All I'm Saying there's a joke in here somewhere

This will only be funny to people who have watched "Napoleon Dynamite" more than once. Just so you're forewarned...

Matt and Freya and I went to Baja Fresh for lunch. I ordered carnitas soft tacos, and Matt ordered a "chicken kessa-dilla." Not a "quesa-deeya," a "kessa-dilla." He totally didn't mean to do it, either.

I about fell over laughing. The woman behind the counter thought it was pretty funny too, though maybe that was just because she was clearly Spanish-speaking and didn't realize that my husband's brain was taken over by having watched "ND" about thirty times since it came out on video.

I had a powerful hankerin' for pancakes for dinner tonight, so I invited my best boyfriend and Freya to Cracker Barrel to eat. (That's Matt, in case you were wondering.) Cracker Barrel is something--I think they call it that, not because of any hardened bread product that once came in a keg, but because of the clientele.

I offered Freya a piece of syrup-less pancake, which she disdained. We did discover that she's a real fan of bacon, which makes her a true grand-daughter to my dad. That man has a love of high-cholesterol foods like I have never known. When I was a kid, I'd watch him sit down with a pack of saltines (more crackers!) and a stick of butter, and go through both items--a pat of butter on a saltine, repeat, repeat, repeat. Urgh.

Anyway, I never fail to get good people-watching at Cracker Barrel. It's a lot like airports in that regard.

It is so hard to blog when the weather is nice. That's why I'm here today--it is overcast and cruddy looking.

We've been taking our dog on a few walks in the evenings, and Freya is spending a lot of time in the yard watching our tulips coming up, the trees budding out, and shredding old leaves that she's finding on the ground. She's a very effective mulcher.

We are planning on putting in a garden this year--our first--using the principles of Square Foot Gardening, which says that you can plant more, harvest more and work less by putting plants in 4' x 4' beds divided into one-foot squares. I'm waiting for my in-laws (aka, "Elderly Slave Laborers") to get here in April so that we can build the beds and start planting. They're pretty expert gardeners, so we're going to tap into that knowledge.

We are also setting up a rain barrel to catch run-off that otherwise goes into our storm drains, and instead using it to water the garden. And our plan for today is to go scrounging for wooden pallets so that we can build a composting bin. Aren't I all organic and earthy?

Part of the impetus to get down on the farm is to teach Freya about green, growing things and start instilling an appreciation for nature in her. We'd hate to have her turn into a little couch potato, so we plan to teach her to grow potatoes instead. (In a wooden barrel! I can't wait!) Part of the drive is so that we can have fresh veggies when we want them. Part of it is to go easier on the planet by taking some hopefully easy steps to reduce the amount of packaging we use, recycle our yard clippings and food waste, and put some oxygen back into the air with our growing things. Every little bit helps, right?

Springy-green wishes to all of you!

Freya and I were walking down to get the mail the other evening, and passed a pack of junior high kids who live in the neighborhood. They were playing a half-assed game of football in the street--girls against boys, by the look of it. As I walked past, one of the boys sang out, "Shot to the heart, and you're to blame..." and the other finished, "You give love a bad name!"

I started cracking up. They got that embarassed look adolescents get when they think they may not be as cool as they thought. I said, "Oh my God, you guys. That song was popular when I was in junior high, and do you know how long ago that was?"

One of the boys said, "Uh...a long time?" I said, "Yeah. For. EV. Er."

And now you, like me, can thank my neighbor kids for that song being stuck in your heads.

Yep, Freya's a genius. She just strung together her first two-word phrase. Our dog's name is Grover, and Freya started calling him, "Gro-ger doggie" today. Genius!

Which offsets the fact that I am extremely pissed about a report from a good friend today. Her son watched Freya while Matt and I went out to dinner this weekend, and she did great with him. My friend overheard two coworkers of ours rehashing a baby shower that I co-hostessed a couple weekends ago. Woman A (who was at the shower) was telling Woman B (who wasn't) that the other hostess's son was so outgoing and sociable, but, "Freya was just so attached to her mom and wouldn't leave her side." Woman B, who is sensible and in my good graces, said, "Oh, babies are just different that way." And Woman A replied, "Yeah, but for two whole hours?" As though Freya, who was tired and hungry by the end of the shower, should have sacrificed her extremely good social sense in NOT going to that crone--she should have thrown her instincts to the wind and let herself be picked up by someone she didn't trust? I think not.

Again, Freya is a genius, as demonstrated by her selection of associates.

Yesterday was Matt's and my fifth wedding anniversary. We got married on St. Patrick's Day, 2002 in Las Vegas. Some of you were there. (Okay, Leilani was there.) It was a nice ceremony, with Matt's brother and two sisters singing John Hiatt's "Have a Little Faith in Me," as I walked down the aisle.

We celebrated yesterday with Matt taking the day off, and we went to a yard sale. Woo. We also went and had family pictures taken, the final session in Freya's one-year portrait series. I'll be posting a link for your perusal and comments later this week. Finally, we dropped Freya off with a friend's 12 year old son for babysitting, and we went to The Cottonwood Grille, which is right on the Greenbelt in Boise. We've walked past it a number of times, heard good things from friends about it, and finally decided it was time to go. We started with a platter of assorted cheeses (I could identify chevre', blue cheese and marinated mozzarella), meats (prosciutto, smoked salmon and a really great salami) and apples, strawberries and grapes. Then Matt had monkfish ("poor man's lobster," according to the menu) with oyster sauce, sweet potatoes, rice and green beans. He was in heaven. I had pan fried scallops with a saffron cream sauce and linguini. I wasn't particularly impressed, unfortunately. But then we ordered dessert, and hogs that we are, we didn't bother to split one between us. Matt got this sort of tower-like chocolate cake with ice cream, and I had raspberry creme brulee'. We decided there was probably a happy pyromaniac with a teeny blow torch in the kitchen who got incredibly excited every time someone ordered creme brulee--and that hard, sugary topping is so definitely the best part. Anyway, I give the restaurant an 8 out of 10.

On the way back to pick Freya up, we passed the mall. There were tons of people there, even at 7:30, and Matt said, "God, they must be giving shit away."

I said, "They can have some of mine."

Matt replied, "..." then followed it up with, "That's why I married you--comments like that. Five long years of comments like that."

Who else would have me, I ask you?

We were down at the green space in our subdivision last night, throwing the ball for the dog. One of the neighborhood kids, who appeared to be about six or seven, jumped his backyard fence (leaving his two little brothers adrift on the trampoline), and came over to throw the ball for Grover.

Keep in mind we'd never met this kid before--his mom stuck her head out the back-door to keep an eye on him now and then, but didn't really interfere with him socializing with strangers.

His name was Tony, and he explained to us why he didn't have a dog of his own. "My little brother is allergic to dogs," he said. "And my dad is allergic to all mammals."

Oh. Okay.

The rest of the trip went by pretty fast, and we also neglected to take any pictures of the whole Albuquerque-Denver-Boise leg. We had intended to spend two full days in Denver visiting Matt's sister, but we got screwed over by a high-wind/snowstorm weather event and ended up leaving early. I'm positive there was a negative impact to the Denver economy, as we had intended on lots of retail therapy during that time. It still gripes me that, the one day we did go shopping, Matt was able to find a pair of Keen hiking boots for 45% off, and yet the pair of shoes that I wanted were not available in my size. Then he had the nerve to walk around saying, "These might be the most comfortable shoes I've ever owned!" He doesn't realize that it is downright WRONG for a man to get shoes when a woman goes without.

One brief observation about our trip through Wyoming: it is a real shithole. I've been working on that opinion for a lot of years, but it really emphasized itself when I ended up having to change Freya's diaper on the floor of two different public restrooms because no one in Wyoming has heard of a damn changing station. I was more than a little pissed, and when it was my turn to drive, did about 85-90 out of that state. Utah, for all its weirdness and people wearing ugly white jammies under their normal clothes, at least had plenty of changing stations around. (Can't imagine why.)

We hit crap weather again across southern Idaho, but made it back safe and sound. We put 3250 miles on my car--what an epic journey! It was a great trip--Freya's first big one--and yet we were all awfully glad to be home.

Where is the damn Schwan's man?! This is his night to show up, and he's late. And we're completely out of mint chocolate chip cones!

How bad is it that I can tell by ear when he turns on to our street?

Despite the fact that we've been home for 2 weeks, the travelogue continues!

We left Albuquerque on our second day there to take a day trip to Santa Fe. A friend of Matt's had given us a list of must-see places there (particularly restaurants, my favorite), so we headed for the Old Plaza and the Palace of the Governors.

The area is just riddled with chi-chi shops asking ungodly amounts of money for some of the ugliest crap you've ever seen. There are places with to-die-for stuff too, and some great galleries. I'm not sure if you'll recall my heartache at the high prices at The Heard Museum while we were in Phoenix, but I left there with a feeling that the right item was still out there for me. I found it in Santa Fe.

As we were strolling along, we noticed that the Palace of the Governors had quite a few Native American artisans lined up along its promenade. We walked over, and there was the Navajo storyteller I had been looking for. We spoke to the artisan, Caroline Sando, and she makes all of the pottery and paints herself, and uses natural vegetable dyes in the paint. She made us a great deal, and so Freya now has a storyteller on a shelf. She'll probably be 20 before I let her touch it, for fear of breakage. I also got a beautiful sterling silver hair-clip in the shape of a feather, made by Jerry Nelson, a Navajo silversmith. What a day!

Freya really liked walking around the streets with us. She got a million smiles from people--I think it is hard for folks not to get a grin from watching our little peanut walking along, holding on to Mommy & Daddy's fingers.

Dear Scootie-Bug:

You turned thirteen months old yesterday! You're a full month into your second year. Every day brings so many new discoveries for you. You can now make the noises of a dog (you pant), a monkey (you go "ooo ooo"), a duck ("cacacacak") and a cow ("mmmmoo"). Beyond what you can say, you understand soooo many words. I just asked you, "Where's your school bus?" in an attempt to get you to entertain yourself a while longer, and you went right over to your Little People school bus toy and are now sitting on the floor loading the Little People kids on and off the bus. What a genius!

That's probably why your head is so big. You're in the 90th percentile for the diameter of your noggin. That's a contrast to the 25th percentile for height and weight. Don't worry--you don't look out of proportion. And by way of comparison, I checked my own baby book and I was just about exactly the same size you are when I was your age. I'd venture to say I'm in the 90th percentile in height (maybe not weight...hopefully) for 32 year-old women. I think you'll turn out just fine, sweetie.

Your favorite activity is still reading books--in fact, we've aready read two of them as I a trying to type this. You're not terribly interested in solid foods yet, but you do love bananas, raisins and orange juice. But you're still mainly interested in nusing. People are asking me about your sleep habits and whether you're sleeping through the night yet. I admit that you aren't--you still wake several times a night to nurse, and then you fall right back to sleep again. You'll get there when you're ready.

You're a little wonder and we couldn't love you more, though we actually end up loving you more every day. It's not an oxymoron--you'll find out when you have a little one of your own.

All my love,
Mommy

The morning of February 19 was the one where Freya woke me up at 5:30 a.m. in Grants, New Mexico, by barfing into my bra. It was an inauspicious start, but the day slowly got better. We were only a couple of hours from my brother's house, so we knew that we could get her there with a minimum of stress, and then we could take it easy and see how she was doing.

We took it slow and easy, and she seemed fully recovered. We made it to ABQ, started doing some laundry, and got a call from my brother that he wouldn't be home until late that night. (Thank heaven he'd left us a key, or we'd have been screwed.) That afternoon, we decided Freya was ready for a little field trip and we went to Petroglyph National Monument, which is oddly located, in that it is right in the middle of an Albuquerque suburb. It's a smallish-sized canyon, and the dark rocks have had some pretty neat images picked into them by people over the last thousand years-ish. (Up to and including the "Late Hippie Period," as a park ranger noted.)

Freya got really independent here at the monument. She wanted to get down and walk, and she wanted to do it in the worst, most broken and difficult terrain possible. As you can see below, we figured it was easier to let her try than it was to hold on to a struggling toddler.

And since she just fell and bonked in real life and is pretty pissed, I'd better wrap this up...

To answer my own random questions below:

Samoas are my favorite Girl Scout cookies by a mile, then Thin Mints, then Tagalongs.

I absolutely always sit. Having had to clean outhouses for a living made me a life-long foe of the hover-er. Someone has to clean up your pee splatter! If you must hover, please tidy behind yourself.

We left Flagstaff and headed across the eastern part of Arizona, making our way toward Albuquerque. Had it not been for the fact that Freya had just fallen asleep, we'd have stopped at Standin' on the Corner Park in Winslow, Arizona. Oh well, maybe next time.

As it was, we managed to get a kitsch-fix by stopping in Holbrook, AZ at a Safeway right across from this popular Route 66 landmark, the Wigwam Hotel:

We continued on past Holbrook to Petrified Forest National Park. I'd really been looking forward to this one, since I had visualized some of the trees actually still standing. Not so. Turns out the wood is all from an ancient forest that was caught up in some kind of huge movement of water (or mudslide), and was then carried down from the mountains to this alluvial-type of plain, where the mud and silicates filled up the cells of the trees which, over the course of a whole lot of time, resulted in their petrification. Basically, it is a whole bunch of logs turned into stone.

Unfortunately, we discovered after the first hour or so that all petrified wood looks pretty much the same. I would recommend that the casual visitor doesn't linger a whole lot longer than that.

What is your favorite kind of Girl Scout cookie?

When you go into a public restroom, do you sit on the seat, or do you hover? (I think this one may just be for the girls.)

On our way from Phoenix to Flagstaff, we stopped at Montezuma Castle National Monument, which is a Sinagua-culture cliff dwelling, and as you can see, it is spectacular. It evidently housed about 70 people at a time.

The cliffs around the dwelling are very steep, and I guess ladders were used to get in and out of the place. I'd have felt a tiny bit better about raising a toddler in this dwelling. At least there were walls to keep the little buggers in, though I'd hate to try to get a squirmy kid up one of those ladders.