FundyNutter

I’ve made special little Valentine’s day gifts this year for my girls. The finished versions are sweet little doll crib pillows. I spent a fun day and a half with my needle and thread. The embroidery pattern was a freebie from the wonderful artist Gretchen at her blog boulieblog.wordpress.com. She has a few other wonderful freebies just waiting to be used as well as links to her work on etsy et al.

The best part was I had perfectly matching fabric for the ruffle and back of the pillows. My wonderful Krista gave me an envelope of random fabric a few years ago. These peices started as fat quarters and were half gone so I must have used some of it elsewhere. But there was just enough left and the colors couldn’t have been a better match. When I get myself together enough I’ll snap a picture of the finished product and share that too.

When Adam James was born a couple of months ago his big brothers came and stayed a night at our house. It thrilled Norah and Lucy, we had a big waffle breakfast and a nice long chat with their daddy while their Mamma rested in the hospital. All around it was more social activity that we generally get in a month. It was exciting and fun and we all had a brilliant time.  And yet, their momma and daddy felt like we had done them a favor and wanted to say thanks.

They gave us a gift certificate to a restuarant a couple blocks away, and strict instructions to use it without the kids.

!!

This is a thing we haven’t done since October. Okay, so a couple of weeks ago we went to a meeting together and had a coffee afterwards.  But a proper date, meant to reconnect us and get us romantic? Not since October,

The gift card is generous enough that we should be able to imbibe a drink each, with our dinners.  And my parents are coming to watch the kids and put them to bed.  We don’t have to pay them.

And the restaurant is just down the street. So we don’t have to drive. We can stroll. And when we are done, we can stroll home through the twilight, taking our time.

And Daniel has today and tomorrow off.

I love it when my friends have babies.

I grumbled and fussed and trudged my way over to Walmart just the other day. I was after some boxes for our closet, a vinyl table cloth, and shoes for the kids.  I thought I did the shoes for the kids trip months ago with my mom. I was at target and picked out some cute brown lace up converse type shoes.  Then grandma showed the girls the white and pink shoess, which the preferred by a landslide. Now, it is my own fault, I bought the pink and white shoes. But I am paying for it now, I am constantly washing their shoes.  These were supposed to be their summer play outside shoes.  So the washing thing is getting under my skin.

After finding the boxes and table cloth and some other hodge podge we wandered down to the shoe aisle.  There weren’t many that I liked. The cheap foam shoes were cheap and foamy. The big sneakers were heavy and expensive. The sandals all seemed to have glitter and high heals.  My mind wandered to Norah’s lack of shorts too. I wondered if we needed to go another aisle down and get summer clothes.  I didn’t want to though.

Norah and Lucy were both very patient. They were both very sweet. No tantrums, no whining. But Norah really wanted to the light up Care Bear sneakers.  $14.95. No way. Besides which, they looked too hot for summer, and were white and pink. Not the best match for her heavy on red wardrobe.

The super-sports that are my kids were honestly thrilled with the $5 foamy shoes (you know, those croc style cheapo’s) that we picked. Lucy only ever wants to wear her purple shoes now and on her very own Norah picked the navy blue which coordinate exactly the way I wanted them too and can handle some mud pie making.

Then came Sunday.  My patron, my friend, the woman who blesses us continuously with her handmedowns nabbed me during break. “Traci!!” she cried out. “I have a huge bag of clothes for you!”

She ran out to her car and came back with a huge sack, bigger than both my kids together.

I sorted all of the clothes yesterday. I would say I sorted them through my happy tears, but I was actually too happy for tears. I sorted them, beaming at the world.  From the bag I pulled a whole box worth of realy nice fall clothes for Norah’s first year of preschool. Also, there was a whole summers wardrobe worth of shorts and t-shirts for my growing, almost four year old.   There was a Minnie Mouse hat perfect for Lucy, and a Hawaiian print dress for her.  Both were delightful surprises for my wee girl.  We got our two year old sized handmedowns from this friend years ago. I didn’t expect to find something for both sweeties.

In the category of blessing or curse, there was a Wiggles singalong microphone in the bag too.  It’s caused more contention than any other toy we own, so I guess its a big hit.

And in that bag was one big, unquestionable blessing. A gift of grace for a little girl who was nice about blue foamy shoes when she really wanted something else. You got it.  Care Bear Light up sneakers, exactly her size.

I don’t know why God is so kind to my family.  But I know how I am supposed to respond to such kindness. With thankfulness, worship, and generosity to the world around me.

I have a friend who is ready to move to “the next house.” Their starter house is really lovely and they’ve taken good care of it. They aren’t space greedy, really, but daddy and mommy need an office. For most families, I figger a corner for the pc and a box for paperwork is probably enough. But there are families like my friends, who need an office. He works from home frequently, when on call and they both do hours and hours of volunteer work that takes spreadsheets and emails and things. And since she just delivered her third son, they really have outgrown their 1000 square feet.

They are hard core followers of Dave Ramsey, so I trust most of their decisions on the move will be fundy-approved.

Except that my friend said something crazy the other day. Maybe she is still addled from pregnant/nursing horomones…

I was telling her there were tons of for sale signs in a neighborhood I know she’d like to move to. We were both excited about it (that neighborhood is about a mile from me, so I may have been even more excited than she was.) And then she said: “I hate to live that close to Mill Plain, but we can probably avoid driving it, if we are careful.”

Avoid driving on Mill Plain Boulevard? I was flabergasted, but didn’t let on. I can’t imagine not wanting to drive on Mill Plain. Even if I lived out in the country, when I got to town I would want to drive on Mill Plain.

Mill Plain Boulevard is the main artery that divides Vancouver into North and South. In it’s infancy, Vancouver was a tiny little town and so Mill plain is about three miles up a steep ridge to the North of the Columbia River.Vancouver has reached its gangly adolescence, the southern half of the town is still just the three-ish mile stretch between the river and the Boulevard. The Northern half reaches about 15 miles into the adjacent country side.At the farthest East Mill Plain is a alley through some feilds, a path into a new town, the only idea that the suburban desert of Vancouver exists is the shiny new Wal Mart that pops out of the land like a veruca.

Mill Plain travels through the eastern part of town, areas loving called Hearthwood, Cascade Park and the Desireable the Heights Neighborhood. Okay, only realtors call it the Desirable the Heights Neighborhood, but I live there, so I like it. It’s delightfully hopeful and ironic for such a 1960’s ranch house mushroom patch.

In the East, Mill Plain takes you past the hobbyists airport, the Fred Meyer where Daniel bought my replacement wedding ring, our church with its new minty green building almost finished. It takes you past the hospital with the new shiny towers and waterfall tucked into the courtyard. And then, look quick to your left, Our House! The green one! Just a block south in tDtHN. Mill Plain also takes you past the other cemetery.

But that’s just where it goes on this half of town. What it is is also wonderful. It is a shady boulevard divided regularly with wide planters. There are giant pines in the middle of Mill Plain that litter the road with pine cones. Pine cone litter! How Northwest! Huge glossy laurels and those shrubs that are kind of like laurels but with leaves that turn red and camelias and miniture firs seem to make up the rest of the dividers. Some of the roadsides are planted like the dividers. But other stretches are filled with tidy homes and charming businesses. My Lucy’s favorite is the spa and stove store with the frog sliding down water slide. It’s not a sign so much as a celebration; its a giant plyboard cut out like one would see at a real carny’s carnival.

I know that my friend dislikes Mill Plain for its traffic. (She’s from that other town where the new Wal Mart just sprung up.) But…for a four and five, even six lane road in spots, it is easygoing traffic. I’ve made my fair share of unprotected left turns on Mill Plain and have never had to wait for than half a minute. Not too bad, for such a big road. And the traffic itself never disappoints. I see at least three Prius’s every time I go out. And plenty of those Honda Elements that I think are so cute. On Monday I even saw my personal favorite, someone’s beloved Tin Lizzy shining like it was going to a party on the West Egg.

Mill Plain is a great drive for what it is, what drives on it, and where it goes. The East side of town is just the beginning of the good stuff. Not long after Mill Plain passes the other cemetery it goes steeply down, a hill that proves the name the Heights is appropriate. At the bottom of the hill we mostly leave the 1960’s and their ranch dreams behind and enter the world of front porch homes. Homes with character and charm. Also the International Air Acadamy, now offering a course in hospitality and catering. To the right, or north if you prefer, is the Blind Onion Pizza Shop. The second best pizza in town.

A great evergreen shrouded high school and its park, the library and public utilities all appear right before we get downtown. And then–Down Town.

There are a handful of legitimate business. A giant Hilton Hotel and convention center, a truly beautiful park, one charming antiques and collectibles shopping area. That gym I joined for a month is in that area. Down town is freckled with galleries that nurture local artists. The rest of it seems to be bail bond venders, trial lawyers and pawn shops. But on the weekend when the farmers market springs up out of the moist pavement none of the darker business of down town seem to exist. Booth after booth of wholesome food fresh flowers and artists distract even from the high rise buildings with their banking concerns and money granting foundations.

Down town peters out into more old houses, a little dilapidated, some, but all charming.And then Mill Plain finds itself where heavy industrial work and farming meet to discuss the future. It’s called Fruit Valley and it is where I brought both of my babies home. Our house is tucked into the neighborhood, safe and cozy with tiny homes of its kind, politely ignoring the plastic works plant, the heater makers, and that place where they wash the chemical protectant stuff off of the cars as they come land-side from their long barge ride.

Mill Plain ends here, physically, but in spirit it continues, the name is different at this place, but the road goes on, just a bit more, to the great slimy and toxic mess that is Vancouver Lake. If you walk to the lake from my old barrio, instead of driving Mill Plain, you will walk through the fruit farms and the hunting ground. They grow all kinds of berries and fruit in the farm land and shoot, I think, just birds in the hunting approved area.

But no matter which way you take to the lake you shouldn’t swim in it. It is a man made lake, with insufficient outlet to filter the fertilizers from the farm land. And the toxic red algae loves that fertilizer. So swimmers are cautioned to wash immediately after touching the water.

Driving down Mill Plain to the lake is the perfect way to see it. The park is lovely and the waters shiny, but you are safe from the toxicity. And if it is one of the Prius families driving they aren’t adding to the toxicity of the event either.

I don’t see why my friend would want to avoid all of that. I’ll go with Mill Plain anywhere it will take me.

Our children’s programming, like most, is free to us on public broadcast TV. A few kind, generous souls and foundations that must, for tax purposes, be kind and generous also help.

My kids especially love Super Why, Dragon Tales and Sesame Street. Those shows don’t make me gag, so they get to watch them.

And who do I have to thank? The anesthesiologists at a local hospital.

Every time their adorable little frog logo pops up on the TV screen I think “what a nice bunch of folks!” I imagine that a group of anesthesiologists who would get together and contribute to children’s television programming would also host fabulous family picnics and never forget a co-workers birthday.

These people are not the pediatric oncologists. They aren’t the cardiologists. They aren’t the hero doctors getting glory for saving lives. They aren’t the plastic surgeons who want to stay top of mind to keep their market share.

They are anesthesiologist. They are the kind, kind people who put a needle in my back twice so that I could give birth with a humane level of pain. Faced with the myriad choices for medically minded career people–some with better pay , some with worse–these folks decided to do the job that made people feel better. They are pain relievers by nature. Comforters. And in my region of some three million people, only the anesthesiologists and one local plant nursery have given significant money to children’s programming.

The anesthesiologists at Legacy Hospitals are of the select few, kind, generous folks who daily make the world a better place for sick people and small kids. (Perhaps their union organized the donation…if so, they are the only union that did!)

Thanks!

I like to garden. I like to garden with my kids. I like to help people, especially when that help is the oh so American teaching-folks-to-fish-with-their-own-bootstraps kind of help.

I really like these Seed Ballz. I saw them on TV this morning and thought it was worth blogging about. The product is a charming packet full of smalls balls of dirt with seeds in them. You can prepare your soil and then just sprinkle the Seed Ballz over the top. The birds can’t eat your seeds, the seeds won’t blow away, and even a one year old can plant balls full of seeds.

But the thing that takes them out of the “ordinary cool” category and into the “I should blog that!” category is how they are made. I couldn’t find a website with their story on it, so I will just post what I heard, which was a cursory introduction, and not in detail.

Seed Ballz, the company, employs developmentally disabled adults to create their product. The ballz are hand mixed and hand rolled much like making cookie dough. Adults whose opportunity to support themselves was previously limited by ability can now do so by working with a local company that respects them. I know I would like to be able to do that.

When compared to the pride and self respect that providing for yourself brings, this third point is just a small thing. But it is always nice to find innovative and simple products made locally.

I can’t wait to buy some for next springs flower garden.

http://www.kaboodle.com/reviews/drop-grow-seed-ballz (that’s a place you can read about and buy Seed Ballz for your own garden.)