The most interesting person David knows

Oh man, another extended period without posting. This time I have been busy remembering how much I like books, packing my head with someone else’s words instead of my own. In the past month I have listened to 20,000 Leagues under the Sea, Mitochondrial Curiosities (I wish I wrote that book), Billy Bud (listed as a “Classic” b/c Melville wrote it, but classically bad), Sheri Dew excerpts (inspiring), Saints (Orson Scott Card is too salacious), Waiting to Die in Miami (exquisite! and anyone with or without ties to Cuba needs to read it). Is this the reason I majored in English? My own rationalization for the major was that I was interested in everything and English allowed me to read about everything, which of course is ridiculous rationalization. I think the real reason was that for me it was the best possible ratio of highest GPA / least work required. And then I came back from the mission and realized I couldn’t continue to save the world as an English major. My dad had always encouraged doctorhood (still does, as recently as last night) so I thought I might take aim at the medical profession. I took chemistry, anatomy, and other such fleshy classes and have never studied so hard to get good grades. I practically shacked up with the cadavers and to this day it’s hard for me to eat leftover meat. The formaldehyde is still stuck in my nose whiskers. Circumstances and a lack of drive didn’t allow me to become a quack, but I’m not dead yet.
Enough about me.

David: Chews gum as if to punish it.

Elijah: Was limping for 2 weeks after his ER visit and has discovered the joys of legal narcotics. Habit forming? Yes indeed. He also got a new bike which means…

His old bike was painted pink for Claire. Claire, Claire, Claire. That girl has been bestowed with the gift of gab. Especially during prayer and song—she’s always singing. Try as I might to concentrate on the theme, I usually have no idea what she’s trying to say b/c it’s so disjointed. Every once-in-a-while I’ll catch a “that Jesus can do everything for us” and a “kumbaya,” and maybe a “bingo was his name-o,” but most of the time I just can’t keep up.  At the end of one of her recent heavenly conversations, Elijah remarked, “that wasn’t a prayer, that was a story.”

David recently commented that Iris is the most interesting person he knows. She rides a scooter, for as long as her attention span permits=a few feet but progressing. You can often find her on all fours barking—yes, she thinks she’s a dog and waits patiently to be petted as she licks my feet. She’s a climber and has the skull fracture to prove it. It’s quite a long crack, along her left parietal and occipital plates. That’s how we ended our spring break—began and ended in the ER; we are true vacationers. And yet she still injures her head on a daily basis. She would be the first one to sign a petition to allow people of her size to bungee jump. Some of her vocabulary: “I Iris” (as she points to herself; she pronounces it with the American accent even though everyone calls her Eedees), “Where is she?,” “I do” (she volunteers for most things), “yeah, yeah, yeah.”

And there you have us of late.

Camping and Ostrich Festival

David took E & C camping. Iris and I joined at the beginning, but prefer beds at night.

Claire, of course, camped in style-- in a red velvet Christmas dress. First thing she asked upon waking was to put the dress on again.

Elijah woke up with something missing. And that night, the unprecedented occurred. I caved in like a teenager. “Come on Caroline, one time won’t hurt, everybody’s doing the tooth fairy.” And so we have entered the realm of mythology, tradition, and fairy dust. This is E with his spoils.

 The next day we went to Ostrich Festival. It sounded way too loony to miss. And it was. Started with a bad magic show, next a funnel cake

add a goat mistaking Iris' finger for an udder (it's cousin had just reached into its nose with its tongue to pull at least half a cup of snot into the mouth--gotta love animals)

emus chased by children 

then cross the Ben Hurr chariot race with ostriches

and add the county fair.

Today we kicked off Spring Break with a trip to the ER.
Toxic Synovitis for the boy. The poor child has been immobile and frantically clawed every time we tried to move him. He has just started hobbling again, thank goodness.
   And a big congrats to David who completed his second marathon a few weeks ago. He ran it with a brother and 3 bro-in-laws.

Vacation, Come to Mama

Wow, going on 3 weeks without a post. Excuses are the usual, disease and nothing new.
Of course the first excuse is disease. We have gone through a few rounds of acute bronchitis—although David was the only one brave enough to get it officially diagnosed which if I knew it came with a cool inhaler and codeine, I might have gone in too.
And second, life has been boring—our weekends have been consumed with house-hunting. Who knew house-hunting would be so horribly life-sucking. Whoever told us “now is the time to buy,” lied to us. It’s a seller’s market out there, at least in the square mile I’m willing to live in. See, the last 2 cities we’ve lived in have turned me into a car-hater, so we drew a circle around the school in which we want to matriculate our children, but eliminated houses with HOAs (because I refuse to pay someone to judge me and my yard and who gives me a pretty little fine if I don’t meet approval). At this point I’m ready to take the first tree house available. Or maybe even an underground cave, if I can get good home insurance on it. Dealing with squirrels and groundhogs has to be easier than sellers and their agents.
And to make the week better, I told off (more like emailed-off) the principal at E’s school, because really, punishment by taking away recess is counterproductive, proliferates bad behavior, propagates lower tests scores, and I hereby promulgate the destruction of humanity in general (my goal this week was to learn and use new words—can you tell?).
So finally after several lackluster weekends I said, “Enough! Weekend vacation, come to Mama. I need you like I need antibiotics.”
First we stopped in Tucson. Memories rained. I’m going to skip a recap for now because I’m still sorting through the squall. Then we headed to Tombstone. On the way we stopped at San Xavier mission which was built in the late 1700s. It serves the Indian Reservation so we enjoyed fry bread and the beautiful church.

Then on to...

First we stopped at the graveyard.

Rode in an original stagecoach from the time. The driver's beard was original too.

It was a mining town with establishments like Madame Moustache, Big Nose Kate's Saloon, and Shady Lady's Closet.

Largest rosebush in the world--it covers 8000 square feet. The root was sent from Scotland in 1885. The caretaker claimed there are "millions" of blooms when it's in season.

The Birdcage Saloon. The children were thrilled their parents took them to such a wholesome enviromnent. It was sprinkled with knife and bullet holes. The upper rooms housed the brothel and the lower rooms housed the longest continuous game of poker ever: about 8.5 years.

O.K. Corral. The guy on the right was interviewed on The Cobert Report. He was fined for dressing like this without a permit. He contested and won.

Reinactment of the gunfight.

We drove to Bisbee but the kids were asleep so we didn't get out.

PS. Happy Birthday my little man.

I love you to pieces.

My first recipe post

I have never done a recipe post, for good reason--I'm not a good cook. But this is a delicious, borrowed recipe from a world-renowned cook: Betsy Nagel.

Taco Soup

As I prepare to make this soup tonight, I remember an old man who cleans bathrooms in the middle of nowhere:  Xochicalco, Mexico. We were visiting the ruins and my son struck up a conversation with him about poisonous bugs, or something. When I told him where we were from, the first impression he mentioned of our country was that we survive on a diet of canned food (“comida enlatada”). At the time, I dispelled the myth, but today I reinforce it proudly.
I haven’t made this soup in a long time. I made it a lot as a newly-wed because: 1) it's easy, 2) it's cheap, 3) it moves bowels (David likes that).

2 cans of kidney beans
1 can of diced tomatos
1 can of green beans
1 can of corn
1 packet of taco seasoning

Put it all into a pot and heat. You may use as many add-ins as you want: cheese, sour cream, chips, road kill (that’s my own touch), etc.
Now, this technically isn’t a proper recipe post without a beautiful food picture, but I’m fresh out of road kill. Stay tuned…

Thy name is Iris

Destruction, thy name is Iris. The child has eaten enough beads to adorn the queen of England. And her favorite word is “eye.” She says it with gusto as she shoves her finger towards the back of my socket. Her favorite toy is my wallet because there are so many fun things to throw out of it. The other day she took off her diaper and put it in the trashcan—good. Then she walked back to the rug and peed on it—not good. As I am cleaning up one of her messes, she’s always a few ahead of me.

Iris has finally solved the age-old quesiton: Why would anyone sport a mullet?

Food Storage, of course.

“Where did Claire come from?” This is what my mother-in-law asked me at Christmas as she watched Claire prance around in her jewelry, makeup, and princess/fairy clothes. She said this because I’m about as un-girly as they come. And I got to wondering. Is it possible that she has some Barbie blood in her? Or can she inherit it from an aunt or cousin?

Fixing hair was truly my biggest fear about mothering a girl, and of course Claire’s favorite game is “Hair Salon.” Last week, her specialty was called “swamp,” and let me tell you, it didn't feel too good on the hair follicles.

Claire and EC are in dance class together and love it.

And Elijah is back in soccer. He told me that he would prefer doing karate, and it shows in his soccer strategy. He leaves a wake of fallen comrades from both teams behind him. The brand of E’s shoes is “predator”: apropos.

It’s a non-competitive league, but David says not keeping the score is for socialists. Elijah is the sole scorer on his team and has had about 8.5 this season. I put the half in there b/c one was actually an assist to the goalie of the opposite team who scored on himself. 

Unmentionables

Lately, I haven’t had as much time to pontificate, seeing as Claire no longer goes to school, Iris’ naps are erratic, David comes home at a humane hour, the Republican presidential campaigns are turning into an engrossing soap opera, and yours truly has moved back onto the “gravy train.” Have you ever heard that term? My bro-in-law once accused me of riding the gravy train—I think my parents had treated us to lunch or something—I was horrified. But now it’s a pleasant ride. Living with them is da bomb.
On with the pontification…
You know you’re getting old when your birthdays move into the “unmentionables” category along with your graying underwear, soon to be followed by your soiled Depends. I had hoped the world might forget, kinda like those islands that voted not to have a Dec 31, 2011 just went right on to Jan 1, 2012. Maybe we can skip Jan15th from now on. But why do I feel this way? Afraid of aging? No. Old people can say whatever they want without ramification. My Grandpa Udall took naps at stoplights—what’s not heavenly about that? So what is it? Truthfully, I haven’t been able to pinpoint it. Maybe because youth likes to thrust you into the middle of things: birthdays, parties, loitering, flirting, teasing hair, painting faces. Once you settle into your sagging middle-aged skin, excitement takes a back seat to child-rearing and routine (in a good way). So, consider my birthday on Jan15th utterly unmentioned.

On MLK day we took a trip on the Apache Trail. Beautiful sites, although most of the pictures were ruined by the omnipresent phone wires.

 22 miles were unpaved. Thanks to these beautiful roads, I tossed my cornbread.

 Roosevelt dam

 Cliff dwellings

Tortilla Flat: population 6.

The restaurant and store were papered with money.