrist up to her shoulder three times. I heard the soft pop after just the first flex. He said that I should wait ten minutes or so, periodically checking her abiliity to move her arm, to see if she could move it around on her own. He said the final test would be to put her on the ground and if she can reach both arms up to ask to be picked up, she's fine. Well, we hardly needed ten minutes. In less than one minute, she was raising her previously-injured arm at the elbow and pointing at the baby photos on the wall. In less than two minutes, she was holding on to the toys that I'd brought. After 3 or 4 minutes, she was mimicking me reaching both hands up to the ceiling "Strrrretch!". Basically, she was as good as new almost immediately.

So what did I learn from this experience? I'm not sure. That toddlers can injure themselves doing things that look pretty harmless. Yikes. I don't want to learn that! I learned from talking to some of Sean's co-workers (the one silver lining in all of this is that Sean got a visit from us in the middle of a Labor Floor day and got to show Thora off to his co-workers) is that this is a really common injury and it happens to tons of kids her age. I don't know yet whether she'll be
more susceptible to the same kind of injury in the future, now that it's happened once. I'll need to talk to the pediatrician about that. What did Thora learn from all of this? Absolutely Nothing! She was trying to climb on the wicker trunk exactly 3 minutes from getting
home from the hospital.

Thora, in all her 16 month-old glory

I'm overcome with a sense of regret and a time-slipping-though-my-fingers feeling that I haven't been better at documenting Thora's various stages. They come and go so quickly. I'm reminded over and over how all-consuming each parental phase seems until I'm out of it and eyeball deep in the next one. In fact, each phase seems determined to be with me for good and not a phase at all. "Surely, I'll never sleep again," I think. "This is it; this is my life now." But then a week later, we're all sleeping through the night, but I'm not noticing because all I can see is that my clothes, while never exactly fancy, have become wearable napkins, and I think, "Well, that's it. I'll never again walk around in public with a t-shirt that does not reveal what Thora ate earlier in the day. That's just my life now, until when, she's 16?"

Anyway, regardless of how it feels, the phases don't swallow me whole, despite the sucking sounds that come from my legs as that pull them out of the murk that's up to my knees. Raising a toddler feels more like I'm walking up to my knees in some unspeakable substance, walking until I think I can go no further, when out of nowhere, I walk into a swarm of bees. I haven't realized that the swampy ground has dried up and is in fact a nice mossy surface. I'm too distracted, debating if I should remain perfectly still or break into a full sprint. You get the idea.

So here's an anectodal snapshot of Thora in this moment, before she moves on to the next big thing. I think we're in a pretty good place on the metaphorical terrain. The ground is pretty smooth, the weather pleasant, with only the occasional hidden geyser to watch out for. Thora seems to spend about 90% of her awake time narrating all that she sees and knows. And she knows a lot. She points out all the objects that she knows. "Cuh" for cup, "Nay" for rain, "Vrreh-wa" for umbrella. She identifies parts of her body, "Toe" where she currently has an "Owwie," her "Knee," and she's always telling us where her "Ha" (hat) goes. She anticipates putting on her "Shees" (shoes). There's the food that she likes: "Ahh Jiss" (apple juice); "Nana" (banana); "Coo Coo" (cookie); "Cee Cee" (cereal); "Wa Wa" (water). But right now her favorite word/concept is "On" (light). "On" is her word for light and it means all lights, whether they are on or off. It takes us FOREVER to walk anywhere, since she points to almost all of the porch lights and says "On! ON! ON!" Any and all light fixtures receive her attention. As do many key holes on car doors. She walks up to the parked cars saying "Cahh" (her first Bostonian accented word, sigh) and holds her hand out clutching an imaginary set of keys and says "Key."

Her vocabulary is growing each day. However, some words that she'd mastered long ago, have now taken on additional and unexpected meanings. For example, "mama," which always just meant me, now means "chair" or "seat." This transition originated, I think, from a time when she started telling me where she wanted me to sit. We'd be at the park, climbing into the small playhouse, and she would pat the bench seat across from the seat she normally takes and would say, "Mama," as if to say, "Mama, I want you to sit here." However, recently, Sean and I watch her pat any seating surface, the couch or chairs in our living room or kitchen, park benches, curbs, and say "mama," whether I'm there or not. How do we interpret this? Does she think I'm always sitting on my ass? Hardly! Also, the simple word "hi," which she uses like a professional--she says "hi" to almost everyone we come across!--now has been attributed a new meaning of "here, take this."

While her growing linguistic dexterity is not her only trait right now, it is probably the one that we revel in the most when Sean and I are comparing parental notes: "Guess what she said today?" etc. More to come soon about all her other brilliant-seeming (to us, of course) and totally silly characteristics.

Farmer's Market Bounty: Radishes & Beer

Well I want to say, who knew? But since I don't really know all that much about all the ways that various foods are used the world over, the answer to that question surely is: Lots of people. And by "lots" I think I may be talking about millions (gazillions?). So, I guess I rephrase this to say: I really wish I knew about this! All you gazillions of people that have been eating raw salted radishes paired with beer, (Germans, I'm looking at you) why didn't you tell me?

Anyway, this past Monday at our local Farmer's Market in Central Square, I was eyeing the blood-pink color of the radishes and thought that for the first time in my life, I might buy some, for salads. Sean and I are always looking for ways to spruce up the salads we have with every single dinner (except when we have pancakes or waffles for dinner). We really like crunch, so we're constantly rotating through carrot/broccoli slaw, soy nuts, croutons, red and yellow peppers and the like. As I was handing over my money (I think $2) I thought to ask how else people might use radishes besides cut up in salads. He told me that people sautee the greens. But I could tell that his heart wasn't really there, until he said, "You know how I really like them? Sliced and salted with beer."

So I wasted no time. There were a couple cold beers in the fridge. There was sea salt in our cabinet. Now there were radishes. I put the baby to bed--not in the middle of the afternoon or anything, but at her regular bedtime--and got to slicing. And the verdict: I LOVE them. They're the slightest bit hot, in the way that wasabi is hot, but only a whisper of wasabi's sinus-clearing punch. And of course, I love the satisfying crunch and savoriness of the sea salt. Sean's comment after trying one was, "Well, I don't hate them." (Since the first taste test, he's gladly had more here and there.) But he did say that he thought one could get a "burning stomach" like he is prone to get when he has raw garlic or raw onion on an empty stomach. I guess that's why you pair them with the beer.

p.s. I am submitting this post to the Farmer's Market Report over on To Every Meal There Is A Season. Check it out here.