I find that during this time of year I have more on my plate than feels comfortable. I subscribe to an ethos of less is more and during this time of year, I question my belief structure. Though I find that I do not have an emotional attachment to Christmas and I don’t feel a need to decorate my house, bake treats, buy gifts or splurge in the many ways that all the propaganda induces us to do. These are things I do all year long. I love fairy lights, baked goods, and find gifts as enticing as the next person, but I hate doing those things because of a certain time of year.  I cringe at cutting a tree to decorate my home when I think of how much more good that tree will do in the ground rather than spilling needles all over my floor. I buy gifts for my children all year long. I bake every week…

Here look at all this justifications as to why I do not participate to the fullest extent in the annual indulgence known as “the Holidays”. I must feel really defensive. Twas much easier before we had children. Now I just find myself in a muddle.

I look forward to spending time with my loved ones during this time of the year, but I also feel pressure to conform to customs that have no meaning to me. I think that we should do these things all year long: have family meals, make food and gifts by hand, send cards and notes, sing songs, feel full of love for humanity, help people less fortunate than ourselves, celebrate life, join together to create value. It seems that we drift during the year and then there is this big countdown to some mythical ‘moment’ that we always reach for and never attain. It seems meaningless to not do these things for ten months a year and then based on the calendar suddenly start doing these things. That is what fills me with dread. You know the feeling…when all the gifts have been opened and you’re still waiting for that one gift you wanted above everything and now you know you’re not going to get*.

Tis so much simpler to say “I despise Christmas” then to get into all this stuff because I don’t hate Christmas, I just dislike the rigamarole surrounding it and think that if it’s worth doing than do it all year, long otherwise I would rather be left alone.

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*This is not a reflection of a deprived childhood, but rather the fact that my baseline is discontent. Can be good or bad depending on how it manifests. Afterall, that’s probably how we came up with lots of imrovements historically. Ya know, “Well, fire is great and all, but we need something brighter, so we can see better.” & thus the birth of candles…

Lucas was all over the place, jumping, climbing, walking and I had my arms full of Quinn, so I was following Lucas around as he explored and played. We moved all over the play area and every now and again the woman would come over and start nattering away. She did this to almost every new person to come to the park and there were a few while we frittered away an hour or two. Off to the side of the play area there were some fallen trees and since I like for Lucas to play amongst “nature”, I cajoled him into climbing and playing by the trunks. The woman followed us over there with her grandsons and she started interrogating me. I was doing my best to send out “leave me alone” signals (single syllable answers, looking away, &c), but she was relentless. She started commenting on Quinn’s pale skin and reddish hair (here the warning bells were a claxon). Guess where this went? She said, “She’s so pale?…[Implying (and you're so dark)]…What’s your husband?”. At this I took total offense. My inclination was to revert to salty language, but I was so perturbed by her impudence, I gaped. She behaved as if she took my silence to mean that perhaps I wasn’t married. I told her irritatedly, “She has father. He’s like everyone else, a human being.” She continued in her ignorance, “I guess everyone’s a little bit of everything now a days, I mean there’s all races mixed-up, Scottish, Irish, German, Canadian…”. She went on in this vein, but I’ll spare you.

The next person who comments to me on my children’s skin color and my heritage is going to get an earful. For the record, I think it is totally rude to accost strangers and demand of them their provenance. I understand that people are curious, but I don’t see where their curiosity trumps my privacy. This is all about entitlement wherein the “white” individuals see themselves as the bearers of “regular” and everyone else has to justify themselves to them. I reserve the right to tell these people in whatever language I choose that they have crossed the line. In the past I might have felt just uncomfortable with these situations and left it at that, but the website “Anti-racist Parent” has given me the vocabulary to descibe my discomfort and the inherent problems with this level of human interaction.

At 11:30 this morning, twas just a December morning, people doing whatever they do in the course of day then within a half of an hour, this neighborhood suddenly becomes ground zero for an unthinkable accident. This is the reality that we block out everyday. Tis but a tenuous thread that keeps us here. Most of us will not see the end for many many years, but it can happen at any time anywhere when the thread snaps and we become another harrowing tale. There are times that my thoughts are darkened by the thought of “What if this is the last time?”. Fortunately it’s not an overwhelming preoccupation, but the thought comes unbidden and unpredictable. In those moments I try take a last gulp of whomever shares my physical space and appreciate the intricacies of the instant while navigating the living breathing moment.

Tis better not to become too focused on the rare chances because you can be limited by the statistics. For example, when you get on plane you don’t think too much about it crashing (oblique Weeds reference). But sometimes the thought of its tender vulnerability can cause you to slow down and see where you are and what really matters in the long run. Life is fragile and tough and its many contradictions give it a piquant and provocative bouquet, but it is better savored than rushed. My heart goes out to the people whose lives have been affected by this incident. This is one of those ‘unthinkable’ events that marks people for better or worse. Most of us will move on but for some the end is here and now.

For months years I have encouraged my mother to work out. In the last few years we’ve watched her mother gradually lose some of her mobility and seeing G-ma become more and more aged, I’ve begun to worry about my own mother’s health fading as she enters “seniority”. So I would nag her, “Ya know, Mom, you really should join a gym, go work out, lift weights…”. Twas totally effective. Nawt!

In August, my mom’s work situation changed and I told her “Hey, let’s start working out.” The bulk of the kudos goes to her cos when the ball was in her court, she totally charged ahead. We made plans and <gulp> actually headed to the gym.

Now I don’t know about you, but I was actually nervous about going to the gym (even though I’d been paying my membership fees for well over a year, all I’d ever done was go to pre-natal yoga). It has been many years since I’ve been in a gym working out and I felt intimidated by the machines and defeated by the “What will I do?”edness. Enter my awesome bro and my determined mother. Rick gave us a workout plan and Mom became the motivator. Since August we’ve worked out 2-3 times per week and progressed from the “Express” circuit workout to the Hammer machines and free weights. W00t!

The gym is a weird place. Our gym in particular is very family oriented and the people seem very suburban. Wade stands out (o yes, did I mention he goes to the gym too?) because he is one of the few men with a  beard. We’d both independently noticed this aspect of the gym-people tribe. It’s funny because there seems to be a strict aesthetic at this particular gym. While there, I listen to my wee ipod, which is filled with slamming underground hip-hop and energetic house music and the contrast between the visual (bland middle class peops) and aural (Immortal Technique, Invincible, The Presets) is often hilarious. I didn’t really appreciate my music player before, but now, WOW! There are some songs that get me so motivated and energized. It is so fun! I didn’t know before.

Another aspect of this experience is that we are trying to embrace it as something we’ll do for the rest of our lives rather than the “I’m gonna lose 20 pounds then everything will be perfect”-mentality. Toward that end I’m not really thinking about weight loss, but more of a pursuit of strength, developing musculature and ability. Tis paying off. My goal is that I’ll still be working out in a year – I may lose some weight – but mostly I want to be stronger, more fit and committed to developing my body for the rest of my life.

This past week we went hiking in the desert and I scrambled up some dry falls (& with a 18# baby strapped to my back!) that I would not have been able to do without help before. They were challenging but I made it up. Twas exhilirating to know that our work is paying off in concrete results that allow us more ability and strength. I definitely feel more balance and strength and resilience and that motivates me. Overall, I am so very glad that I took the leap and that I have the good fortune to have all the resources I need to make it a go. Yay!

Man, twas so tough working that much. I think one week I clocked close to 55 hours. Needless to say that week was not a productive week in terms of cooking, baking, baby-wearing, gardening, walking, cleaning, checkbook balancing, and dreaming. Twas a productive work week, but the shizzle hit the fizzle at home. How do people do it? There was night when I came home LATE and I remarked to Wade, “If I hadda do this all the time, we’d have to have help.” There is simply limited time in a week and keeping our house running requires major investment. (Although, I’m sure that if this were my gig all the time I’d have more methods for dealing with it, so it wouldn’t be exactly the way we experienced it, but, just WOW.)

Part of the reason that I have taken on more of the raising and rearing of the chillens is that I’d rather do it than pay someone else to do it. I also have the wonderful good fortune of having a job that is extremely flexible.  However, there are times when, due to deadlines and other responsibilities, I have to be flexible in order to make things happen for our little company. This includes 14 hour days (20 hour days pre-kids) on occasion. Pre-kid they were no problem cos it was just me and the partner. Now they are more challenging what with the 7 am wake-up call no matter what. As a result, some of my other responsibilities fell to the wayside. C’est la vie as now we are back in the saddle, but there were a few moments when the laundry was piled up high and the garden was dry that I wanted the luxury of having some help. Again, how do people do it with two parents working full-time and no help? What do people do?

The one good things about being forced to write (or forcing yourself to write) is that you have to sit with yourself and pause and reflect on what is happening in your mental mindscape. I found that I actually enjoyed sitting with myself. Finding myself in front of the keyboard with an objective made this meta-experience much more mindful than the spontaneous surfing (gawd, what a great metaphor!) that I usually do. In spite of my busy weeks, I found myself missing this space and the generous time I’d allowed myself here. So thank you for reading and thank you to my wonderful co-blogger who makes this all happen.

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Also, thank you to Ms. Elyse who nominated one of my entries for Five-Star Friday. What a great blog and a great honor. Thank you!

• 3 cups rolled oats
• 1 cup seeds, nuts, or other add-ins. (I use 1/2 cup pumpkin seeds, 1/2 cup chopped walnuts, 3 tbsp flax seeds)
• 1/3 cup maple syrup or honey or agave nectar or a combination of them all
• 1 tbsp molasses
• 1/4 cup coconut oil
• 1 tbsp nut butter
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• salt to taste (a pinch or two)

In a large bowl, mix the oats with your other add-ins . In a small saucepan heat the oil with the syrup or honey or agave nectar and molasses and add the vanilla, cinnamon, and salt with the nut butter. Heat until blended. Stir syrup mixture into the oats until everything is well coated. Spread mixture onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper (something shallow with sides is good). Cook in 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes (or until nicely browned), stirring every 12 minutes to ensure even cooking. I find that this cooking time varies depending on the weather, so keep an eye on your granola if you are not a fan of too brown granola.

After it’s all cooled, you might want to add chopped dried fruit or raisins. We’ve used raisins and dried blueberries. I imagine you could add shredded coconut or other dried fruits.

I eat it with lots of fresh fruit and plain yogurt. The kidlet & partner enjoy it with soy milk.

The great thing about it is that the recipe is your hands and you can alter it to reflect your preferences. You can adjust the amount of sweetener and fats to cut calories. If you’re feeding a lot of people you can make more or vice versa. You can add different flavors depending on your preferences. And once you have the main constituents in your pantry, the cost per serving is fairly inexpensive. Happy eating!

(Photos later)

See photos here.

1 day ago: the giant tupperware tubs go back to live in the garage and fulfill their use as storage ONLY.

2 days ago: Wade and Xtina return to the store only to find better options. They buy them and put them in the car to bring them home.

10 days ago: the WeXachos spend an afternoon visiting every antique store within 20 miles of their house. They find some contenders!

20 days ago: Wade and Xtina come up with a plan.

1 month ago: on the same day Wade and Xtina come to the conclusion that they must do something about the lack of clothes storage for the adults in the house.

5 months to 1 month ago: the adults keeps their clothes in large tubs that get disorganised 12 seconds after they are organised. Wade gives up and just wears whatever clothes are on top. Xtina struggles along until she is only wearing clothes that have been hanging in her closet. It totally sucks.

9 months – 4 months ago: the furniture is on back-order. (Long wait.) It’s in transit. Oops, it’s been damaged & they have to reorder. It’s on back-order. (Long wait.) It’s in transit. They deliver. The two dressers are two different colors. “I ordered blond. I want blond.” “Will you take chocolate? We’ll give you the sale price.” “No.” They reorder. Oops, it’s on back-order. (Long wait.) It’s in transit. They deliver. The dressers look nice up top, but where the case is attached to the base it looks like a manatee put them together. Do they have any more anywhere in the continental US? No, they do not. We give up and cancel the order. They give us a gift certificate & Wade forbids Xtina from ever purchasing from them again.

10 months ago: Xtina finds a couple of dressers that will work. She visits them in store where they have them in the finish she doesn’t want. They are fine. She goes home to order them on the internet. They are on back-order.

10 months and two weeks ago: we reconfigure the arrangement of the house and deploy a chest of drawers formerly shared by Wade and Xtina to be the home of all the wee one’s various clothing. In the hours before she was born we wash, fold, and organise a deluge of teeny body suites, pants, sleepers, sweaters, hat, socks, &c. The adults have no furniture storage, so they put their clothes into large tubs and stash them in the closet. The wee one is born.

13 months: the adults go shopping again. They visit several stores that have likely contenders in a decent price range, but everywhere they go they are told that since the furniture comes from ‘overseas’ there is a 12-16 week wait for the furniture they like. The baby is due in a month. “We can’t wait that long.” The universe laughs.

15 months ago: Xtina begins to frantically search online for the furniture. She identifies a pair of chests of drawers that will work in the small room the adults call home. She does not place an order.

49 months – 15 months ago: the adults continue shopping for furniture, sharing one Malm chest between them in the meantime. Everything they like costs in excess of $1500 each. We need two. Surely something can be found that costs in that range for both, right? No.

49 months and two weeks ago: the kidlet arrives and boy are the adults happy that they bit the bullet cos keeping things in order saves minds.

49 months and three weeks ago: in a last ditch effort, the adults visit Junkea and purchase a set of Malm dressers ‘for now’. They reconfigure the bedroom and amazingly the new dressers work out well.

56 months ago: the adults, due to the imminent arrival of the kidlet, undertake operation ‘rearrange the bedroom’, which culminates in the decision that the large chest of drawers that they have been sharing will no longer work. Thus they shop and shop and shop trying to find the most appropriate furniture for their diminutive house. After visiting every furniture store within a 30-mile distance, they determine that your average joe-blow furniture is built along a limited standard i.e. if you don’t like dressers that are wider than 29 inches you can go f8ck yourself. They weep.

We recently acquired some furniture for our bedroom, so today was spent organizing and folding and rearranging and creating Order. Once I started on my clothes and clearing out some space, I delved into the wee one’s drawers to pull out some of the outgrown clothes. The wee one is smaller than her brother was at this age. She has long legs, but is not of the same heft so she’s still wearing some clothes that have been in the drawers for a few months. As such, all the stuff I pulled out was in 3-6 months range. While much of it fits her width, none of it fits her length. Much of it could go into the donation box, but I’m not quite ready to give it up. I find that I have an emotional attachment to their clothes (I know, first world problem), so I file it away in large plastic tubs until I can achieve emotional distance from it and sort the keepsakes away from the donates.  So a large part of the day was spent sorting, folding, organizing, and ordering.

Yesterday, I made a big loaf of bread. I find that I really enjoy the whole process from mixing up the yeast to the many kneadings and risings. Yesterday’s bread was nothing special, but I made it and that made it more than just an ordinary loaf of bread. For some reason this made me happy each time I ate a slice today.

We’d orginally planned on going to the desert today for day trip. Once we started cleaning and reorganizing, I started sneezing. Normally I sneeze four times in a row and that’s it. Today I sneezed at least 25 times each time I sneezed. I sneezed Alot today — major allergy attack. Today’s forecast for Borrego Springs included ‘gusts of dirt and sand’. I’m so glad our plans got scuttled.

Whum, straight into the 8th day frizzle-frazzle. Ima tired. So durn tired, but I will write. What should I write about? Wade sez I should write about the ‘rhythm of the universe’. Herm. Instead I think I will write about why we spend so much time and effort to ensure that we eat an organic diet and why we try and support fair trade whenever available.

Our grocery bills are large. We spend a significant portion of our income to ensure that we eat organically.  We feel better and enjoy our food more when the food in our pantry and refrigerator (our building blocks) is organic. Yes, we pay a premium, but we also strive to eat in season and locally as a way of keeping costs reasonable. We also try to avoid processed food to keep our costs down. Making granola has almost completely eliminated our “need” for cereals. Making bread has become joy and our lovely assortment of soups keeps us going.

Over the years we have moved towards a more organic diet. In the last ten years we have switched from an almost completely conventional diet to a mostly organic diet. The changes were small. First it was fruit then vegetables then meats. At first we shopped at the Henry’s and Trader Joe’s around the corner from our duplex in PB. When we could, we’d buy the organic version. Then Whole Foods opened up and we moved into the area. One of us would stop by on way home from work to grab the necessities and we’d always choose organic. Over the course of years we noticed that ‘ordinary’ food, which once tasted good, no longer had the same oomph. In addition, we’d started feeling better. When someone had bad news for us, we felt elastic like ‘well, that’s not too good, but I’m sure I’ll figure my way outta this’.  Of course, some of this could be attributed to maturity, but our intuition was also telling us that since we were eating higher quality food, the fundamentals of our life were more wholesome and healthy and less saturated with poisons like pesticides.

Since then we’ve become more and more aware about the need to eat locally and sustainably as well as organically.  There is always more to know. We’ve become suporters of our local farmer’s market and have come to appreciate the remarkable flavor of a locally grown, in-season peach. O. M. G! Never again will I be able to eat an out-of-season peach. Tis like comparing the sun and the moon! For us, we have found that the effort and money to ensure the ellimination of chemicals from our food stream has had a benefit beyond dollars and cents and that reason we are committed to keeping it so.