Wordsmith Wednesday: Winne-the-Poo

Owen has really been enjoying chapter books lately. He will sit patiently for as long as our voices will hold out. He still enjoys pictures and is not patient with books with no pictures at all. He has really enjoyed the Little House books we've read. Recently Abram found a copy of A. A. Milne's Winne-the-Poo (1926) with illustrations by Ernest H. Shepard. I think it's one my Dad picked up at a library sale a long time ago.
We all enjoyed the first reading through of Poo, and Owen requested we start it again right away.

Wordsmith Wednesday: Bones: The Unity Of Form And Function

Owen found a great book on bones at the Shuts Environmental Library a while back, and it has become the potty time book of choice. I am sure he will be disappointed when we have to return this one soon. (The picture below is actually a borrowed one; the copy we have has a similar, but IMO nicer looking left hand.???)
Bones: The Unity Of Form And Function (R. McNeill Alexander, 1994) has lots of really great photographs of all kinds of bones. Owen (as well as Abram and I) has really enjoyed looking at a few: the crocodile jaw with a bit cut away so that you can see the new teeth that will replace the old teeth, the comparisons of ostrich and moa bones, the reticulated python (Owen loves to say this!), a baby human skeleton, a horny chameleon (Owen reminds me that not all chameleons have horns), and close-ups of the sutures in the human skull.
The author begins by telling how he grew up near a fertilizer factory where they burned bones, "and when the wind blew from the west, the smell was disgusting." Owen told me while he was sitting on the potty reading the bone book, "Maybe I could grow up with the disgusting smell of burning bones." I had to explain that disgusting meant something we didn't like. Then he wasn't so sure he wanted to grow up with that.
This book has fascinated us all, and should you be on the lookout for a good book on bones, this one is a pleasure to look at.

A Whine - Don't say I didn't warn you!

It's cold outside. It snowed last night - just a dusting - enough to make Owen want to pull out the sled but not enough to slide down the hill on.
We just got back from dropping Abram off at the airport; he's bound for the APA conference in Anaheim. Owen cried all the way home (35 minutes) talking about how he missed Daddy and wanted to be with him.
Here I sit in purgatory wondering what great sin we have committed against the universe to need such a cleansin'.
This is that part of the year where our uncertain future comes to look us right in the face. It's been looming over us for, well, a long time and overshadowed my Christmas cheer. Now, here it is staring at us. We KNOW Abram doesn't yet have a job for this fall. We know that we will be moving. But we don't have any clue if he will get a teaching job or if we will be working opposite shifts at one of the Starbucks that are still in business. We don't know where we will be moving or when. I am looking at another year of not having a garden, and we are still delaying TTC (trying to conceive) because with no job (so no insurance) and no place to live, it's just unwise. In fact some days I wonder if we will ever feel ready to take the plunge. It's a lot bigger leap for a family who moves frequently enough that they must plan to raise their children without a supportive group of friends or family around them and whose future is so uncertain.
This time of year I feel particularly ill will toward the decision maker who was more concerned with the contents of his job candidate's panties than his or her mind. We're still reeling from having the rug pulled out from under us two years ago. The job market has gotten even tighter with the poor economy, and I often feel that not only was he cheated out of that job but any job since the jobs seem to have all but dried up over the last two years.
While I'm at it, I'll just mention that I hate living here. I hate living in an apartment - especially this apartment. In addition to getting myself and Owen dressed for the artic weather, I have to make sure to take my keys and pick up my phone any time we want a bit of fresh air - can't just pop out the door for a few minutes. I hate that there is nowhere for Owen to play where we can both relax. He's a runner, so I always have to be on guard at the playground or near our building because he has easy access to the parking lots or roads anywhere we go. I hate lugging the groceries in from the parking lot and chasing a two year old with my hands full. I hate having to buy drinking water and lug it up to our apartment too. I hate that my clothes are still in a set of plastic drawers because I just can't stand to buy another piece of furniture I'm going to have to move. I hate our tiny, dark kitchen that doesn't have enought space to cook or store food or dishes or a window. I hate the crappy dishwasher that doesn't get the dishes clean. I hate that the bedroom is far too large; that space should have been allotted to the kitchen. I hate that the cats can't go outside save brief trips onto the porch; they hate it too. I hate having to lug my laundry out to the hallway to the communal laundry room lorded over by the old witch of the south. I hate that I can only do laundry between certain hours and can't leave a load washing while we head out. Laundry is a twice- or thrice-weekly chore that requires an afternoon of attention trying to remember to go and check on it periodically since I can't hear that it has stopped and needs switching. I hate that I have neighbors who are near enough to *comment* on Owen's exuberance but don't have a single person with whom I feel I could leave Owen for a short time. Since we have moved here a year and a half ago, Owen has been out of my or Abram's care for about half an hour once when I ran to the store to pick up some things for us and a neighbor who didn't drive. She kept Owen and her kids while I ran to the store. They moved away not long afterwards. I hate having to travel 80o miles to visit family. We've made that trip twice by plane and three times by car in the last year and a half. When the winter arrives in full force, even the access to local foods that we enjoy (pretty limited now) just isn't enough to make this place have much appeal.
Some days I seem to manage all the crap okay, but sometimes it just seems like too much. I'd like to say my whine made it all seem a little better, but not today. Maybe tomorrow the outlook will be a bit better.

GF Applesauce Muffins

1/2c coconut flour
3/4t baking powder (optional - may be omitted for GAPS)
1/2 t salt
1t cinnamon
1/2t nutmeg
1/4t cloves
1/3c coconut oil
1/4c honey (can be scaled back)
3 eggs
3/4c applesauce

Mix dry ingredients. Add coconut oil, honey, and eggs and mix well. Stir in applesauce. Spoon into 10 muffin cups and bake 20 min at 375F.

Chai

Chai
1.5" ginger, sliced thin
2" cinnamon stick
4 whole cloves
1/2t ground cardamom
dash vanilla
2T honey (or to taste)
2 tea bags
1c water
1c milk

Bring all ingredients except milk to a boil and boil gently ~5 min. Add milk, and heat until warm. Serve immediately.

I Love My Insurance Company

So we are busy getting ready to head to Alabama and Tennessee for 17 days. I need to have the mail stopped (yay, I can do it online and don't have to go to the post office!), and I'm getting the bills squared away so that nothing will go past due while we are away. In addition to bills, today we got a letter from USAA, our insurance company. It usually comes this time of year when funds are always just a tad tighter than we'd like them and expenses are just a bit more. We got the letter notifying us that our account will be CREDITED $56.93 - the dividend from our policy. Every year, we get a bit of money back, and it's usually about this much. Who can't use an extra fifty bucks at Christmas?
I also called USAA last week to get a duplicate copy of my current insurance card. It got a PERSON on the phone quickly. She was, as people always are at USAA, friendly and helpful, and the fax was at the car shop in less than 5 minutes.
When we move, they are always the easiest folks to deal with when I change our contact information. Somehow, they take the information once and apply the changes to all our accounts - auto, renter's, home owner's (back in the day when we were home owners), and investments.
Why can't more companies be this good at what they do?

My Morning From Hades

So, it's that time of year (actually past that time of year) when the car was due for an inspection. Owen and I showed up on time for our 9 o'clock appointment this morning only to figure out that we didn't have a copy of the current insurance information (the one dated 12/20/08-6/20/09 will just not do - even though the printed card says right on there it is not proof of insurance and all our insurance info is the same, they need a new card dated 6/20/09-12/20-09 that says that it is not proof of insurance.) Okay, I can deal with that. Our totally super-duper awesome insurance company faxed one right over. Thanks, USAA! Then I couldn't find the registration card, so I headed over to the office where I could purchase a duplicate. Before heading in, I looked one more time with Owen strapped in his seat and not crawling between me and the glove box, and yay, I found it. So I headed back to the shop to get my inspection and oil change.
Owen ate 2 deviled eggs and 5 pieces of prosciutto for a late breakfast, and then we walked to the Salvation Army next door. As Owen browsed through the toys, I smelled a SMELL. Poop. Hoping it was just gas, we headed to the bathroom where there was NO toilet paper and cleaned him up a very tiny poop as well as we could with the paper towels. I had spare clothes for him, but they were five feet in the air in my car in the shop next door. After browsing a bit more, we headed back to the shop where we were informed that the car had failed inspection because we needed 2 new tires. We also had a nail in a third tire, so it would need repair. Trying to cut my losses, I sprung for 4 new tires, and the pop who owns the shop actually bargained on the phone for 70,000 mile tires instead of 40,000 mile tires for the same price. Cool! It was still an expensive trip.
So, at 11:50 we headed by the post office to mail a few things (hopefully in time for Christmas). I put Owen on my back and walked in to see the line was rather long. I couldn't find the right declaration forms in any of the slots, so I had to stand in line and ask for one. Then I had to step out of line to fill it out, but there weren't any pens in the whole danged post office. Not one. They didn't even have little chains with missing pens. Apparently, you have to take you own pen into the Lancaster PO. So we went back outside where we, thankfully, found a pen in the car. I filled out the form declaring my package worthless - cause you know, much as I love the felt gifts I'm sending, they have no monetary value - and stood in line again to mail my things. By this time Owen had had it (I had too) and he began flailing on my back, alternately laughing maniacally and whining. I tried holding Owen's hand, but he howled that I was, "HURTING HIM!" Really, I don't think I was physically hurting him, but I can guarentee everyone else in that post office thought I was. He threw my hat. And his hat, and I was only slightly cheered by the nice man behind me who gave a knowing smile as I scooted past him to get our hats. Then I saw the angel child who always seems to appear when my child is acting like a wild hooligan. You know, one always turns up to make you feel even more inadequate as a parent when your kid is having a meltdown. I was ready to crawl into a hole. Then Owen showed two fingers to the mother of the angel child. She said, "Oh, are you two? That explains it." I smiled. She proceeded, "Are you being bad for mommy? Did you know Santa is watching you? He won't bring you any presents if your bad like that for mommy." I used my last bit of resolve not to go off on this woman for telling my kid he was bad and wouldn't get any presents. I TRIED to smile (it probably look more like a painful grimmice) and turned back around. How dare she say those things?! I can only hope she was trying to be helpful. I can only wonder if her child ever acts untoward or if he is so utterly scared of being a bad child who won't get any presents that he always acts like a saint.
While we continued to wait in line (we were at the front by this time just waiting to be called up), Owen got riled up again, and started howling that he had to poop and pee! Really the closest bathroom is our home, so I assured him we would leave as soon as we gave them our items. Fourty-five minutes after we arrived at the PO, we drove away.
By the time we got home, Owen was helpful, and encouraged me to run, run, run to the building so he could make it to the potty. He ate really well at lunch, and went right to sleep for a nap. It was SO time for the reset button.