waiting game

All four of us were stuck inside the house today while the manhunt for one of the Boston Marathon bombers went on around us. It's funny what goes through your mind when you realize there is danger present. One of my first thoughts was "Oh man, I wanted to go running today!" (because it's all about me, right?), and then a later thought was "Well, we're probably safe because we live up this dang hill." This is actually a good insight--I mean, even if you got up the hill, then you'd have to run up all our steps, so I figure it's about the most difficult place he could choose to go.

Anywho, at the prospect of having to stay inside my house all day, I did what any woman would. I binge ate a buttload of chips and salsa, then swept and mopped all the floors in my house. We occasionally listened to NPR and caught a few minutes of news, but we tried not to watch obsessively, figuring it could go on a while. It seemed to me like an unprecedented amount of manpower devoted to the capture of one man, and I laughed heartily at this tweet that aptly described the situation.

One consolation in this situation has been the fact that life goes on for my kids. Neither of them is of an age where we can explain what's happening to them, which is mostly good but a little bad. It was bad in that it's IMPOSSIBLE to explain why we can't let them go outside on what is truly the best weather we've had all year. But as I said, it was mostly good because who wants to have to tell their kids about real-life bad guys? I prefer for them to go on believing in the good in people. And really, that's what we're all trying to do, you know?

The best we could do is let them in the (locked) mud room. They played "rainy day."

from Boston, with love

Monday morning was filled with jubilation, awe, and patriotism. Upon waking, I sipped my tea and imagined how terrifying--and yet also satisfying--it must have been for the minutemen to fight off the British at the start of the Revolutionary War. I pondered the symbolism of hosting a marathon on the holiday meant to commemorate the event, and how the emotions at the start of the race are not unlike those of the militia. The thrill of crossing that finish line and the excitement of watching 25,000 people accomplish such a great feat on a crisp April morning represent two glorious freedoms that bring me swelling pride of country.


On Monday, those freedoms were briefly interrupted with horrific blasts. Maimed and lost lives. Pandemonium. But if you watch footage of the explosions and the immediate aftermath, you also see the inalienable truth of American, of Bostonian, people. We will survive, we will get back up, we will bond together to recover.

Monday's tragic event at the Boston Marathon is lingering in the air here, but not in the way you might think. Boston is a city full of tenacity, resilience, and hope--unlike any place I've ever lived. We are all running our own race, and we will keep going, always encouraging each other to the end, come what may. It takes more than a small person's feeble attempts to rattle our pride, our faith, our patriotism. Our leaders have promised to find the person(s) who carried out the attack, and I have no doubt they will do that.

To the cowards that attempted to destroy our love of life and each other: You picked the wrong fucking city. As Mayor Tom Menino said, “We are one Boston. We are one community. As always, we will come together to help those most in need. And in the end, we will all be better for it.” To donate to the people who most need it now, visit The One Boston Fund. #OneBoston

if you can't say anything nice...move to Boston

[An aside about my post title: I mean it in the most cordial of tones. I own that it did take a while before I embraced the common use of the eff-bomb in ordinary, everyday Massachusetts vernacular. Whereas I once thought Yankees had all the charm of a snake, after two years in residence up yonder, I see their affably blunt manner in a new light. Bostonians say fuck with aplomb, demonstrating at once both their status as a person of the world--a reckon-able force, I daresay--and their passionate candor. The Irish blood shows itself in their heightened color, irresistible sarcasm, and a retributive justice that lends a simple ardor to their storytelling (see also: Bill Burr). When I ponder migrating southbound again, it's surprisingly this aspect of New England life that gives me pause more than any other. I've grown fond of telling it like it is, y'all. And so I wonder, would I be able to speak as bluntly in the honey-dripping, bless-your-heart Deep South? I fear not.]

I feel I owe you some deets after missing another blogging day yesterday. It is complicated, this 31-days-of-posts business. Let's get on with it, shall we? I'll begin by telling you that when I brought the kids home from school today, I stood in the kitchen for five minutes, "making out furiously with a jar of Nutella." I blame Nate, who suggested I might eat more calories now that I am pseudo-training for a triathlon. Thanks, dear.

In my defense of the Nutella binge, allow me mention that winter has finally beaten me into a dazed submission. It started snowing while I was milling about the preschool hallway, and I cried actual tears on my friend's shoulder while she patted my back. Me!, grown woman who does not cry (that would be my Native American name, I think). We are simpatico, these girls and me, and I feel lucky to have some best-good friends who understand the meltdowns of a transplanted southerner WHO JUST WANTS TO FEEL FUCKING WARMTH ON HER SKIN IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK.

This morning (I realize I'm going backward, but that's how stream of consciousness works sometimes) an older lady in my neighborhood was wearing a plastic grocery bag on her hair while walking to her car. So this is still A Thing, this bag-over-the-hairdo thing?!  I'd like to have a serious discussion with you about this sighting. I remember ladies doing this practice when I was a child, but somehow I thought the passage of a few decades would mean the extinction of such a behavior. The fact that it is alive and well means the following scary truth: Daughters of those ladies witnessed their mothers' placement of the bag, laughed at them, and yet. Yet! Somewhere along the line these same women thought "This seems like a good idea" and started doing it too. I would like to go on record now to my future grown children that if I ever start wearing a plastic bag on my head, you have my permission to pull it the rest of the way down. Because, no.

In closing, I present to you a sweet picture of my kids huddling close to each other during the scary part of a movie (Cars, I think? I can't imagine what scared them, haven't sat down to watch it yet). Pay no mind to the clean but unfolded sheets under them on the chair.

dirt cups and spring adventures! {rhythm of the home}

The spring edition of Rhythm of the Home is out today! I have two articles to share with you.

The first is a recipe for dirt cups, a snack tradition (like with haystacks) I've been keeping up since my summer camp days.

The second is a list of spring adventures we love to experience again and again. I hope they inspire you to get outside and enjoy the thaw!

how big is your snow plow?

I could probably fill in material just from the snow days for the next week, but I'll try to be editorial in determining what makes the cut. Just in time for the storm, Netflix dumped a slew of episodes of their new show, House of Cards, in our lap. Throw in some chocolate chip cookies, knitting, and a fire, and you've got the picture of how we've been spending our evenings. Whoever said Boston in February stinks is nuts. Boston in February is wonderful. It's April and May that are the pits.

Can you believe that it's business as usual again already around here? These people know how to recover from a storm. Quite an accomplishment, I must say.

World's largest snow plow (see video below)

"Mah cheeksh are shtuck."

She's not standing at the bottom. That's about half-way down. If I'd kept digging, she wouldn't be able to get out!

lingua vernacula

An interesting change in rhythm happens when it snows. Yes, we eat all the carbohydrates in sight and snuggle in to watch the fire, but that's not all. Whether we are shoveling a path with neighbors or postulating on the odds of outdoor play, our native dialect becomes one of winter weather. We talk of snowman snow and snow angel snow and igloo snow, and suddenly I understand why the Samis have 180 words to describe the substance.

For Vivi, I imagine the highlight of watching the snow come down was that she spotted a solitary puffed-up robin tucked in some branches outside our window. As she is out there now trudging around building castles and digging trenches, I hope she is tucking away little memories of our days together.

we found Nemo

Nemo the blizzard showed up yesterday and is still coming as of 7:30 this morning! Apparently we're going to keep getting snow through about 10am. I haven't gotten up the nerve to bundle up yet, but when it stops I will so you can see better perspectives of how much snow we have.

Most of our windows look something like this...

But the ones you can see out of have a view like no other...

This is the backyard as of this morning. That black thing to the right is my 4 ft. compost bin.

For comparison, here's our backyard the last time we got "lots" of snow. Pshah. (Look at the fence line)

Somewhere out there is the street. AND our car.

{this moment}: snowpocalypse

I'm sure we'll have our own pictures of the snow soon enough, but for now, here's a painting from the Museum of Fine Arts showing Boston, circa 1908. Bring on the blizzard!

Happy New Year!

We rang in the new year Boston-style with some fantastic sledding. Hope you're having a good time wherever you are! Be safe, and I'll see you again in 2013.

on being my daughter's people

Vivi visiting with a neighbor. I love that Charlie got out a chair to sit and watch Vivi's conversation.

When you were a kid, did you envision your adulthood involving the phrase "Have your people call my people"? I certainly did. As a stay-at-home mom with nothing to do other than arrange our lives, I often joke anyway that I need a wife to do some of the things that seem to fall off the social calendar. I need people! Vivi, on the other hand, has people, and those people are me.

raison d’être

Charlie on her first morning of "stay and play" school.

October already? We have an action-packed month, including a move, some of my first doula clients, and getting in shape for my reunion row in a month. To give myself an outlet for discussing all that's happening and to hold myself accountable in my desire to exercise every day, I've decided to join up with NaBloPoMo, that thing where you blog every day for a month. I hope you'll read along!

If you know me well, you might know that today's post title happens to be the name of one of my favorite beers. But I'm not writing about beer this time, I'm writing about my discovery in the last two years of what really matters to me. My reason for existence, my everything, my be all to end all.

love the place you live: Belmont Town Day

There is a town near us called Belmont, and even before today I would have said it was the quintessential New England town. And then! They hosted a "Town Day" today, which was such a perfect way to spend a warm spring day and a great spot to visit for this edition of Design Mom's {Love the Place You Live} series!

love the place you live: Minute Man National Park & Orchard House

Have I told you lately how much I love Concord? Oh yeah, only in both of the {Love the Place You Live} posts that I've written so far. But still! I love it enough to write a third post. There are so many wonderful gems in this area that I might even devote a fourth post; maybe I'll head a bit southeast and write about Lincoln, the spot of an aunt's idyllic wedding years ago and also home of our favorite Audubon sanctuary/farm.

spring break!

Yes, okey dokey is the day

when all you Rolie did was play.

-from Rolie Polie Olie by William Joyce

We spent our entire day outdoors with great weather. What a wonderful way to start spring break with a bang. We made it to church but didn't actually step foot inside the building. Vivi asked me if she could just play on the playground instead (her absolute favorite jungle gym), and I couldn't say no. We spent two glorious hours playing and chatting with the first service folks as they came out and with the second service folks before they went in. Then we had a picnic at home, went to Vivi's favorite park in the afternoon, and stopped in Winchester for ice cream on our way to dinner with friends. The perfect day! (minus Daddy still being gone)

the library: an urban homesteader's most trusted companion

As a budding urban homesteader, I often felt disconnected from my rural counterparts, who I imagined were spending their days picking up tips and tricks from each other in knitting circles and at community pot-lucks. Whether they actually ever attend these events is unknown to me, but these scenarios have been firmly entrenched in my fantasy of rural life. I felt left out of their knowledge loop, like a shy schoolgirl who sits on the periphery of the cafeteria.

I'm happy to report I have managed to join the homesteading reindeer games, and the instructions weren't as difficult to come by as I once imagined. My take-home point is an old lesson but a good one: Ask, and you shall receive. Today I'm sharing a prodigious source of information for the urban homesteader that connects me to the past, present, and future of natural family living and DIY homesteading: My library!

Erin go braugh (or "the Dude abides")

I'll begin by saying I really do not like the word vomit. I don't like when people say "I vomited in my mouth a little" to be funny. It is not funny to imagine you vomiting in your mouth a little. Having said that, I went grocery shopping yesterday, and it looked like St. Patrick's Day vomited everywhere. I'm not even joking. I only wish I could show you the NINE pictures I took with my phone of the NINE St. Patrick's Day displays in Stop 'N Shop, but my phone is evil and hates me and refuses to allow me to share. Darn you, dumb phone. I will definitely be swapping my phone for Nate's in a matter of days. But I digress.

dirt therapy: sowing seeds to plant roots

Yes, that is a camping shovel. Don't judge me.

I just filled out Vivi's summer camp paperwork. I can hardly stand it, I am so excited for her. To be honest, I've been mentally making plans for her to attend camp ever since I got pregnant. I remember thinking, "How old can she be when she starts camp?," and when I discovered I had to wait a whole four years, I was crestfallen. But now the wait is over! The time is upon us...

(almost) wordless Wednesday: happiness is...

...bouncing your little sister in a giant spider web at the zoo...

love the place you live: Lexington and Concord

I love this idea by Design Mom to explore where you live and write about it. I've been meaning to share our experiences in the towns nearby us, so I'm happy to have an excuse to share today. We live right on the border of Lexington and Arlington, so I'm over in Lexington on a weekly if not daily basis to run errands. We especially love going to the square in the summer, which is lively with barefoot couples and cyclists taking a break from the nearby rail trail.

Twirling on the square

this mustache is bespoked for you

The hubster left yesterday--on his thirty first birthday--for an international work trip. I was sad to see him go but happy we celebrated his big day in style before he left. We met some of his work buddies for drinks, and they surprised him with mustaches and top hats for all of us to wear. I say surprised "him" because the accoutrements were my idea. Why yes, I am amazing. Thanks for noticing.

Well, how do you do? I do very well, thank you. Indeed.