Not One Good Segue To Be Found

Could winter just end now?  Please?  I mean, this is just starting to drag on, isn't it?
With the warm snap of a few weeks ago we were doing so well.  I was able to take Emma and Harrison both out to play on the driveway, where neither could get stuck in snow, but where the snowbank boundaries also worked in my favor as a sort of child-corral.  I dragged out the ride-on toys and basked in the delight of sunshine on my face for hours, watching them splash in puddles and throw slush balls at each other.  They were good and tired by naptime, which gave me a few free hours with which to sit at my sewing machine in the afternoons.  Life was very good.
But Mother Nature has nothing if not a wicked sense of humor and now we've got 15 inches of new snow out there, which just makes me grumpy.  I am tired of this, I want to be somewhere where I can see the grass, where the lake water isn't frozen, where I can leave the house without 42 layers of protective clothing.  I am very, very ready for spring.

Just thinking about spring makes me want to shake the dust our of our house and make a huge cleaning effort.  I have been slowly but surely getting rid of extraneous stuff and junk, of which we seem to have tons.  It is a slow process and one that I do not find much joy in, but I am determined to complete the project.  My goal last fall was to decrease our worldly belongings by 1/3, which is now looking much more difficult than I once thought.  I think a more realistic approach will be to rid ourselves of 1/4 of our stuff, and implement a strict policy of removing one item for every item added from here on out, with an extra effort not to buy things to replace all of the crap we are getting rid of in the great heave-ho.  It's tough.  There are things I pine for, like new pillows for the couch in a pretty shade of blue, and sisal area rugs for the living room, and new upholstery on the couches in the living room that have been trashed by toddlerhood (Also, who buys dark green upholstered couches?  In Upstate NY, where winters are dreary and dark?  What were we thinking?).  The wish list is ever-so-long, but I am trying not to succumb to the subtle pressures of magazine articles about fresh new looks for spring. 
Our laundry is out of control.  Unless we do two loads per day the mountain of soiled fabric grows exponentially in the basement, where it is easily forgotten unless one seeks it out.  Part of the problem: we've decided the kids have too many clothes.  I started going through them today.  Harrison had thirty t-shirts in his drawer, not counting the plain white undershirts and the stray ones hidden in the mountain of dirty clothing downstairs.  Thirty t-shirts.  That is ridiculous.  I started a bin of items to be donated and tossed in everything that is 2T and under in size, regardless of whether or not I think he can sneak in another month or two of wear.  That eliminated a huge pile of clothing, and I was surprised to see how many 18-24 month items were still in the mix.  I fear the project of going through Emma's closet and drawers.  Like her beloved Aunt Brooke, the Little Miss is a bit of a clothes horse.  Thankfully I have a few places to hand down the girl clothing, and the rest can easily be donated as well.  My goal is to have only clothing that I love for them to wear in their closets and drawers.  With such a variety and stock of clothing surely I can weed out those things that are dated, misshapen from too much laundering, or just aren't great with their skin tones or slender build.  After the kids' rooms come our closets, and I do plan on forcing us both to try on each and every item to check for fit, style, and general like-ability.  Anything that doesn't make the cut will be donated.  We really, really, really need to do this because we just have too much.  All of us.

We are signing up for a CSA with some friends of ours...that's Community Supported Agriculture for those who aren't familiar.  Basically, we're buying a share of a farm's produce for the season, which will be delivered weekly to a convenient pick-up location for twenty weeks.  We've very excited to try the news vegetables and fruits they offer, and I am looking forward to the challenge of finding recipes to go along with the new produce.  We're splitting the share this year, but if all goes well and we like the process we'll consider a full share next year. 

I have realized that we average one roll of paper towels per month.  I think that is pretty good.  How do we do it?  We use cheap washcloths to wipe down counters and kids' faces and we wash them in bleach.  We use a lot of cloth napkins.  We use dish towels for our hands, and our dishes drip dry.  My mom asked me how we manage on so few paper towels and still clean our windows, to which I had to laugh because we clean our windows...well let's just say infrequently. 

And finally, a few pictures of the ice storm we had last week. 
 

Our Boy Turns Three

Three.  The age at which children begin preschool and are potty trained for good (please, please, please).  It's a big year, and we watched proudly this week as Harrison became a three year old, officially.  We had the requisite chocolate cake, Harry opened a brand new Bruder farm tractor with dumping trailer, and we sang him out-of-tune birthday wishes.  He blew out his candles in one well-directed breath, and promptly attempted to stick his fingers into the cake.  That's our boy!
There are no immediate changes that come along with such an age, but there are many big developments on the horizon: this year he will go to school, and for the first time since his arrival 2 1/2 years ago, he will have a life and friends outside of our home and outside of our sphere of influence.  He will learn the millions of little things that go along with school, like getting dressed and putting on your own coat and tying your shoes and cleaning up your messes and eating snacks only at snacktime and crying when you miss your mom and finding out that mom and dad won't always be there to kiss your boo boos and freedom from your plaguing little sister and sharing and quiet time and letters and numbers and new songs...and...and...and...
So many things he will have to learn, so many nuances of society and emotion, relationships and independence.  Yes, three is a big year.
And on a more solemn note, this may very well be the very first time that Harry encounters racism and discrimination without the aid of Mom and Dad by his side.  Before school in the fall it is our job as his parents and family to begin to give this small boy, only three, the armor he will need for the rest of his life in this country and this world.  We need to open up the discussion, to make sure he has defenses and knows what to say or do the first time someone pulls at the corners of their eyes and calls him a name.  We need to make sure he has confidence in who he is, where he came from, and why he was adopted.  We need to make sure that the assumptions of others about his race and identity do not define him, that he alone defines himself.  It is a big job, this parenting thing.  Three is a very big year, indeed.

Just So I Remember Later

She's gripping a fat pink Crayola crayon in her little fist, and she draws it back and forth through Harrison's hair.  She loves the idea of coloring but doesn't yet grasp that crayons are best suited for paper, or maybe she does but likes the idea of pestering her brother better.  When she does touch crayon to paper it is in the form of dots.  She is into pointillism, it seems, and her page of the coloring book is freckled with pink, white, and blue.  Harry is patient with her and allows her crayon to graze his scalp for a moment, then shakes his head and tells her to color on the paper, and only on the paper.  It's a direction he's heard a lot of in his almost three years.  When she finally concedes and begins to polka dot the paper he pleads with her to make lines instead of dots, but she laughs off his request and continues with her masterpiece.
He is learning to write.  He holds his crayon like a pencil and makes studious, focused lines across the page.  He demands that I make 'dots' for him, which I know means he'd like to play connect-the-dots, the game we've used to try to teach him to write his letters.  He loves making his lines into something, and he is delighted every time a recognizable image appears where only polka dots lived before.  He brings me his "school work" to hang on the fridge, and I happily comply.  The pages he chooses to work on in his coloring book are not the pictures to be filled in with crayons, but the pages that show numbers and letters, word searches, and matching games.  He wants to know what the words say, what they mean, and how to make the letters into them.  He demands the reading of words everywhere, from receipts to newspapers to cereal boxes.  He loves the written word already, before he can even cipher the meaning on his own, and I find myself filled with joy at the thought of the books we will (re)discover together.
*******
Brendan straps the orange snowshoes to his feet while I struggle with my own buckles.  The freshly fallen snow whirls around our heads in the late-morning wind, and we're off.  We start on the driveway, where Harrison quickly finds his rhythm is thrilled to watch his dad use the snow blower, but even that soon gets old for a boy of such energy.  We cut a path across the front yard and then around the back and into the trees.  He asks me if he can go first and I let him take the lead, his little snowshoes making a meandering trail through the untouched powder.  He stops to admire the ice on tree branches, and shows concern for smaller pines that have buckled under the weight of heavy snow and ice.  He insists on dusting the snow off of them and correcting their posture.  We discover "tree huts" under a few tall, old hemlocks at the very back of the lot, and I remember being a child myself and playing in the caverns formed by snow-laden branches of evergreens.  We duck under the snowy branches and Harrison smiles and laughs out loud at the luck of finding such a perfect hiding hole.  As we head back toward the house his cheeks have taken on a rosy glow, and he stumbles over a log that was hidden beneath a drift.  Rather than allow frustration to seep into his outing, he laughs and reaches his hands out to me, and I scoop him up and set him right again.  He leads me along the fence and into the front yard, and we watch his dad circle back with the snow blower.  He doesn't want to take off his snowshoes; he doesn't want to go back inside.  It was only fifteen or twenty minutes but it made his weekend, and watching his adventure through the woods made mine.
*******
She hates to be told "no".  She doesn't hear the word very often because she is eager to please by nature and follows directions more than she bucks them, but every once in awhile Emma is told "no".  She turns her eyes to mine, and the sadness that peers out of those big brown spheres at that one simple word is enough to break my heart.  And then she sticks her little bottom lip out, her cheeks quiver, and enormous tears literally splash down her face.  Her face crumples into devastation, and I am between giggling and tears myself.  It hurts my heart to see the physical expressions of her sadness, but on the other hand I know the reason behind my use of the word "no" and really it wasn't anything to cry about.  I hold her and whisper "shhhh" in her ear and her tiny little sobs quiet.  She looks questioningly into my eyes and I assure her that I love her, but that she still  cannot drink my hot cup of tea.  Satisfied with the exchange she smiles and wiggles her way to the ground, off to new adventures.  Her cheeks are still shiny with tears, but her heart has been restored to sunshine.

Setting The Record Straight

Brendan pointed out that what I wrote yesterday about the resources page may have come off sounding a little snotty, which was SO not my intention!  Truthfully, I felt a little stupid for not having checked it all out before I posted the site.  I was saying a little "duh" to myself because not only did I not check out the stats, but when I went back to look for it it practically jumped off the screen and bit me, but I completely missed on my first, second, and third visits to the site.

So, for the record, Robyn is lovely and I was not meaning to be snide.  Sometimes I hate that it is so difficult to convey tone on the internet.  I will be more careful to direct my "duh"s only at myself next time.  Sorry, Robyn!

Where Got Their Numbers And Statistics

Robyn asked a good question about The Story of Stuff:  Where did they get their data?
To be honest, I had not checked their site for specific resources of data because I had heard many of those same statistics on the news, in the newspaper, on NPR, etc., but they never had the impact on my way of thinking until I saw them all put together in such a coherent way.  In order to answer her question I just headed back to The Story of Stuff site and found, on page one, a big link to their Resources page, where you can look up each and every bit of data they put in their twenty minute film, including an annotated script that cites each and every reference.  So now we know. 
By the way, the annotated script is easy to read if you don't have time to sit and watch the movie.

Say hay boke-mahn he pah du say oh

Happy Lunar New Year! 
February 7, 2008 on the solar calendar (the one we westerners use) marks the first day of the Lunar New Year, called Sol-Nal in Korea, and specifically, the Year Of The Rat.  Sol- Nal traditions in Korea are focused around paying respects to the elders and ancestors of the family.  I have read that Seoul becomes a ghost town during the festivities, as thousands of people pour out of it and other large cities in order to make the journey to their family's roots in the countryside. 
The biggest holiday in Korea, the Lunar New Year is rung in with large family gatherings (married couples travel to the home of the husband's family), a thorough cleaning of one's home in order to rid it of any evil that lingers from the previous year, huge feast-like meals featuring dduk-gook (a soup made with oval rice cakes), and several traditional games.  Kite flying is also traditional on the Lunar New Year, with older family members tying blades to the kite in order to attempt to cut the kite strings of their opponents. 
As part of the celebration, families dress in their formal wear, known as hankbok.   I dressed the kids in their hanbok yesterday for pictures so I could post them tonight, on New Year's Eve. 

Harry attempts to tie his pouch around his head, while Emma practices her "so big" arm movements.

Their hanbok were gifts from each of their foster mothers in Korea.  Harry's is getting to be too small, and we'll probably have to order him a new one before next year. 

A real smile, instead of the usual pirate variety.

Wearing her more modern headpiece.
Harry is really interested in learning about Korea these days, and it has been fun to look things up for him to answer his questions, which are surprisingly astute for one so young.  We're incorporating some of the Korean traditions for the Lunar New Year into our week, and I started with a thorough house cleaning.  It seemed like a good idea, since it hadn't been done in, well, I don't want to admit that to you.  If the weather stops being so crummy tomorrow we will venture out with our kite and test the winds, and tomorrow's dinner will involve bulgogi and kimchi if I can get it.  We already had our dduk-gook, or at least a version of it I found in a cook book.  It was tasty and both kids gobbled it up.  I can't wait to do more cooking tomorrow!
Many blessings to your family in the new year!

Another Way: The Story of Stuff

I've been reading a new blog lately, one that my mom sent me the link to that is hosted by the local newspaper here.  The blog is called Getting Greener (you can click on that title to visit the blog) and the author, Wendy Baird, talks about her family's efforts to make their lives a little more earth friendly. 
Wendy's blog pointed me in the direction of The Story of Stuff (you can click on that one, too).  I try not to ask much of the people I know, but today I am pulling a favor.  Please go and watch the video.  It is twenty minutes long, which sounds like an eternity in this world of fast paced clicking, but those twenty minutes will transform the way you think about our habits, our consumption, and our world.  When you're done let me know what you thought by leaving a comment.