Bike Adventure
Roused myself this morning after a too-fun evening out with siblings last night, and organized the children for a bike adventure. The photos are taken by my ancient cellphone (I got it three years ago, which means in tech years it’s one hundred and thirty-three); here we are toward the end of our journey, when the children were splashing themselves liberally with melting popsicles. It got ugly. Well, it got sticky, to be more precise. There was some semi-serious discussion of whether hands might get glued onto bike handles, that’s how sticky it got. But prior to that, we biked all the way to Columbia Lake and picnicked in the shade on a hill overlooking the water, a field of black-eyed susans waving below us in the cool breeze. The only thing that could have made the event ever so slightly more charmed would have been the addition of Kevin; though I actually find the children are better behaved, and rise to the occasion more earnestly, when they are being supervised by only one parent (why is that?). After lunch, we followed the gravel trail along the stream and found a patch of red raspberries. I almost encouraged the kids to clamber down a steep hill into the swampy creek, but thought better of it. We biked amidst the lunch crowd on the trail going through campus, and the concession stand at the park was our final stop. With the exception of one small meltdown over having to share the much-coveted slushie (our newly four-year-old girlie is still learning to control her impulses for “now, now, now!”), by the time we were home the children were in a blissed-out state. CJ crawled out of the bike stroller and into the sandbox where he spent almost an hour, the big kids read on the couch, and I sipped a cup of cold coffee (let’s pretend it was iced) on the back porch while browsing the paper.What Not To Do …
So, you’re driving across town on a quiet Sunday morning when you come to a pesky “Road Closed” sign blocking the route you’d intended to take, and accompanied by various bright orange plastic barriers–fencing, pylons, easy to move, or, in a pinch, to drive over. You’re in a hurry. So, naturally, you keep right on going. Seriously, people, these “signs” are nothing but a ridiculous formality to keep out the sissies, the wimps, those who choose not to clothe themselves in an undershirt. See–it’s practically paved. Well, except for this section where you need to maneuver between two moutains of gravel, beyond which rest several massive bulldozers and earth movers in a lake of mud surrounded by piled chunks of concrete with large gas and sewage pipes poking out here and there. Hey, this is just like a video game! Like a real-life truck derby course! You just rev up the engine and go for … [insert expletive! here]. What? You’re stuck? There’s no way that could possibly be true. All you need to do is just rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine. Open the door, take a look down. There is seriously no way that your tires are completely sunk into the mud and water. Seriously. Come on! Just rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine, rev the engine. Umm, that’s not working? Impossible. You just need to keep revving. And look cool, look cool. Someone’s taking your photograph.
Recipes for a Party
The basic meal at the end of these simple recipes is served buffet-style, starting with a bowl of fresh flour tortillas (Nina’s, again!), and continuing in the following order: rice, beans, hamburger, grated cheese, chopped lettuce, feta cheese, sour cream, fresh tomato-peach salsa, hot sauce, and, finally, a giant bowl of tortilla chips for crumbling atop everything else. You can add or subtract as your own tastes desire.
Now, the cake. This “bear cake” has become a family tradition, in part because it’s ridiculously easy to make and always ends up looking, well, cute. The older children no longer request it, I must add. The design comes from a book that, as children, my brothers and sister and I used to drool and fantasize over, titled “The Cut-Up Cake Party Book,” published in 1973. The authors were fond of dyed flaked coconut, and the themed party, but their bear cake design is unbeatable: bake your cakes in one square pan and one round pan, use the round cake for the head, cut a few squares out of the other cake, and, voila, teddy bear’s body with paws! Frost and decorate.
One final recipe … because this was a summertime party, with lots of adults as well as children, Kevin devised a lime-green rum punch, stirred up in a large glass container and served, upon arrival and throughout the evening, to those guests old enough to appreciate it.Party Like You’re Four
“What would you like for your birthday breakfast?” Thoughtful pause. “I’d like breakfast in bed!” This birthday has been anticipated, dreamed about, and planned (by the birthday girl) for many months, but in the end it was special just because it was special. Her siblings prepared her breakfast in bed (“Don’t worry Daddy, it’s just cereal”), and cleaned up the spills; she received phone calls from grandmothers, and started the morning by opening her “parcel” from Grandma Alice (“That’s a hard word to say!”); then fell into the inevitable restless boredom that arises as one waits for party-time; though she perked up briefly during the cake-making and decorating (the “bear cake” has become a family tradition, for the younger birthdays); finally, we put on a movie (Return of the Jedi!) and banished the children to the basement so we could do some proper party prep; and at last (okay, at 5 o’clock), our guests arrived (we were twenty, in all, and it rained, so the party was necessarily indoors); more gifts, swirling in pink capes and princess dresses and everyone trying out the magic tricks; supper (beans and rice, with sides); playtime (nine children, with every age represented from eight down to one), and a game organized for the kids by Kevin; then cake! Kevin and I agreed that we hardly even saw our birthday girl during her party, and that this was a sign she’d enjoyed herself heartily. This was one exhausted and rumpled little ballerina being tucked into bed at a rather late hour last night, holding up four fingers to show just how old she’d become today.Happy Birthday, Four-Year-Old
It’s her birthday, and I intend to upload photos from tonight’s much-anticipated party. Till then, here a few from the last couple of years, including one taken today: with birthday cake batter upon cheeks. Fooey was born when our family was transitioning between old-fashioned film and digital, and her babyhood was therefore cheated of in-depth recording. Plus, she was so incredibly cute that no photograph could truly capture her charms: the bald head, the toothless grin, the joyous spirit. She surprised us by arriving fifteen days early; we hadn’t even picked out her first name. She remains a commanding presence in our lives, chatty, vivid, opinionated, creative in her clothing choices, always colourful. She’s spent the last few days announcing, with great seriousness, to anyone who would listen: “It’s almost my birthday.” Yes, it is. Here we are. Happy birthday, youngest daughter. You are loved, loved, loved.