What would happen if I just put my hand here?

Last weekend we took Junius to see the N.C. Symphony's Summerfest concert with Cirque de la Symphonie. It was a big night out for the three of us -- we left Pippi at home with a friend from the babysitting co-op because we knew she'd a) never sit still for the concert and b) need to go to bed about the time the show was starting.

The amphitheater was packed when we arrived and got more crowded as the night went on. But despite the lack of space and lack of a clear view (more on that in another post), we had a nice time eating our picnic and watching the show.

If you're not familiar with Cirque de la Symphonie, it's kind of like Cirque de Soleil in front of a symphony -- acrobats, dancers, jugglers, and the like. The performers are mind-bogglingly (did I just invent an adverb?) strong and graceful, dangling from the ceiling on ribbons and hoops or balancing on tiny stools and each other.

So here are my questions: After you've done all the strength training and gymnastics training and so on, how do you make the leap to saying to your friend...

"Just hold still --
I'm going to do an upside-down one-armed push-up on your head."

Or "I think I can spin three *more* hoops..."


Or "I'm sure I could wrap these sheets
around my wrists and fly..."

For more photos and a video to get the full effect, go here. In the meantime, I'll be training with Junius and Pippi for the next tour. I'm pretty sure I can juggle both of them at the same time.

Saying thank you with ice cream

The following essay was my entry for the Edy's Slow Churned Neighborhood Salute. I'm so excited to be a grand prize winner, which means I'm one of 1,500 people across the country who get to throw an ice cream party for their neighbors courtesy of Edy's. The party will be later in July, but I thought I'd post the essay now because it fits with yesterday's post about moving in. It may also remind you of my 50-word autobiography from earlier in the spring.

In August 2003, my husband and I bought our first house, located in the Lakemont neighborhood of Raleigh, N.C. Over the next few years, we had our first child and became good friends with our neighbors. Our neighborhood group quickly became our community support network – the people who brought dinner when you'd had a family illness, watched your kids in a pinch, offered hand-me-downs and holiday treats, donated to your causes, cheered your talents, celebrated your successes and mourned your losses.

In July 2007, we sold our house in Lakemont to move to Greensboro for a great job opportunity. We didn't want to leave Raleigh, but felt like it was the right decision for our family. Long story short, over the next 11 months, the job opportunity fell apart, we had our second child, my husband found a new job in Raleigh, we sold our house in Greensboro, moved in with my parents for two months, bought a house back in Lakemont (a few streets over from our first home) and moved back to Raleigh in June 2008. Phew.

When our friends from the neighborhood showed up in the front yard of our new house at the same time that the moving truck pulled up to the curb, we knew we'd made the right decision to return. It was an exhausting year – both emotionally and physically – but we felt that coming back to Lakemont was coming home for us, returning to our "family."

Our neighborhood isn't fancy, the houses aren't glamorous, the residents aren't making millions. But we have a wealth of community that I think is rare in a time when people are so transient and keeping up with the Joneses is more about the car you drive than about what sort of help the Joneses might need.

We’d love to host an Edy’s party to say thank you to all our friends and neighbors, new and old, and to celebrate how wonderful they are – they’re what makes Lakemont home for us.

What a difference a year makes

"This is a disaster," I remember thinking to myself. "What have we done?"

Boxes were crammed into the kitchen making it impossible to get to the sink or any of the countertops. Mattresses and bed parts leaned against the bedroom walls, leaving nowhere to sleep. The couch was piled high with bags of toys, pillows and blankets. The maze of stuff throughout the house rendered even the floor impossible to reach.

Exhausted, I took Junius (then almost 3) and Pippi (then 4 months) across the street and knocked on our neighbors' door. We had just met that afternoon, but I was desperate for a soft place to sit -- and there was no such location in the new house.

"Would it be okay if we came in so I could nurse?" I asked her, when she opened the door. She graciously invited us in, as I realized she was also nursing her 5-month-old son.

Pippi had her dinner, then we went back to our house so the rest of us could eat. The same neighbor had thoughtfully brought over not only food that required no cooking, but also paper plates, plastic utensils and napkins.

I'm not sure whether it was the kindness of a stranger (soon to be friend) or the chaotic mess around me or the thought that we'd left behind a perfectly nice, clean, unpacked, already-decorated house, but all I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep. Except that I couldn't find any tissues. Or my bed.

That was one year ago this weekend.

Seems like a lifetime ago. Seems like only yesterday.

Although the house is still a chaotic mess (mostly due to two small children and some remodeling projects), we're much more settled in than we were that day. We've done lots of work upstairs (and by "we," I mostly mean my husband and other skilled people) to make it our own. And with "old" and "new" friends surrounding us -- including that kind neighbor across the street -- this is where we are setting down roots for our family. No longer the "new house"...

This is home.

The Best Medicine

Pippi's laugh is beautiful.

I love hearing it bounce around and ring through the house. She laughs a lot when her brother is being silly or when her dad is tickling her. Sometimes she even cracks herself up, which is so fun to watch.

But she also has this separate little chuckle that's different from her tiny-round-belly laugh.

It sounds like a cross between Woody Woodpecker and Jon Stewart doing his impression of George Bush.

And that laugh... makes me laugh.

Friday Five: Avocado

After yesterday's news, I feel like I'm supposed to write something in tribute to Farrah Fawcett or Michael Jackson. But I don't really have enough to say about either one, although I do have vivid memories of watching "The Making of Thriller" during sleep-overs at my friend Kirsten's house because she had a VCR and we didn't and I was always really scared and had to hide in my sleeping bag because I was just that sensitive. But I digress...

Instead, I'm going to stick with my original topic, about which (perhaps strangely) I have plenty to say: the beautiful, yummy avocado. Some may be afraid of avocados because of their high fat content, but it's monounsatured fat and low in cholesterol. They're also rich in potassium, B vitamins, vitamin E, vitamin K and lutein, in addition to having the highest fiber content of any fruit. And they make a perfect baby/toddler food that's great for brain development -- just serve it like you would banana, either mashed into baby cereal or cut up as a finger food.

Here are five of my favorite ways to work avocado into your diet:

1. Grilled cheese: I first discovered this tasty lunch/dinner at The Raleigh Times, but it's easy enough to make at home. Use good sourdough bread with slices of cheddar, tomato and avocado. Grill on your panini maker (also known as the George Foreman Cooker at our house).


2. Triscuit and muenster sandwich: My favorite snack is to make little stacks of avocado and muenster cheese on top of a Triscuit. When I was pregnant, I would eat an entire avocado at one sitting. Now I try to limit it to half the fruit at a time. It's the perfect combination of crunchy, creamy, sweet and salty.


3. Mexican casserole: An easy, tasty, healthy dinner option is the sweet potato/black bean casserole. Layer mashed sweet potatoes, black beans, mexicali corn, quartered grape tomatoes, avocado slices and shredded cheddar. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes or until hot all the way through.
   
4. Chopped salad: We found this filling and delicious salad at Moonlight Pizza Company. Or you can make your own with romaine, grilled chicken, crispy bacon, avocado slices and crumbled bleu cheese.
   
5. Guacamole: No list of avocado recipes would be complete without this perfect dip. Again, I can probably eat the whole bowl myself with a bag of chips -- but I always try to share.

Timber! Or... Why I'm Apologizing Again

I owe my mom an apology.

Actually, I owe her many -- seems motherhood hands me something to apologize for nearly every day. It's amazing how my understanding and sympathies change as my children show me what I couldn't see in my own mom as I was growing up.

But this one is not parenting related. Today I want to apologize for thinking my mom was over-reacting when she and my dad had several trees taken down around their house last year. She called me or sent me text-messages with photos probably six times that day. At the time I thought, "Why is she being so dramatic? These trees should have been taken down years ago. She's lucky they haven't already crashed into the roof. And it's not like they don't have dozens more still towering in the yard."

And then yesterday I found myself huddled on my neighbor's front porch with my children at 8:30 a.m., my heart racing, tears in my eyes, and a sick feeling in my stomach. The angry sounds of an enormous crane, multiple chain saws and a wood chipper rang in my ears. By 10:30 a.m., five 90-foot pine trees had disappeared from my front yard -- and that was just the beginning.

My reaction caught me off guard. My husband and I had planned to take the trees down from the minute we moved here -- it was exactly what we wanted to do in order to let more light in the house, have a better view, and not live in fear that we'd wake up with a pine tree in our bed during the next hurricane.

But standing there watching, it suddenly seemed more like the execution of an unsuspecting giant than a land management decision. As I choked back tears like it was double-header night at the chick flick festival, I thought of my mom. I felt suddenly selfish, sad and guilty about the trees (a sentiment only exacerbated by the fact that my husband had walked through the yard the night before, touching each tree to say good-bye and teaching Junius to say thank you to each one). And I felt like an idiot for underestimating the power that such tall creatures could have on a mom who had lived under them for more than two decades or even just 12 months.

_____

Today I've settled down again. I'm enjoying all the new sunlight in my yard. I'm imagining new landscaping in the front and more space to play in the back. And I'm thankful for the opportunity to learn yet another lesson from my mom, who is a great teacher and who always loves me in spite of myself.

In memory of a profound life

My dear friend's mom died this weekend after a valiant struggle with cancer. I want to do something for her -- make her a casserole or give her a big hug or tell her a story of my latest parenting foibles in a feeble attempt to make her smile. But she is in Alabama with her family, so I can do none of those things right now.

Instead, I will share with you my favorite story about her Mama (as she is known). As you read it, imagine my friend putting on her best Mobile drawl as she tells the story. I may get some of the details a little off, but the punchline is still fabulous.

_____

When S. graduated from her master's program in education, her mom -- also a lifelong educator -- pulled her aside to tell her something very important before she began her teaching career.

Mama took S. by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes and declared, "Dahlin', some days... you will be profound." [For full effect, say "profound" loud and in three syllables.]

"And some days," she paused dramatically, before continuing in a low voice, "you will show a movie."

_____

S. - We love you. We love your Mama for the person she helped you become. And when you get back home, I'll be bringing casseroles and giving you big hugs because I won't know what else to do.