Napa Was Mad Glam

I Had No Idea How Badly I Would Need To Leave

But it did turn out that way. So thank god for the green and white shoes. They might have to go with me again.

Boyville

When the boys were born, I am ashamed to say that my first word were 'I. Am. So. Screwed.'

This was because when I was pregnant we didn't know what sex they were, and as soon as we knew they were boys, my life flashed before my very eyes.

It was a life full of snowmobiles, ATVs and tractors.

Only 18 months old, and already the fun has begun.





This weekend we are celebrating Eugene's birthday in Vermont and I predict more tractor hijinx. We'll be saving the karate and Star Wars for later.

Aftermath

So, because you asked for it and I am too wiped from the week to write anything remotely pithy... here is the follow up video to our earlier twin battle royal. Don't I sound just like mom? I mean, um, a mom?

Happy Birthday P.S.!!

Hey guess whose birthday is today? Allison's!! Lurkers, er, I mean, quiet readers, are highly encouraged to leave a comment saying happy birthday. Without her, I would never have written my share of the 914 posts we have created here, and for that and many other things, I am very grateful.

So glad I got to see you just the other day, puppy! It was so fun, just like always. Can't wait to see you again. XOXOXO H

More and Elsewhere

More photos from the water park!

The writing week was so great, lots of stuff rattling around in my brain right now. Gonna take a break from the words here for a bit, but there are lots of photos, so check me out here.

More Scenes from South Dakota

Well, obviously the old tyme picture you posted was the piece d' resistance, but I thought perhaps I would share a few of or more... domestic shots from the trip.

I love this photo because it looks like Grandma Ellen and the boys are running all over the house together. Not that they didn't love her, but I think they were really just stalking her for her walker. They had a lot of fun with the walker.

Out to dinner... the boys look so mild mannered, but you know what hellions they really were - spilling the water all over the place, dropping food on the floor, playing with knives. Oh wait, maybe I shouldn't have included that last part. But they were only butter knives, right? I didn't give them any steak knives!

The rest of the table - I wish I had gotten you in this shot with your cute dress. Or that I had taken a picture of you on the porch of the restaurant in that dress with the boys. That is the perfect picture from that evening, unfortunately it only lives in my head.

Grandma Lucia chasing Max on the streets of Deadwood. This is how I spend most of my free time - chasing the babies!


Thomas, enjoying lunch out in Deadwood. This is before we got the overcooked chicken. I think he liked the fries, though.

When we got home from Deadwood and the boys needed to cool off. Notice how Max is shying away from Thomas wielding the hose. He knows a dangerous situation when he sees it.

Yup, Thomas loves some good hose time.


At the water park. Another occasion where I wish I had taken more photos. But I find that when you have two toddlers and that much water around, taking photos is kind of the last thing on your mind.

Even if Auntie Heather is looking all smokin' in her bikini. That would have been a GREAT picture!


Packing up Sunday morning. Thomas enjoying my Oil of Olay, while Max gets some love from Grandpa Gary for Mr. Kitty.

We don't really pack them in the suitcase... at least not until they are two and we have to buy airplane tickets for them.

Getting read to by Auntie Heather. Love The Fur Family. Even if it is a little bit creepy. Margaret Wise Brown is the bomb!


Obviously, you are admiring his large head and adorable golden curls. Right?


Our attempt at a portrait with Grandpa. There were actually some more 'successful' ones. But I think this one says it all.

Finally, a picture with Grandma Ellen. I love it that she is looking at them in such a sweet way. The photos in this series have some of the happiest expressions I have ever seen on her face.

Ranch 360. In Case You Were Wondering.

I Was Tamed By Rock & Roll

I had this therapist once, who used to talk to me about things that were grounding. That was back when I was just starting to admit that I was kind of pissed off, simmering, beneath it all. She had a list of things, I imagine things like, say, jogging, maybe? Or, well... I don't know, actually. The only one I remember for sure is singing. That was the one that stuck with me.

I'm a lot more used to myself now. If I love you, you can still get me pissed off, but I don't simmer as much. I still get keyed up though, overwhelmed at times, and that can turn into something like simmering. Writing weeks are always one of those times. Too much good stuff, ironically. Hours and hours of talk, about things I care about in the most essential way. Lots of satisfying hard work, reading, commenting on manuscripts. This ranch is where I get the best food I get all year, it's the place I look forward to taking photos, and seeing some of my favorite people, and where I get to see the dogs I know best in the world, with their beautiful, haunting wolfhound howls. Even so, after four intense days, I get a little crabby. I had to admit that tonight, and I was sorry about it, but it's really better to get it right out there and deal with it.

Music is like cross-training for writers, is how I like to think about it, sometimes. Especially the way Jeff Tweedy does it. I think about something different every time I listen to him, every time I watch Sunken Treasure, or see Wilco in concert. Sometimes it's about how a concert can be like church, or how church should be, the way he talks about it in Sunken Treasure, the whole communal thing. Sometimes I think about the lyrics, about connection, talking to each other, things we mean to say, all that. Tonight, though, when we put Sunken Treasure on and sat around in Pam's living room, after the last workshop of the day, before our one day off (before the peach pie), when Jeff Tweedy starting singing the title song, I was thinking about singing.

Just singing. The grounding kind of singing. Singing that is breath leaving your body, your throat resonant with sound, your chest filled with it, your ears - all of you, really.

I didn't sing along with the movie. Pam turned it up loud and something about the way Jeff Tweedy's voice held those notes so imperfectly meant that I didn't have to. He was singing for me. It was more satisfying to sit there, do nothing, let myself be filled up with the sound in that other way. But it was so good it felt like that grounding kind of singing, like therapy, and I stopped simmering and was ready for some pie and more of what we came here for.

When In Doubt, Come Back Here

The stories I was thinking of on the airplane all took place somewhere other than where I was headed. The road trip story took place in Soap Lake, Pendleton, Boise, Snowbird, Missoula, I-90, the heat wave story was Seattle. My luggage was full of distractions, designed to protect me from being in South Dakota. Allison's text the day before said "I think we're going to have to do a food intervention here," so there was proscuttio, tiny cheeses, wasabi peas, dried mango, salami, a few of the first apples of the season from the Ballard Farmer's Market. There were three magazines, four cameras and two dresses for every day we would be there. I had six rolls of film and three days until my writing deadline.

It was still close to 80 degrees in Rapid City by the time Lucia landed and we stepped outside with my dad, to the mini-van where my sister waited to drive us all to Belle Fourche, to the AmericInn where my grandmother had booked my father and step-mother one room, and me another.

"Check out my mini-van, yo!" my sister said, and dad said, "Hon, why don't you let me sit in the front and give directions." But Ali had directions so I got the front, and dad said "Ok now, hon, we need to keep an eye out for that cloverleaf," but he still got in the back with Lucia.

We missed the cloverleaf, and found ourselves in front of a chainlink fence and a guard shack instead. Allison was asking questions about my love life that I didn't really have answers for, and the directions were on her Blackberry, which I didn't know how to work. She gave it to me to navigate from anyway, and when dad asked which map program we were using, Ali said Google and he did that disapproving sucking air through the teeth thing. "Dad, it's fine," she said.

And it was, pretty much, unless you count the fact that we were a little lost when the red and blue lights started to flash in the rear view mirror. We can skip the getting-pulled-over part of the story for now, because in the end he was a very nice officer who gave us a warning rather than a $240 ticket, and we made it back to the AmericInn where there were no less than four animal heads on the wall, and I retreated to my room where I wrapped pieces of proscuttio around the little cheeses and thought about the way the heat wave had made everything smell like it was on fire, so that you couldn't help but ask yourself, is that my engine? The elementary school? The pumps at the gas station, a brush fire on I-5? The fur of the animals in the zoo? What is it that's burning?

Aunting

I'll have you know, this is my lap, and he went there on purpose.

It Was Deadwood.

What did you think was gonna happen?

The Wayback Machine

Still on the building directory!

A couple of weeks ago Euge and I had our first legitimate date night since before the boys were born. We had a real sitter (who we paid real money) and we had reservations or a special dinner. It was weeks in the planning.

What a difference from the days when we could just decide, at the last minute, to grab dinner at some amazing restaurant mere blocks from our apartment.

Anyways, the evening sort of turned into this funny trip in the wayback machine.

First, we were meeting in Union Square - I had kept the location of our dinner a secret from Eugene because I thought it would make the whole thing more fun. I mean, who doesn’t love a good surprise?

Lo and behold, I get out of the train station and discover that a photo shoot is underway! And who is the photographer? Howard Schatz! The very person I worked on so many books with, pre-baby. I haven’t seen Howard or his wife and manager, Beverly, much since the boys were born - except for the two shoots we did with them when the boys were newborns - so it was fun to run into them.

They offered to take our portrait, as part of their shoot, but we didn’t really have time to stick around. I was afraid we would miss our reservations for dinner, and they had a line up of people already waiting that looked pretty considerable.

So we took off and headed towards the restaurant, right through our old neighborhood.

A little update on the old ‘hood:

Airmarket is gone. TRAVESTY! 

Cafe Deville is closed - it’s about time.

The old apartment building has been renovated and looks like a Howard Johnsons now, replete with striped carpeting in the hallways and light mocha colored walls. They’ve torn down the interior security door - which I thought was a strange choice - but they actually have a working intercom system now! 

As you can see from the photo above, they kept the old directory and I am still on it. Weird.

The new not-really-improved entry

We used said system to call Charra who still lives in 4A. She’s been having some health issues, so we hadn’t seen her since we moved, but she seems to have found some answers to her mysterious problems and was happy to see us. Her apartment is a mirror of our old apartment and it was pretty funny to sit there and imagine how things would have been if we'd stayed there.

Oh my god. Can you imagine twins in a fourth floor studio walk-up? Nope, neither can I.

Finally, we headed off to our dinner - a special roast sucking pig tasting menu at Hearth.

It was great to be back there - though we didn't get the seats overlooking the kitchen, which we have really enjoyed in the past. The three course dinner was rustic perfection - there were even some pickled vegetables - my favorite! By the end, we were groaning about how full we were and yet, somehow, we managed to choke down those last bites of berry cobbler.

Sweet torture.

The cab ride home was blissfully quick. There is something about speeding up the FDR on a warm summer night, with the lights twinkling out of the skyline that is just perfectly New York.

When we got there, the boys were sleeping, the sitter was sitting on the couch reading. Everything was as it should be at home.

Having an evening out, with a special destination planned, and getting to revisit a small part of our lives pre-baby was really a nice way to spend our first real date. but getting home and seeing those delicious boys slumbering in their cribs was pretty wonderful too.

What I Always Take

:: this shawl :: at least one bikini :: eye mask for sleeping :: charm bracelet :: more dresses than there are days :: jeans :: something to knit :: multiple cameras :: magazines :: dried mango :: almonds :: black cardie ::

this time, South Dakota

next week, Colorado

Something You Didn't Mean To Wear As a Shirt

It was altogether too hot in there. It was too crowded to make it back to where the water was, so the water jugs didn't help us play it cool. And last night, the bands were too good for it, every single one. It was really too hot to wear two flannels on stage, so the musicians could not possibly play it cool. And the beards didn't play it cool, and the ponytails may have kept a little heat off our necks, but they still swayed and felt happy and showed off our exuberance and therefore could not be said to play it cool. The new merch included the golden Zooch, so the merchandise didn't either, and the film crew never even seemed tempted to. It was their night off, after all.

The tallboys in their Tractor 15-year anniversary koozies did not play it cool for long. The dj told us about getting married on that very stage and the photographers smiled behind their cameras, and when the bands came on, they nodded their heads behind those cameras too. The guitars never play it cool, especially when there are four of them on stage at once, and this time the mandolin didn't either, and of course drums rarely do, and last night the drums in questions were Ryan's, gold and sparkly, and loud and good, messy in the best way, like Ryan's hair and Ryan's hair may try to play it cool, but the drums weren't going to. The horns didn't play it cool, neither did the girls with the flowers in their hair or the moms or the area backstage which was even more crowded all than front of stage, and the Tractor was sold out, so it was crowded everywhere, including the area next to the stage just behind the little plastic chain that served as a field sobriety test, which all the Malgals passed...

even though they were not at all, contrary to what this photo might suggest, playing it cool.

What Happened When I Tried To Make a Comment on the Orangette Blog

I didn't really intend to do a whole blog post on dinner at Delancey. The idea of that just sort-of sounded like taking owls to Athens, but then on Orangette today, Molly mentioned a Goethe quote. "Do not hurry, do not rest". I love that quote. It's right up there with E.M. Forster's "Only connect", for me. So I started writing a comment and guess what happened? The operative word ended up being "writing" rather than "comment". I blame it on the upcoming writing week. I don't know what's going to work out for that, but I can feel it brewing. I have hopes. In the mean time, here's what used to call itself a comment.

Susan and I had pastries the other morning at Honore, the bakery next door to Delancey -cannele and macarons and cafe bom-bon, and there was Molly at Delancey! So early, red hair restrained in some cute messy pony-bun thing, trying to keep Jack away from whoever was at the door, while we were sitting just outside on the adirondack chairs, giggling to ourselves and thinking No NO! Let Jack come to the door! We love Jack! I felt the teeniest bit stalkerish and wondered if that well-worn media phrase "we ask that you respect our privacy at this time" ever crosses Molly's mind in those early hours when she is back at the restaurant after a 16-hour day, the tenth in, what, two weeks? In our defense, we were not at ALL the only people sneaking peaks, and at least we didn't actually cup our hands against the glass, right??

Not that we didn't want to.

Kate and I were supposed to have dinner later that night, before the new Mike Daisey show. She was going to make "Kate's Corn Buffet". I don't know exactly what that would have been, but Good would have surely been one word for it, since it was, after all, Kate cooking. Or would have been, if I hadn't suggested Delancey.

It was just that Kate was a little tired, not feeling that great, and we had to be at Hugo House early, and hadn't Delancey been open for like AN AGE, and we STILL hadn't been there yet?? So we each put on some little summer number, and arranged to meet in front at precisely 5 PM. Already, there was a little queue, but it was a cheerful queue, with all of us smiling secret smiles, thinking about love stories and chocolate chip cookies with grey salt and yes, pizza. There was a pretty pregnant woman in a yellow dress, with a big table's worth of handsome friends, and there was a cute girl with a grey dress and leggings, smiling at her date, and everyone else was also looking photogenic, in that particular way that friendly people who spend their time liking things do. Blog readers, Orangette lovers, fans. Lovers of love and pizza and ideas and things that seem impossible but aren't.

Kate said it felt like we were going to see a rock band, a really good one, one you've been waiting and waiting to see.

But the great thing was that it was like one of those concerts that is as satisfying as you think it will be - the live version of the tomato/corn/shallot vinaigrette salad IS better than the recorded version! And the framed photo of the italian man in his suit in the pink chair, and the delicate-looking waitresses in their grey t-shirts, and the tomato salad with the shallot vinaigrette and the kind of corn so sweet that I don't even know how one would find it, and the overall famousness feeling of it all! You can imagine.

I haven't even started on the pizza. We had the zucchini and anchovy and the Brooklyn. Of course, what else? I have to admit, I don't really want to go on and on about how fantastic it was. I just want to say that it was exactly what I expected, exactly what I hoped for and exactly what I was craving. Sometimes you want something to be simple, and just right. We didn't have to ask for the pizza scissors, and I wasn't tempted to use a knife and fork, and I didn't burn all the skin off the roof of my mouth, but nothing had congealed either. The sauce was exactly the way I like a pizza sauce, didn't taste like something you'd put on bruschetta or like spaghetti sauce, wasn't too sweet or overpowered by oregano, it was sort-of one with the crust, which should not for a moment be mistaken for "soggy", it was more that it felt inseparable in the best way, like a perfectly placed phrase in a poem or story, something said at the right moment in the right way, the not only well-worded but just what you wanted to hear, too.

But that was the start of Delancey being popular of course, the way Molly always pared it down to just the right details on her blog, in her book, recipes both made magic by her mythology and demystified by her willingness to share - I made this, she says, you can too.

But of course, even if we could, and really, at our table, only Kate gets put in that camp, the Camp of Could in the Kitchen, why would we want to? It was so nice to be welcomed in by Delancey, to sneak admiring peeks at neighbors, feel famous by proxy, energized and enthused, happy and summery and very very well-fed. And if reading this doesn't make you almost feel all those things yourself, then click on the love story link and get a little taste of Delancey for yourself.

Oh Jon and Kate We Hardly Knew You

They were so much cuter back then!

Or maybe we knew you too well.

I wrote a post a while ago about appreciating J & K and their squabbly ways. How they made me feel better about my own lack of perfection in both marriage and parenting.

I stand by those thoughts.

I think that the couple they originally were on that show were to be admired for the way they managed to make their life work. None of us are perfect. Every mother/father/married/committed person I know struggles with many of the same issues that you could clearly see in those early episodes.

Whether you have 8 kids – or (thankyoujesus) not – marriage and parenthood are difficult adjustments and most of us aren’t naturally equipped with the patience or communication skills to make it work without some bickering, some tension. Some people conceal it better than others, but know a couple well enough, long enough and you'll get a peak behind the curtain.

Which is what Jon and Kate gave us with their show, originally.

I think that they did the show to help their family financially but I think, in the end, it is the show and the attendant notoriety/ fame/ pressure to maintain a story arc that did them in. Not the bickering or squabbling.

When the show started veering away from them living a normal-ish family life and went to them having a trip to Disney World/American Girl/some other crazy publicity stunt activity every week, I think it changed both the tone of the show and their own lives.

Instead of being self-referential, the show became one big advertisement for all the crazy trips you can take with your kids. And I promise you that traveling with any number of toddlers is stressful. But the sponsors want what they want, right?

And the sponsors want a juicy story. The ongoing story of a happy but chaotic family at home making lunch or going to preschool is not such a juicy story.

In addition, I imagine that waking up one day to realize that you are a balding, pudgy, thirty-year-old man with 8 kids could throw a person into premature mid-life crisis mode. Though one would have hoped that getting a chopper from the guys at Orange County Choppers would have been enough.

But hey, bring on the 20-something chicks to make you feel like a young man!

And finding yourself married to said man, while dealing with the body issues one has to deal with after birthing multiples… or even singletons… and the stress of parenting that many kids while juggling public appearances, writing deadlines and most likely some long-buried desire for some romantic attention...

As well as rumors that you are a complete hen-pecking bee-yotch…

Well, I can’t say that I am entirely surprised that they are getting divorced.

But I am sad for their kids.

I am sad for the couple that they were and could have been.

I think that a time will come when they will be sad for that couple too – years from now when all of this attention has died down and they have some perspective.

After all, with eight beautiful children, their lives are tied tightly together forever – married or not.

Wait

Summer, I'm not done with you yet.

Things left:

:: swimming ::

:: an island ::

What else to add?

What I Did Today To Amuse Myself

:: latte for the commute ::

:: dropped off two rolls of 120 ::

:: phone call with Kristin ::

:: trip to the library ::

:: long walk ::

:: DH Lawrence on CD ::

:: bought plums ::

:: watched Bouboule ::

:: ate cucumber sandwiches ::

:: texted Lindsey ::

:: GG reruns ::

:: cracked up at the twins slap-fest ::

coulda been worse

Wha?

I love it that the boys are inhabiting their own little world. Playing at something, though I obviously have no idea what.

I love that they are giving me the look that says 'Mama? What crazy thing are you talking about?'

I am not so crazy about the fact that they are totally disregarding me. The video after this one is - um - one I am saving for when they are older and need embarrassing.

Of course, I know this is just the beginning.

Favorites From Weekend Before Last

Moments I Almost Missed

Just thinking about that. Those little in-between times from this summer.

Carroll Boys Update

Thomas, where's Max's ear?

We've got two walking boys. It is exhausting, but it is also hilarious.

If I am sitting on the floor, Max will let out a wild whoop, throw his hands in the air and coming running at me, only to plant a big wet kiss on my face. I call it a Big Max Attack. Thomas will lift your leg up and down. While also saying 'up' and 'down.'

Or rather 'uuuuuhhhhh' and 'daaahhhhhhhhh'. In a very adorable sing-song-ey way.

Thomas, if you are walking down the street with him, wants to walk independently. Does. Not. Want. His. Hand. Held. Tummy sticking out. Marching along.

Max would like for you to carry him. Please.

They are feeding themselves now. Kind of.

Big person food. Pasta and broccoli. They like fish - go figure. Anything with a cheesy sauce. They like their eggs. And their waffles. They still love the yogurt.

And water - my god, I think they would drink the earth dry if we let them. They would like to hold their own - non-sippy, thankyouverymuch - cups. And spill the water everywhere.

They will sit and actually pay attention as you read them a story. Curious George is V. Popular.

As you sit, reading, Max will back his butt up into your lap. Thomas will try to turn the pages for you. Meaning to be helpful, of course. But there is a reason why all of their books have board pages still.

If you ask them to, they will bring you the big green ball. Or a book. Or their bottles. Or Thomas's new favorite stuffy - Mr. Cat. They might even offer you one of the binkies that we haven't bothered to wean them off of yet.

In the bathtub, they like to make big waves. They like the shower sprayer. Thank goodness they don't poop in the tub - because they like to drink the water like puppies.

Again with the water!

They are almost tall enough to climb out of the tub on their own.

Oh wait, nevermind, they ARE tall enough to climb out of the tub on their own.

They have lots of golden curls. Which I will not cut anytime soon. No matter how much their Daddy thinks they look like girls.

Those are my babies. Still.

I'm Not Gonna Talk About It

You have to be here to understand. Everything smells like it's on fire. Is that my engine? The elementary school? The pumps at the gas station? A brush fire on I-5, the fur of the animals at the zoo? It won't make sense unless you're here.

I've given up everything. Dishwashing first, always, then meals, then clothing, the need to sleep with something covering me. I abandon hair-drying, the longing for sunshine, the process of falling in love, the desire to leave work at the end of the day. I wonder which ex-boyfriend kept that fan, and everything starts to look the way everything looks in those movies where the camera lingers on someone alone, the scenery going by, a child's fingers on the car window.

There is no loneliness in heat this close, and misery is possible the first day, but after the second I've given that up too. The heat takes on another form, like time, when you're waiting. In a moment of relief, we watch the preview for a movie where someone says "Time heals, they say, but the years get heavier as they go. They don't tell you that," and that's what the heat is like. Oppressive like a grief whose root is the deepest joy, so that when these things are upon you, you cannot tell the difference between them, between heat and time and what is sad and made you happy, they are all the same, all more than you ever intended to bear, but no one cancels work and the coffee shop is still open, though silent from the heat, and you don't call the ex-boyfriend with the fan, and as hot as you are, there is always another bead of sweat for the small of your back, more heat rising off the nape of your neck. For now there is just this popsicle, this lime juice, this cold cold movie theater and tomorrow, again, the sanctuary of work.

Baby Aspirin

I am always getting terrible photos of him, though he is lovely in real life. One of my friends recently said that when she met him, she felt like he was looking through her soul. He does have an eye, that's for sure, but whenever I turn mine on him, I seem to catch him startled or unprepared, and always always disheveled. The one above is my favorite now, because it somehow it at least catches his stature.

It captures the kind of night it was too. We didn't know where we were going, and the nicest part of it was the walking, not the being there. Court and I did sit on his stoop and talk for a while, and that was good, and I took photos of the ladies' shoes and T Lily's long legs, and we were all happy with the banana split I think, though we were so busy talking about other things that we almost forgot to mention it as our spoons scooped up the bruled banana, the marshmallow cloud on top of the little ice cream discs, the praline nuts. Later I walked into a room of Scatergories and a brunette in a summer dress called out to me, with a big smile, "New Girl!! Play for me! I just realized.. I'm too drunk to play!" and then I couldn't think up an item of clothing that started with I and envied Tim when he revealed his - intimates. Of course.

Even later, D and I met in the parking lot of the drive-in and he bought me a chocolate shake that I drank two sips of and we sat in my car catching up on our days. I was still in my work clothes and he was wearing the shoes from dinner at Cafe Juanita the night before. We had been so many other places during the day, but I was glad it all ended up there.

It's Your Duty to Watch This Whole Thing

Certainly Tonight

Ridiculously adorable and hilarious around a minute 45 into it. Startin to wonder if I'll ever get my dance partner back though... Weekend update soon, but I'll tip my cards and tell you that even Andrew Bird wasn't as good as the three boys in Widower. Course, I am biased, but I've told you about that before. Thanks to Jess for calling my attention to the video!

BRB

Heading off to the Edgefield, Ace, Screen Door and who else knows where, cameras in tow.