Hey You Guys, My Husband Took A Picture Of Me.

Sigh.

Hey You Guys I'm Old and Wise Now.

Yesterday marked the anniversary of thirty three years of - ME!!  A friend told me this was the age where Christ was reborn and came back as a zombie and killed all the dinosaurs, or something.  So far my water into wine skills are lacking.  Sad face.

As a pre-birthday present to myself (thank you self) I took a personal day to go to a symposium at Longwood Gardens in PA.  Longwood is an absolutely amazing estate and public gardens established by Pierce duPont (more history, etc here) they have concerts, tours, kid's activities, etc.  Oh, and the Christmas displays ...

Ahhh-maaaaa-zing.  They have themed rooms of different cultivars and climates.  A ROOM FULL OF ORCHIDS, FLOOR TO CEILING.  It is my happy place.
The symposium was called "Today's Horticulture" and touched on everything from sustainable landscape design, container gardening, entomology, water resources management, and native planting vs. non-native.  And in between these sessions that were so informative and interesting, I got to wander through the gardens and shop the plant sale.  The only downside was the majority of people there have degrees in plant science or are professionals - a lot went over my head.  So, it's officially time to figure out this whole getting-my-degree thing.  I have never wanted anything quite like I've wanted this, but I also refuse to give up any time I have with my girls.  So it will take me a loooong time, because I will only, realistically, be able to take 1 or 2 classes per semester.  I have to start with the hard (for me) classes, math and chemistry, and I will probably cry and swear and throw things but I WILL get through them, because without chemistry none of the soil or plant science will make sense. 
And while doing this I will also have to work and take care of a house and husband and two kids, and a dog and a cat and two rats; and volunteer at Mooch's school and take care of the garden and cook every night, etc.  Completely do-able, right??

Oh yeah, resolutions.  Because this post is about me being OLD.  

1. Practice being still and present, at least once a day.  My degree won't matter much without my sanity.
2. Make peace, completely, with my body.  Yes my belly is pooch-y from two babies and my boobs just aren't what they used to be.  Yes, stretch marks happen.  But at 33 I can run 3 miles in under 28 minutes and tear up a spin class.  These things I couldn't do 10 years ago.  Mooch said to me the other day, "Mama you're not too fat and not too skinny, you're just right"
3. Plan more.  I suck at planning.  I blamed this on the Mister the other night (I can't completely remember my reasoning here, honestly - he handed me a piece of dark chocolate and kept watching the Military Channel) but I need to carve out my own space in our home to set up as Mama HQ and plot all this junk out.

3 things, plus all that other junk.  Bring it, 33.

Why The Mister Is Fired From Taking Pictures of Me.

This post is dedicated to the return of the crazy bitch who I love so dearly, Miss Hippy Jersey Devil.  As Marlin said to Nemo (it's been a long week) You think you can do these things but you just can't, Nemo.  You can't walk away from your loyal followers so get your little fishy butt back in the ocean.  Let's pretend that made sense and move on.

I had a request - no, really - for more recipes on the blog and I was trying to be accommodating and take pictures, but I just went through my pics and honestly they're not that good.  See?

This was something called "Lentil Butter" which, confusingly, contained no butter.  It was a mix of beans and lentils that were soaked overnight, then mixed with carmelized onion, tomato, red curry, fresh ground ginger and s&p.  Very tasty, but not very pretty

This was the bread I made to go with it.  I'm trying to get rid of as many funky materials as I can from my kitchen - plastic, teflon, etc.  and use my cast iron skillets exclusively.  This was a basic french bread recipe cooked in the skillet, and it was oh-my-god amazing

But again, picture is not great.  And yes my oven is honestly that in need of cleaning.
I was thinking it's time to switch up my profile picture so I looked through to see if there are any decent shots of me.  The problem is, the only one who takes pictures of me are the Mister, and this is what he comes up with :

Do you see me?

Now I'm all the way in the picture but unfortunately I also look pregnant.

No makeup on after staying up til midnight playing Santa

Everyone wants a picture of themself eating breakfast with no bra on, miright ladies?

Ok there was one.  I have to hand it to him.  I won't mention my shiny forehead.

Luckily he's got other things going for him.

Not Annoying Me: A Handy Users Guide

There I was, innocently sitting at me desk when Smelly Boss feels the need to give me a blow-by-blow, in-depth account of passing his kidney stone.  When he started using hand gestures I looked down and started furiously typing ("Agenda for NMAJIDGHSIUHFSIOUJIOWUIOWEUIR") and he still didn't get the hint. 
This man is repulsive on every sensory level.

I consider myself pretty patient but it is true that after Mooch was born my patience percentages are as follows:
90% - kids
5% - Mister
5% - the whole rest of the world

Feel free to copy and paste or respond with what annoys YOU.  Really, we are doing a public service and preventing violence.

Telling Me About Intestinal Distress, Tumors, Growths, And Other Gnarliness Unless I Have Specifically Asked

 I have two kids.  I've been puked on, peed on, etc.  This doesn't mean I want to hear about your stomach issues or your latest period.  The golden rule is unless you are so close to me that I've watched you pee in an alleyway behind a bar (ahem Anna) or have seriously offered to dispose of your ex-husband if need be (ahem Jen), I don't want to hear it. 
Offenders : S.B., Mister (dude I have to sleep with you), that girl in the changing room next to me at Target giving a blow-by-blow account over the phone of her latest OBGYN visit really loudly.

Trying To Reprimand My Children When I'm Standing Right There

  I can say that my kids aren't always perfect, but almost everyone who meets them remarks on what good manners they have.  This is because they know Mama will bite their heads off if they ever act like little shits in public.  I'm on the slightly old-school strict end of parenting - I don't beat them or anything obviously but they know I don't mess around.  Therefor if you are standing right next to me and one of my kids does something slightly off, you can bet I'm going to say something to them.  This is where you KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT.  Unless they are lighting off fireworks while smoking cigarettes while I am sitting back doing nothing, you don't correct other people's kids. 
**However** I admit I have corrected other people's kids in the following circumstances: kids at the park who have hit mine or done something else directly dangerous to mine while their mothers either were paying absolutely zero attention or didn't correct them. 
Offenders: several former friends (notice the "former" part), and my OWN FATHER!  Oh, old dude.

Being Overly Vocal About How Great Your Religion Is

These people come from EVERY religion and belief.  Unless I have asked you about your religion, which I wouldn't do unless I know you really well, please don't assume I want to know all about it complete with implications that I'm going to hell because I'm not in it and wow you better hurry and start going to my church RIGHT NOW.  If your religion is so great than show me how amazingly happy it makes you or how it inspires you to be a better person.  And please don't assume that because I don't talk about my beliefs, that I have none.  

Offenders: Several family members, several MOMS club members


This Could Make Up It's Own Post : Vague Bitchy Posts on FB

The vague threatening posts about how you always get revenge or about how someone better watch themselves make you look like a douchenozzle of the highest level.  Do. Not.
Offenders:  Too many, you guys.

Not Using Your Horn While Driving

Not all the time - but seriously that guy who didn't turn on the green light needs to know how wrong he is.  And as a Masshole driver it's widely acknowledged that I'm a better driver than 98.9% of the entire world, so I'm educating him.  He needs to know he's wrong and it's my job to tell him.  Some people who have forgotten this basic logic (The Mister) say that the horn is only for extreme situations but it doesn't matter because they are wrong.
Offenders: The Mister, that lady who didn't honk at that guy who waited til the last minute to get in the turning lane and cut her off.

Chewing With Your Mouth Open, Or Talking With Food In Your Mouth

My sisters are yelling "A-freaking-men!" at their screens right now.  I don't want to hear it, I don't want to see it.  I swear to god I will stab you right in your stupid face with a fork, it's that icky to me.  *shudder*
Offenders: S.B. in a big, fat, disgusting way and way too many other people.  EWW.

Someone Who Doesn't Have Kids Complaining To Someone Who Does Have Kids About How Tired They Are

No, no you're not that tired, and I swear when you do have kids and you experience crushing exhaustion you'll want to go back and slap yourself in the face like I'm about to do right now.
Offenders: Every.  Freaking.  Grad student.

Saying "I Wish I Could Do _____"

Guess what - everyone has to learn almost everything.  Unless you dream of being an Olympic high-jumper but sadly have no legs.  Sorry but I don't think that can be fixed - or maybe it can, prosthetics are amazing these days.  No one is born knowing how to cook or garden or fix a tire.
 Offenders: Sadly, lots.

I am absolutely sure I will think of more - the learning never stops, people!
And now something that does the opposite of annoy me - slightly obsessed with Gotye right now.  Enjoy.

             
  

We've All Been There, Mr. Sharp-Shinned Hawk.

We have a neighbourhood sharp-shinned hawk.  (Not this one, I don't have a clear picture of ours)  He grabs other birds mid-air and eats everything off of them except for the feet.  I'm not sure why but it's kind of disturbing to come across random dismembered bird-feet on your lawn.
I was in our backyard a few months back hanging up laundry and looked up and he was perched on our back fence, just staring levelly at me, plainly trying to convey that he could rip my face off if he wanted to.  Message received, dude.
The Mister and I were on the phone while I was in Seattle and I was telling him something completely compelling ("I watched Real Housewives of Beverly Hills last night and ate an entire bag of sour cream and cheddar chips") when he busted out laughing.
"What?!?!  Quit being so judge-y.  They're really good."
"No, no - not that.  But that is gross.  Remember those fake ravens you put all over the front of the house?"

Who could forget?

"The hawk just grabbed one off of a planter, pinned it to the ground and ripped it's feet off, and now it's looking around like, Shit.  Let's hope no one saw this."
"Did you get a picture?  Go grab the camera!"
"I'm laughing too hard.  The thing is like, This is downright unfortunate"

 So now I am inadvertently traumatizing raptors.  My reign of terror continues.

This Post Is Not About Seattle.

Because my pictures from Seattle are on someone else's camera who is still *in* Seattle.  And I refuse to post about how awesome it was until I have pictures to back it up (complete with a picture of French Post Doc telling me to fuck off).  It was awesome, though.  Also, my mother drugged me with something other than Xanax.
FPD on plane:  What are you taking?
Me: I thought they were Xanax, but aren't Xanax blue?  These are not Xanax. (gulp)
FPD: You're taking something and you don't know what it is?
Me: I'm very trusting.  And scared shitless of this plane.
Luckily they worked anyway.


And so I will tell you about things I am doing that I have no expertise in, besides blogging.  Remember my pictures from the farm we went to?  This one?

  This farm and I have history.  My mom worked there before and after I was born.  I have memories of toddling into their farm store to get apples.  We apple pick there almost every fall, and every year I bite into one of their apples and have the same reaction - my lips and tongue get itchy and my face swells slightly.  When you pick an apple off their trees and turn it over, there is a residue of white on the bottom from pesticides.  
  I have a strong reaction to some chemicals and metals, from a rash to problems breathing.  I always thought I was allergic to apples until I had an organic one and had no reaction to it.  So it's sad to me that every year I have to feel conflicted about getting apples from a gorgeous local farm, literally right up the road from us, that has a family running it.
  This farm has a Facebook page and were advertising the start of their apple picking season, and I commented on how I wished they integrated more organic growing practices into their farm, both for health and environment's sake.  I got a comment back that their head grower would like to speak to me, and they messaged me his cell phone #.
Shit.
He probably thinks I'm some arrogant hippie who's going to try and tell him how to run his business.
I got up the nerve to call him and expressed how I hoped I didn't sound rude, and asked if we could talk about farming.  He graciously agreed and we spoke yesterday for an hour, sometimes heatedly and sometimes laughing.  His stance was that organics, more than anything, are a "marketing ploy", that the benefits haven't been proven, that they cause more outbreaks of food-borne pathogens, and that they are too time consuming and expensive.  My stance is that we NEED a local organic farm (since our farmer's market is packed with people every Sunday, and most of the produce is grown at least 20 miles away), that they sit right on the Christina Watershed and are responsible for the plant and animal life in it, that they could become a role model for other small farms, and that they make such a good income on hay rides, tours, and fall activities that even if they started with only a portion of their produce being organically produced, they could still turn a generous profit.  

*I also researched his claim about food-borne pathogens in organic produce.  While it is true that manure, used commonly to fertilize organic crops, can introduce bacteria to food; properly treated and composted manure (along with other organic matter) presents little threat to crops.  The most recent outbreak of listeria in cantaloupe were from a non-organic crop that had had manure dumped near it within the last year.  Basically, don't just throw poop on your crop and expect it to do well, there is a science and a delicate balance to this*


  He was very nice but very defensive, and he has every right to be.  Farming is a hard life and he has managed to turn a little family farm into a booming business.  Then I asked the question I had been building up for :
Me: So, do you think in the spring I could shadow you for a day while you planted?  
Him: Excuse me?
Me: I mean, I'll help out.  You can put me to work.  I would just love to get more insight into this.
Him: Umm.  You mean you want to work a day for free?  This is hard work.
Me: I know.  I just want to see this better from your point of view. 
Him: Umm, ok.
So next spring I get to spend a day working a field and observing what goes on in a day on a farm.  So effing excited.
And of course it made me lust after the Plant Science courses here.  While I was planning on holding off until both kids were in school full time, I need to start taking at least one class a semester.  I need it.  I got off the phone with this man and wanted to skip down the hallway.  This is my passion.
Also, I never really have a plan for everything, which sometimes makes me feel like an impostor of an adult.  But then Jenny Lawson on  The Bloggess said something to the effect of, she never plans anything, she just does shit and some other shit happens and some is good, and some is bad.   If you would like to cross-stitch her quote onto a pillow and send it to me I will happily pass it down to my grandchildren.  

But then I continued to try and address things I have little to no expertise in.
Like this bridge:

  Our street is right off of this one.  See the little tunnel to the right?  I ride my bike through there.  I love that when they built it they kept walkers and bikers in mind, and I love that it keep huge trucks from going down our street.  Go ahead little bridge!
  The problem is that the only care the area around it ever gets is occasionally getting mowed by a work crew in the summer.  It's weed choked and ugly and gets graffiti-ed a lot.  Kind of a downer when you have to wait your turn to make it through and are forced to stare at it.  
  Last summer I said to The Mister I wanted to volunteer to landscape it and he looked at me like I was crazy, which we all know I AM.  I thought, since Home Despot is so good at throwing out perfectly good plants, maybe I can sweet talk them into donating them (and writing them off on their taxes) instead.  Maybe I can get permission from the mayor to landscape it.  And maybe I can plant mainly native plants and herbs, and maybe even some edibles (with a sign that everyone is free to pick what they want).  

So guess what?  They said I could do it.
Yup.  Mayor of our town gave me his permission.
Now to approach Home Despot and sweetly ask to raid their plants destined for a dumpster.  And try not to scream or throw things if they try that "oh but we compost it" horse crap. (Note - they do NOT)  And I guess they will probably want to know what my plan is.  Hurry up on the cross stitched pillow so I can show it to them.


Wish me luck.

Hayrides, Goats, Big Metal Chickens.

We live literally 5 minutes away from a gorgeous family-owned farm, which my own Mama used to work at when she was younger.  Since my husband is the meanest-mean-mean man who INSISTS we follow local laws and regulations and still will not let me get chickens or goats or even two rabbits (I don't want them to be lonely) I have to visit frequently to get my farm fix.
They have fall festival weekends with all kinds of stuff going on, which we've never gone to before because they don't charge during the week and we are cheap frugal.  But the really good stuff happens on the weekends, so this past we forked it over and went.

 This was a giant moonbounce-thing that was a tunnel, the girls went through together and when I walked around to where they came out I almost died.  It looked like a giant penis.  Then again, truthfully, almost everything looks like a penis to me - unless it looks like boobs.

Pony rides.  Mooch smiled sweetly and talked to her pony and asked When can I have one of my own?  Butterbean whooped and yelled, Take off, Fleabag!

Chicken hatchery.  Yes, my 2 year old has a feather extension in her hair.  IT WAS FOR CHARITY.

Mister and Butterbean on the hayride.  His looks are the only thing that save him from getting beat to death with a frying pan sometimes, I swear.

Self portrait, me and my first baby

Wild girls in the hay maze

Mooch with the goats.  I ask her to pose and this is what she does.  I love this child.

 

Corn maze.  We had Butterbean yelling "Malachi!" and the Mister and I were cracking up as we fed her more lines from Children of The Corn for our own amusement, and no one was laughing other than us.  It was like we were in an alternate universe where prompting your child to sound like a murderous zombie wasn't funny.

And then we turned a corner and there stood BEYONCE.  Don't know what I'm talking about?  Here.

I did not pick the persimmons, but I wanted to.

We were all exhausted.  We ended up doing the hayrides and pony rides twice, and spent 3 1/2 hours at the farm.  And the kicker that during this fall festival day, it was in the 80's and gorgeously sunny all day.  I love the mid-Atlantic.

It's Fall, Y'all

Remember mystery vine?  The one that sprouted out of our compost bin and creeped through the fence and started growing all over my neighbor's yard?  Because she is the nicest lady ever she didn't get upset, and actually said she was interested to see what it turned into.  When it started sprouting pumpkins I told her she should of course keep whatever pumpkins she got, but she insisted that the girls should have them. For some reason the ones that grew on our side of the fence are a weird shape, kind of butternut squash/pumpkin hybrid, but hers were perfectly formed "faerie tale" pumpkins.
Mooch was so excited to get to pick them.  Who needs a pumpkin patch when you've got a compost bin??

 I wanted a new fall wreath for the front door, but I'm picky.  We've all seen some of the fall themed ones on Pinterest, and some are cute but some are just .... not me.  Let's just say if it can be described as "cute" I'm not going to dig it.
I had this simple wreath frame I picked up at The Thrift Store That Shall Not Be Named

I found fake leaves and yummy smelling potpourri at the Dollar Store.  Brainstorm - some of the potpourri has interesting stuff in it, seedpods and herbs and such, that are really pretty, and this variety smells fall-y without being overpowering.

Of course I ended up being totally sucked in to the fall and Halloween decorations at the Dollar Store, which happens every year even though I swear this year will be different.  I turned a corner, and lo and behold ...

Is there anyone out there who DOESN'T need about a million of these?  I only got 2 and I'm kicking myself.  I want to cover the front of my house in them.  

The Mister came in and took a look and said jokingly, "Now you just need to put a 3rd eye on them!" and then saw how excited I got and immediately said, "That was a JOKE."

"But I'm so going to do that.  Best idea ever.  High five, craft buddy!"

"Don't do it.  People already think you're a witch"

"Too late, seed of brilliance planted."

And after a night of wine consumption and burning my fingers - again- with hot glue and catching up on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (and the horrible realization that I think I don't hate Camille so much now) this is the beast:

 I love it.  I have a Halloween sign that I put up every year that says "Don't Make Me Use My Flying Monkeys" with a pair of witch's boots underneath it, but I do not want to take this down.  

I'm trying to harvest herbs and preserve them now.  (In all my spare time.  HA)  I did pull up my basil plants the other day, and made vegan basil/chive pesto that is pretty amazing.  My chives never flowered this year, which I think is because they were in too much shade, but I still have lots.

 Guess who won't take off her Halloween costume?

I did not measure (I don't really, ever) but here is an approximation:
Vegan Basil Chive Pesto
Approx. 3 c of basil leaves
A good handful of chives
1/4 c macadamia nuts
2 Tb pine nuts
olive oil
salt & pepper
1 clove garlic, crushed
Place macadamia nuts and pine nuts in food processor and process until it resembles coarse flour.  Add basil and chives, pulse until incorporated.  Add olive oil (about 1-2 Tb) salt & pepper to taste, and crushed garlic clove, pulse until completely combined.
And in closing, if you don't follow The Blogess, your life up until this moment has been completely wasted.