73/365 Swingset

I have a hand-me-down swingset in the backyard, donated by a friend whose kids are too big. It has a tower with a slide and space for three swings. Basic by todays' standards but compared to the metal ones I knew as a kid, it's awesome to be able to switch in and out the swings and the rings and the baby seat and all that in different combinations.

It isn't going to last forever and we've started talking about its replacement, which will probably involve a treehouse in the maple tree (or built around it), incorporating parts of the current set but stabilized and larger, since our kids are larger and there's more of them.

Thursday evening, I was washing dishes after dinner and looked up because I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Squirrels like my yard so I wasn't immediately alarmed. That happened once I focused and realized that Kenna and Adam were on the swingset.

The Friedman family used to live across the street from me, but Bruce let me know that they had moved into the apartment building they own, located behind me and down the alley a bit. Adam has some neurological problems and the big honkin houses we live in were too much acreage for him. He needed some place smaller, on one floor, where they could see him and keep a hold of him more easily. I have not walked a mile in their moccasins, so I don't have much to say about that, but I will say that looking out and seeing these two kids in my yard was not what I needed.

It wouldn't have been any big thing if they'd been, say, swinging on the swing set. I would have stepped outside and said, "Does your dad know you're here?" and advised them that perhaps, considering the time, they should head home. But no.

Kenna was walking on the top of it. Like, 7 feet in the air, balancing on rungs designed for hand-over-hand monkey bar stuff. And Adam was hanging upside down by his knees, no hands. It's not like this swingset is over a padded urethane surface or even over a thick layer of gravel or sand. It's about a half inch of tired mulch over dirt. Not the place to pull this kind of stuff.

I blow out my back door before I know what I'm going to say. And I say something equivalent to "Get the hell out of my yard." I didn't use those words, and I wasn't that succinct, but somewhere in paragraph one I let them know that they hadn't been invited and they weren't to be on the swingset without permission.

Kenna is the younger one, and obviously the follower. She was contrite and embarrassed. Adam was too, but it was different. He is different. He was apologizing and she was ducking away and they realized they didn't know how to leave.

"Well, how'd you get in?"

"Uh, I guess we jumped the fence," he admits.

He's seven.

I sigh and open the back gate, which is covered with Boston ivy, admittedly, and camouflaged with the rest of the fence. I open the back gate, and there's Bruce on his bike.

"Your kids were in my yard?"

"Huh?"

Adam and Kenna run out next to me.

"I've been looking for them--I didn't know where they were."

"They were in my yard. They jumped the fence."

Adam is still saying sorry as he runs over to his dad. I don't stay to find out what is said. I walk back into the yard and think about this space.

Not only is there a rundown swingset (that the neighbor kids that come over regularly know how to use right), but there's a big old galvanized pool. It's drained right now, and on its way to the alley next week for bulk trash pick up (we're going with a more easily dismantled plastic next summer), but what if it were filled and they'd jumped the fence? What if one of them had accidentally drowned in my backyard? Falling and breaking an arm is one thing. Drowning makes me sick to even think about. I mean, I've seen these two kids try to jump out a second story window onto pillows they'd put on the ground to soften their landing. And if they can jump the fence, the 6 foot fence, what can I do?

72/365 On the way home

On the way home from the festival and the ice cream, Bree and Fiona were making plans to get together with the other two girls on the block. And Bree started talking, like she does sometimes:

"You know, I like Iris because we both like to read and we like horses. And I like playing Polly Pockets with Eliza and she lives right next door. But you and me, we have the most things in common. I don't have to find something specific."

And Fiona, as she is a girl of few words in comparison, simply replied: "Yeah! Me too!"

71/365 Dance and Ice Cream

Fiona danced in the park today. And that was fine and good--but afterward Zelda and Travis asked if Bree might join us as we walked around the festival. That was no big deal, I traded a dress for an extra child.

We found a bit of lunch and some water for Fiona, and then walked around the vendors. Fiona had mentioned getting a hair wrap, you know, like you get on the beach in Mexico, with embroidery floss and beads. Hippie stuff. She'd had it done about 4 years ago and had asked every summer since. So we found the same old woman at the Peruvian stand and waited. Bree debated: did she want to spend her own money on this or not? She waited with Sophia for 15 minutes before deciding it wasn't worth it. So she played with Billy in the grass behind the booths while I paced and waited and acted patient.

It was an act. I wasn't impatient because of the two girls in front of Fiona--you wait your turn, 'nuff said. But after the second girl was done, her sister's beads fell out and the woman had to redo the bottom of hers. Also not a big deal, except that she spent at least 10 minutes fussing with her husband, straightening crap in front of her booth, wandering, drinking something that looked like beer, and shuffling around. Billy was a trooper, and so was Bree. Fiona's turn finally came and she got her hair done and it was great. Super. She was happy and looked like a ragamuffin and I paid the lady and we left.

Fiona and Bree shopped a bit more--even at $1.50 an inch, it hadn't broke Fiona's bank since her hair is so short. We were all hot and tired, though, and I suggested we go over to the ice cream place on the corner. Fiona was all over that suggestion but Bree looked hesitant.

"My treat, for waiting so patiently for Fiona."

Her face relaxed. I think she'd spent the rest of her allowance on tiny crocheted dolls from Nicaragua and stuff like that (just like Fiona had, and Iris and Eliza when we ran into them earlier...).

Chocolate for Bree, mint for Fiona, and Billy and I split a Texas pecan. Ah. We sat in the air conditioning and had a nice moment before we walked the three blocks home (which was no big thing after walking all over creation earlier). And Bree? She must have thanked me a dozen times for the ice cream. And frankly, I'll take her for ice cream anytime. I don't know if kids just don't get that, that if you're gracious and grateful and polite, adults really like you. And if you're a snot who think you're entitled to things, adults tire of that quickly.

70/365 Ichneumon

Click to view bigger. I believe I have yet another new creepy bug in my garden. From my extensive internet research (that is said tongue in cheek, to be clear), I believe I have a parasitic wasp. Specifically, an ichneumon wasp. It was certainly giant. But it did not have the funky loop shaped ovipositor, so I debated that maybe I was on the wrong track. But a couple of websites pointed out that male ichneumon wasps exist as well...I don't know. Does anyone out there know anything about ichneumons? This is a picture taken with my phone (my camera is still resting comfortably at my mother-in-law's house) and so it's abysmal. But trust me, it was big and gangly and eventually tired of posing, clumsily flying away from me. And then I left the garden like a big sissy.

69/365 Summer's Over

They've all gone back to school. Fiona and Daisy are exhausted. I can see some of that in the other kids' faces. And summer 2010 draws to a close as we look forward to a weekend of back to school picnics and one last hurrah in the park: the International Festival.

I put the chalk up--not down in the basement like I will after the first frost, but in the closet in the front hall. The bikes still come out, but the jump rope has been hanging on a hook in the hall for two weeks. The pool is drained and is on its way to the alley for the next bulk pick up day. The galvanized steel won't make it another winter. We're going to regroup come the spring and try something new. I tore out the cucumbers and am not very hopeful that the tomatoes will ever produce. The morning glories and other crazier weeds got yanked off the fence and parking pad and stuffed into the yard waste dumpster.

I made a peach cobbler. That sounds like summer, maybe, but the strawberries are done, the blueberries are done, the blackberries are done, and we're in this thin slice of time between berries and apples.

I also got my first butternut squash through the CSA. I crock-pot cooked it overnight and scraped it into the food processor this morning. It's in the freezer now awaiting friends to turn into a massive pumpkin pie baking session sometime only too soon. Fiona scrunches her nose up but then remembers that pie is always optional, in a way that cubed squash baked with onions and beets or something terrifying like that is not.

The screened in porch is done except for painting the floor--that's this week's job. And then nights of breeze and increasing numbers of blankets and sleep-through-the-nights for Billy.

I had my coffee over ice today, and I will through the week (highs in the high 80s), but I bet it'll be back to coffee cups in September.

Bookbags and lunch boxes and "closed toe" shoes fill my hallway. I'm happy. I love the turn of the seasons, the tired old lazy summer giving way to crisp regimented autumn. Ah.

68/365 There I Fixed It

Jake fixed the porch last week. The railing was falling apart at the bottom. So he took a "spare" baluster (actually, it fell off one of the step railings, but was so close to the newel post we don't miss it) and wedged it underneath. There, he fixed it.

67/365 Brick Curve

One of the things about living in an older city, but not too old, is that decorative brick is commonplace. Even old warehouses in St. Louis are decorated. It was assembly line, I've read. Everything was modular, just like in new housing developments these days. But the materials were built to last longer, of course. I have this curve above my living room window:
Otherwise, my house is very plain, with tightly fitted red brick in plain courses. Other houses on the street have little flourishes like this, although none just like this. All our house plans are nearly identical, but not quite, and the fronts of our houses are identical, but not quite. It's easy on the eyes.

66/365 Across the street

On the other side of the block (without a porch photo this time), it starts at the top with Crazy Tony's empty shell of a failed rehab project, and then sort of a blur--I know the folks, but for the most part they're not appearing in this blog. The dentist is up there, the crabby Dehny couple; Vic and Wendy. Getting to the middle of the block, the Lohnes, Farottas, Leavins. Right across the street the Friedman family doesn't live there anymore. Then you have Kenneth's house, maybe rented, maybe sold. Rick after that, in the Wyman's old place, and then Henry and Viv all moved back in. Maguires, Brenda, and the Sudlanders.

65/365 Down the Way

Big Ed next door; The Paxtons with their wrought iron and chairs; Stricklands behind the dogwood; after them the McAllisters. And again, you can't see it, but Frank and Christy are next, and then the doctor we never see, the fireman and his family that, ditto, we never see, and the block ends with the drug house-turned-condos.

64/365 Up the Way

From my porch, looking east: The Navarros; Gilbert's house; the house that used to have all the German Shepherds but now is a single guy whose name escapes me and he's trying to rent out downstairs; the Sullivans.

Then there's that big holly tree. On the other side of that are three more houses, all 2-family flats, huge. Two are owner-occupied and one is always rented to long-term students, like medical students at the university down the way. Grumpy Mrs. Dehny always calls them "the renters."

63/365 Milk

I started the trend. I was in La Leche League and several members had their milk delivered. I wanted milk without hormones and the idea of milk delivery in this day and age caught my fancy. I signed up.

Travis didn't believe it the first time at 3 in the morning there was a milk truck idling on our street. Called the company to see if it was legit. I assured him it was. What do you mean you get your milk delivered?

The Paxtons and Stricklands were next. The McAllisters followed. The Wymans got it for a while but I don't know if they still do. At this point, I'm so spoiled by having milk delivered, it would be hard to go back. I know that in the heat of the summer or dead of winter, I have milk, and if I plan ahead a few hours, I can have eggs, butter, yogurt, cheese, and so forth. There's no last minute trip to the grocery store with a crying baby when it's 5 degrees outside. We have milk.

Plus the chocolate tastes like pudding. Or melted chocolate ice cream. Divine.

62/365 Summer draws to an end

One last weekend before school. Run as fast as you can.

61/365 By the Bushel

I told Fiona and Daisy they could earn a dime a cucumber, pick as many as they could and they could split the earnings.

They each went upstairs with $1. That's 20 cucumbers. We're so sick of cucumbers.

60/365 Adults at the Barbecue

They played washers for a bit while I sat and talked with Zelda and Tara. Later Bobbie and Kyle came over and we talked school. Their son is starting at a new charter school sponsored by the same university (charter schools in Missouri have to be sponsored) as Oak Grove. Discussion of kids' sports and activities; a long ode to homemade ice cream.

Jake sat with Travis and Justin and talked about something--probably politics since Jake has a hard time not talking politics, frankly--and the afternoon unraveled slowly.
Billy fell asleep on my lap eventually and we went in to get ready to go to my parents' house for dinner, but it was hours of sidewalk sitting and hot dogs and koolaid infused kids and the summer moments you remember instead of the days on end of heat and looming bored children. This is summer.

59/365 How to get your kids to spend more time outside

58/365 Barbecue Moments

Justin and Naomi relax under the pavilion tent; Bree and Iris wait for the meal to begin. And the barbecue heat warps the view--I liked this photo a lot.

57/365 Getting Ready for Barbecue

It was almost completely spontaneous. Frank and Christy sent an email earlier in the week. They wanted to have a barbecue, but Christy described her backyard as "ridiculous." I understood. She thought maybe we'd have it in the front. Perfect.

Joy lives on the next block, and she brought her kids down. Everyone else just kind of rolled out of their front doors and onto the sidewalk.

56/365 Bree. Is. Home.

YAY.

55/365 School Choice

I often use the quote, "In Sweden, there are only 4 kinds of soap." I don't know where I read it and I don't even know if it's true, or if maybe it just isn't true anymore. I say it when I want to demonstrate how much easier life is with fewer choices. It helps if the choices are good ones, or at least if there's one good choice in a small group, but as Americans we often define freedom as choice (I'm not talking about abortion here when I use the word "choice"; I'm talking about purchasing things, where we live, where we go, what jobs we have, and so forth). Some choices do make us free--not being tied to the land like a serf in the middle ages is certainly better. But I continue to maintain the view that consumer choice does not increase our freedom at all, and in fact it often steals time and, therefor, it could be argued that it makes us less free.

I usually say this when I'm talking about the cereal aisle at the store. But it also applies to schools in my neighborhood. Every family on my block has agonized over where to send their children. Ok, maybe not agonized (a few have), but we all have really thought and considered and weighed our options. In a smaller town, it might limited to:

a. public school
b. the one religious-based school in driving distance
c. homeschooling

Here between the sycamores, our choices are dizzying. Public or private or home, but amidst public are standard public schools, all the magnet schools, and the newer charter schools. Private: Catholic, Lutheran, Christian, avant garde, ritzy, cheap, community based, how many grade levels, and so on. There are a lot of choices and as it turns out, no two families on our block have chosen the same one--well, one exception to that, but that's still pretty impressive.

We attend Oak Grove Montessori, which is a grass-roots charter school. Nate across the street is just starting at a new arts-focused charter school in the fall. Casey, Adam, and Kenna are at a magnet school nearby, Hannigan. Anton is starting high school at Rogers, also a magnet school. His sisters are at (magnet schools) Larchmont and Reynolds.

Several families go to Catholic schools. The Wymans are at Holy Trinity, as are the Sullivans. The McAllisters drive a little further to St. Jude the Apostle. At this point no one attends the Catholic school that is geographically, technically, the parish we live in (where we go to church as well). Nate is leaving there; Anton attended for a time. We might in the future, depending on what Oak Grove decides about middle school.

Bree and Noah go to a small independent school nearby, Arch Street, where Zelda works; Eliza attends Hopkins. Up the street, Jen thinks she'll homeschool and Cicely, who also works at Arch Street, will most likely send her kids there.

What's so nice is that nobody has a bad day at school and then comes home to more bad day. If kids are bickering on the block, they can focus their energies on school friends and have an after school playdate (I hate that word). They learn different things and in fact do share their knowledge. It's been lovely.

But more school choice is coming: Arch Street ends at 6th grade, as does Hopkins. It's a toss up whether Oak Grove will decide to add on a middle school or not. We're all looking and thinking hard. And I'm trying to breathe--Oak Grove landed in my lap without stress or worry (I was going to homeschool). I need to let a few years play out.

And then there's high school.

54/365 Good news for Daisy

Daisy's best friend on the block actually lives on the next block. Bonnie Dee is the middle child in a family of 4--two older brothers and a younger brother. Daisy isn't quite as sandwiched but they're in similar boats. Daisy is 11 months older than Bonnie Dee, and it looked like she'd be a year ahead in school, starting kindergarten this year while Bonnie Dee's birthday holds her back a year. But Joy was walking them down this evening and we chatted a moment. Bonnie Dee's starting kindergarten a year early. I know nothing is permanent, but it's nice to know they'll be together. No, they don't go to the same school, with Daisy at Oak Grove and Bonnie Dee at Holy Trinity, but they'll have parallel experiences the same way the older girls and the middle boys do. It's good news.

53/365 Knee jerk reflex

I get home later in the evening after a long day. It's dark, bedtime, Jake's home with the kids. I get out of the car and glance up at the Paxtons' porch. They're not sitting there in the dark. They're gone. Yes, it is just a week and it's just vacation, but it's a long damned week. My girls are stir-crazy waiting for Bree to be home. And I'm pretty much on my own without adult contact during the work day. So yeah, it's been a long week.

52/365 Girl Games

There's a heavy sigh from the back seat. We're on our way home from dance.

"What's up?" I ask. I get no response. So I do what I do best: ramble to fill the silence. "Tomorrow, we don't have anything going on, really, after I go to the doctor. Aunt Kaylen is coming over to watch you guys. And then nothing until we pick up food in the afternoon. Not a bad day. Maybe we'll make a plan and go somewhere. Eliza will be home after 3 from camp, and Iris--"

"I don't want to play with Iris," she says flatly.

I wait.

"Was she mean at class?" I venture. Iris and Fiona run hot and cold.

"She acted like I wasn't even there," she explains. "Except when I was put on her team, and then she told Miss Katie I didn't belong on her team." But she sounds more frustrated than upset or sad.

"Then give Iris a rest. Who knows what's going on. School will start up again and things will change."

But I have a heavy heart. I know about girl games--I was a victim of them as often as I played them. So hard to not move the chess pieces on the board. So hard to sit back and wait. But I'll try.

51/365 Cucumbers

"Casey, is your dad around?" I ask the oldest child on his bike in the alley. I have four big, but not yellowed, cucumbers in my hands.

"He's inside," he tells me unhelpfully.

"Whatcha need?" Kenna asks me, pulling her bike off to one side.

"I want to give him these cucumbers."

"Cucumbers! I love cucumbers!" she exclaims. "Watch my bike," she points as she runs down the gangway to go in through the front.

Bruce comes out, obviously pulled from rehabbing some apartment inside.

"Brigitte!" he calls before the gate is open. He pronounces it like the French. I can hear Kenna explaining what's going on as their voices get closer.

"I had these cucumbers," I explain. "Grew them this year, and there's more right now than we will be able to eat." I hand them to him.

"Cucumbers and onions coming right up!" he says enthusiastically, taking the cucumbers. "These are great, we'll eat them tonight. You grew them?"

I nod, pointing up the alley to a roofed in section of my yard. Chickenwire serves instead of glass or something solid. It's my squirrel-proof garden cage.

"We will absolutely enjoy these," he tells me. "Thanks for thinking of us."

"Thank you!" Kenna calls after as I head back up the alley.

"Get your bike," Bruce points out to her. I go back into my wooden-fenced yard and listen to kids continue as kids do, playing in the alley like they have for a hundred years.

50/365 Not everyone is gone on vacation

Others are absent for other reasons. The Friedman family across the street is moving into one of their rental properties. Their younger son Adam has some neurological problems in the area of autism (but not that), and now that he has a diagnosis, they are leaving their three story plus basement behind for one of their rental flats. I ran into Bruce about a week ago, having noticed that he wasn't around as often--Jackie and Viv had both noticed as well, since Viv spends most of her days on her porch swing now that they've moved back in after years of saying they were moving, or not moving, or taking care of her mother or selling that house or whatever it was. They're back and she's a porch sitter extraordinaire. So much so that she noticed an absence instead of a presence.

"Are the Friedmans still on the block?" she asked Zelda. And Zelda asked me. We were so afraid it was a foreclosure or avoiding a foreclosure--we know they had property around the south side and couldn't think of any other reason why they would leave their huge house and move into a two bedroom flat with three kids.

"Adam just needs to be on one floor," Bruce explained. I felt so bad about this, knowing they've been hunting down a diagnosis for years. Bruce is older than my parents, although you'd never know, and with his first wife he has kids older than me. This is a second family for him and I don't know why he doesn't drop from exhaustion.

So they've moved in behind me, a few houses down (two doors down from the tent folk). They own the 4-family, so that's an easy fix, but I hope they're doing this in the short term. It's a tight space, especially with a big dog.

Tonight I was picking cucumbers for more pickles and I heard Adam, Casey, and Kenna riding bikes behind me. They're still there. Just between a different set of trees.

49/365 Vacations

Gone away. The Paxtons leave, the McAllisters aren't home yet. The Stricklands are finally done with travel. Iris and Eliza are home from camp finally, but the block has that empty feel, like the dorms in late May. Everyone is busy finishing up summer. It's hot, too, really too hot to go out and waste time, unless it's at the pool. We spend a lot of time at the pool. I wish we were going on vacation, but with Billy still so young, it would be work than play. Next summer--or autumn. I don't fear the wrath of school administrators. My vacations are educational. Always.

Not everyone is leaving for vacation. We're here. The Sudlanders didn't go anywhere this summer that I can recall. Many of us are around. We're just hiding from the heat inside our red brick ovens.

48/365 Block Party Evening

47/365 More Block Party

46/365 Block Party: A Few Photos

45/365 How My Garden Grows

I never know what to expect from my garden. I have a typical urban yard, postage stamp sized, really not much bigger in the back than the footprint of the house itself. 30 feet wide (I know from my water bill) but I don't know the length.

But this has happily limited me in the past. I can only do so much gardening in a space like this, plus there's the 80 year old magnolia tree, and the silver-red hybrid maple, and the baby scarlet oak, and there used to be a mulberry. Lots of squirrels, not a lot of sun. So I grew Russian tomatoes that had a short season (due to their winter), and they grew over a long season of shade for me. Beautiful tomatoes the years I got them. Think of a store bought tomato. Now think of a homegrown one, and the difference between them. Take that same amount of difference, and Russian black tomatoes are that much further along the scale from homegrown.

As you can see from the first slide here, there are some plants that are quite easy to grow and produce a large yield--garlic and basil being the very best in my yard. There are others that require lots of care and do not give much in return, like potatoes and most squash plants. Also, in a city garden, "ease of growing" includes how much space--some plants are easy to grow (pumpkins) but require the whole danged yard.
Usually cucumbers are in quadrant III as well--low yield, hard to grow. Always something puzzling about that family of plants. This year, however, they've had an astounding yield for me. Embarrassing amounts of cucumbers--I switched to a hybrid and frankly, I'll never switch back. I'll keep the heirloom tomatoes but those older cucumbers do not stand up to the weird bugs in my yard. And I don't spray, so if there are bad bugs, we succumb.

But yield is only half the picture in a city garden. Yes, it is very satisfying to have basil coming out of our ears, but if basil wasn't also absolutely awesomely tasty in all ways, it wouldn't be as worth it. So this second slide demonstrates ease of growing vs. tastiness. Note the red y = -x line. Anything on top of that line, I will continue to try. Anything below has proven itself unworthy.

44/365 Sleepover Breakfast Menu

Sliced watermelon
Mini-bagels
Deer Sausage
Ice water

43/365 Spend the Night

Fiona creeps into the kitchen during a break from Lego Batman, the game du jour around here. As summer wanes, I'm caring less about screen time limits. Fry your brains, kids, because life is short and school starts in 3 short weeks.

She creeps into the kitchen and sidles up next to me. "Can Bree stay the night?" she whispers.

I give the requisite Mom Sigh. I'm making leftovers, disguised as quiche, for supper. That's not a problem, but adding another person to the guest list means sitting in the dining room instead of huddled around the kitchen table. Lazy me, I almost say no, but then reconsider.

"Sure," I tell her. "But after dinner."

Bree calls home and negotiates. Getting off the phone, she tells me it's fine, but she has to be in bed by 9:30 and lights off by 10. Fine with me, I think, that will be early for my girls this week...