Yes I admit it.  My heart is with little boys these days.  The whirlwind that is Seth, Chas and Ford has inspired yet another blog The Boy’s Almanac.  Steph the boys and I are trying our hand at the projects from the American Boy’s Handy Book by Daniel Beard.  Please take a look and let us know what you think!

This photo was taken by extreme sports photograper Arun Frances.  Don’t hesitate to visit his website and check out the action.  Thanks for the glam shot Daddy Arun!

We brought Pumpkin Pancakes for cooking time today and they were a huge success. Sovin and Seth came over to watch me cook. Sovin immediately started in on Pat-a-Cake which seemed so appropriate for the little sizzling cakes. He then proceeded to stay for 10 extra minutes to tell me politely about how much he disliked the taste of pumpkin. At cooking time he ate four!

These are gluten free, and apparently a really popular cooking event.

PUMPKIN PANCAKES

1 Pumpkin

1 Onion

8 Tablespoons Rice Flour

1 Teaspoon Salt

7 Eggs

1 Teaspoon to 1 Tablespoon Lemon

Dill to taste

1. Cut up the pumpkin and remove the seeds. It is easiest to cut it into smaller pieces so you can slice off the skin.

2. Cut the onion into 4 parts

3. Use the grating attachment on the Cuisinart. Process the onion and the pumpkin.

4. Making sure to get the onion transfer 8 fairly heaping cups of the onion/pumpkin to a large mixing bowl

5. In a smaller mixing bowl crack and whisk the eggs.

6. Add the rice flour, salt and continue whisking till smooth.

7. Add the lemon juice. Enough to make the concoction more liquid.

8. Add dill to taste.

9. Mix the egg mixture into the pumpkin and stir till evenly mixed.

Put olive oil in a pan or griddle and cook the pancakes over medium or low heat depending on the stove. Use a regular spoon to spoon the batter into the pan, because that is about the right amount to use for a kid size pancake.

PUMPKIN KETCHUP BONUS!

Last weekend when we cut the pumpkin up Seth was determined to make “pumpkin ketchup”. Apparently he knew the recipe for this becasue he was directing and pontificating as the pumpkin was being sliced. At one point he stopped speaking, and withdrew his hands in a cringe. Then he asked, “is there raw egg in this”? Needless to say the possibility of raw egg did not stop him from planning his culinary feat all week and executing on Sunday night.

The preparation of the pumpkin ketchup was a long awaited event. Seth was so serious about it. I made pumpkin soup, while he labored beside me slaving over a hot stove to create his master piece. The following are some culinary notes on the ingredients of Pumpkin Ketchup.

There was alot of stirring involved.

1. Simmer pumpkin, allspice, and other spices to taste. Use moderation.

2. Add broccoli for color, and a as many pepper corns as you can get away with.

3. Add baking soda (a good dump from the box) becasue it fizzes!

4. Add water to put the “fire” out.

5. And to really round out the flavor add 3 table spoons of chilli powder.

Elapsed cooking time 1 hour. Hat’s off to a master chef!

Dear Seth,

It has recently come to my attention that what I thought was misbehavior is really affection. It dawned on me when my Aunt Juli and Cousin Leigh came by with Yousef for a visit. We were outside admiring Mattie’s garden. You got agro and hefted a gigantic pitch fork. Clearly you were showing off, but your behavior struck a cord in me. I realized that was how you express love. You do not have the tools yet to say something like, “Little Yousef I will protect you with all my heart and love you like a brother.” But you do have the skills to stab the ground and make warlike animalistic faces to convey your sentiment.

Throwing things is always an issue in little boy life. I recently asked you why you threw a wooden toy ladder at me? Your reply was, “because you were not listening”. This was a big clue for me because as far as I knew there was no conversation going on. I was putting away laundry and fending off a hyperactive late afternoon kid. But in your mind our interactions were a conversation and you wanted me to be completely present for the mayhem of your internal experience.

One of the things I cherish most about family is how silly you can be around them. You can really let down your guard and talk baby talk, roll on the floor with the dogs, and share the cozy nest of family life. One of the places you can be hyperactive is at home. you can’t be too hyper at day-care because it is perceived as rough housing (although apparently you and Marko were playing at being police and fireman dogs the other day), at Mountain School you are Mr. Cool, and in public places you are busy watching traffic and performing the tasks of daily life (pushing shopping carts, operating book scanners and walking dogs). That leaves home, a safe place to expend energy.

Home is a loving place to show your true feelings. Here you can act out what is not appropriate to act out in other places. It is at home that mom can guide you through consequences, talk to you about outcomes and channel that natural energy that you have. All of which comes from love. Love because you love yourself and are trying to become a person and make order out of your existence. Love because you trust me completely with all the facets of who you are. And lastly I love you back with my own energy. You stand there with a maniacal smile on your face and let me whack you on the head with a big fluffy pillow while screaming gleefully for more. Perhaps when you grow big and strong as you claim, you will still indulge me in the occasional pillow fight.

Love + Mommy

Stay tuned for WWSeF wrestling, coming to an arena near you!

The idea of a self portrait rarely crosses my mind.  At least not until last Sunday when we all dove head first into a pile of dry oak leaves.  No one was more excited about the leaf pile than me.  A leaf pile is everything I love, a place where I am comfortable, where I can shed the cerebral and really sense the earth.  Delving into dry leaves is so sensory and human, yet at the same time that sense of self is lost to euphoria and dust.  I felt compelled to have someone take my photo.  Those moments embodied everything that is beautiful to me.  So these are my “glamour shots” if you will, photos of me absolutely as I am.

Frolicking is animal nature. When we frolic we take an active part in decomposition. We break down organic matter. A dry leaf pile is just at that tipping point, at the point where life ebbs and decomposition begins. It’s a holy place. Burying myself under the leaves I experienced what it was like to be soil, or a Jerusalem cricket, or another leaf. Covering myself with leaves helped me understand death. Bursting out from the pile made me feel so alive

Rosa and I share the same birthday.  A mere 34 year age difference between us does not seem to hinder our connection.  Rosie is 2 and blissfully engrossed in leaf play.  Alis is 36 and feeling comparable.  I find Rosie’s presence grounding.  She has an earthen stability that counters my blue sky drift.  Rosa is a good mirror.  I watch her standing up for her self, enforcing her own boundaries.  She reminds me that I too have those inherent skills, it’s just a matter of resurrecting, and putting them to good use.

I like to think of the self portrait as an honest glimpse of who I am.  So much of our energy is spent constructing who we are.  So, rather than composing an image of “who I am” and executing, I felt the need to capture the decomposition of what was really there.  Decomposition causes us to see ourselves everywhere.  We see ourselves in the nature around us and in other people, a random sampling of reflections – dissonance without composition.  These insights help us understand pieces of ourselves that are hard to access, buried under the layers of our constructed personalities.  For me, decomposition took a pile of dry leaves, my niece and a good photographer.  How might you decompose yourself?

Auxiliary Leaf Frolickers