Seven more things

Missy tagged me for the seven weird things meme.

1. My favorite music as a preteen included Laura Branigan and Boy George. Oh boy.

2. Brace yourselves for this one: I had a crush on Ollie North during the Iran-Contra hearings. Yeah, I can’t believe it, either. How old was I then? Oy.

3. I hate getting the dregs out of the kitchen sink drain cup. I avoid it at almost all costs. Likewise, I hate touching food that has been in Amy’s mouth or even touched by her spoon. I don’t like to share food in general, but sometimes I can.

4. And yet I am almost the opposite of germaphobic. I am not exactly driven to keep the house spotless, I don’t like using strong chemicals, I forget to wash Amy’s hands when she’s been outside, we don’t take placemats to the dining hall or use shopping cart covers, and so on. Not that we live in a pigsty or anything.

5. I have equal contempt for both sides of many things. E.g. people who think church should be all about what’s old and traditional and people who think it should be all about the latest thing; to me, both err by thinking age (in either direction) has anything to do with excellence or worth.

6. It’s pretty laughable how I claim compassion and respect as my parenting motto of sorts; maybe it makes sense precisely because I am so prone to contempt instead, so that I need to fight consciously to aim at compassion and respect.

7. I once put salt and pepper on a hotdog. Having observed my family putting salt and pepper on all sorts of other things, I wondered why not a hotdog. I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember everyone’s reacting so shocked and appalled.

I’m still in a no-tagging mood; if you want to play, go ahead, and let me know.

#149: Craig

You answered our “ad” for a substitute rhythmist, and we liked you enough (a lot) to keep the trio going. And thanks to you and your basement, we even made a CD.

Chia kitty

On Monday I started a Chia pet for Amy; got it through a white elephant gift exchange at Christmas. Soaked it and the seeds Sunday night, spread on the seeds Monday night, and here it’s sprouted already.

It looks pretty creepy to me. Like lots of little worms. Hmmm.

#148: Harry

A gig too small for your band started our trio. You played bouzouki, Irish banjo, occasionally whistle. Too busy for another group — you backed out of your own church’s concert; I was done.

And it was good

The split pea soup, a double recipe, made five meals — the other four are in the freezer. I was a little concerned about it because it looked so thin, but it tasted great and the blender made a nice puree. And Mark remembered we had leftover ham in the freezer, so there was a little meat in the soup, too. (I know, I could have cut apart the hocks and gotten one or two tiny pieces, but, no thanks.)

The bread was also pretty good, although it was a little sour / yeasty to my taste. Maybe I let the second rise go too long, or maybe the recipe really was crazy to call for a tablespoon of yeast (I had to check twice to be sure that’s what it said).

On the other hand, the “pour boiling water in a pan on the lower rack” method is apparently not safe for use with a baking stone. It cracked. Loudly. Fortunately, only three pieces, and the bread was unharmed.

And here we are, still awake, because my dulcimer acquaintance in Chicago, who has no little children and works a non-teacher job, and who is in the next time zone, called us at 10:15 to discuss our carpooling plans for the Chattanooga festival; Mark was already asleep and I was almost there. Oh well.

May I mention that Amy can count to twelve? Sort of. If you say “1″ she says “2″ and so on, and sometimes she strings together several numbers all by herself, often in the right order. And when she’s looking at a book she sometimes repeats phrases or sentences she remembers from it.

Split pea

My day has been focused on split pea soup, even though I haven’t started making it yet.

Set the bag of peas on the counter and the frozen smoked hamhocks in the fridge last night.

Looked up recipes this morning, realizing I needed an onion. Hmmm. Gas is expensive. Ask the neighbor? Or what else could I get done if I go to the store?

(Also got Amy up; after some naked time and breakfast we played in the music room (me practicing for the festival, Amy looking at scrapbooks and playing with Legos and my measuring tape). Somewhere in there I also washed and re-lanolized all of her wool pants.)

I decided to go to the store. I could also order some photo prints, post some YouTube videos at the library, and check my post office box, which has never contained any mail that’s for me. At least I don’t remember any. I could rattle off a list of names of previous boxholders, though.

So onto the computer to put the pictures and videos on a CD, then to the kitchen to make some lunch for us and eat it, and off we went.

Amy fell asleep for a few minutes in the car, so I decided to do the library first, so that she could nap in the sling if she wanted to. She didn’t nap, but she enjoyed being in the sling anyway.

Next door to the post office.

Back in the car and to Wal-mart, to choose one lovely Vidalia and to use the photo kiosk to order prints.

Home again, singing songs to keep Amy awake (if she sleeps in the car too close to naptime, she won’t nap), then a quick diaper change and into the bed.

Back to the computer to look up French bread recipes using whole wheat flour. I picked one, revised to make the flour ratio half and half; it’s rising now in the sunlight from the sliding glass door.

Soon it will be time to punch it down and shape it for the second rising, and to start the soup.

Mmm… soup and French bread…

Amy has plans

Amy dragged her diaper bag out of her room the same night (March 31) and proceeded to get ready to go.

Train, from March 31

Videos of Amy playing with her train set. Someday maybe she will figure out how it works. Meanwhile she just takes apart the track and the train and throws the pieces, which is fine and all part of her work.

#147: Jerry

You played fiddle for our trio in NY. Skinny, gangly, always black jeans and graphic t-shirt. Your first and current wives both named Jane, but spelled different. Nervous or awkward sometimes; always kind.

#146: Noah

You are three weeks old. When I saw you last week, your mom told me you’re already on schedule — eating every four hours, sleeping on cue. It seems to be working for you.