Color of the day

Knitting has recently become somewhat compulsive for me-- partly because I wanted to finish a lot of Xmas knitting and partly now force of habit. I hardly read anything... It took a month to finish the last book I read and the magazines languish next to the couch sometimes for months before being touched. (This changed a little yesterday when Katrina showed up at my house with EZ's Knitter's Almanac which I almost finished before bed last night, so I guess the reading just needs to be about knitting, too.) Anyway, here's what's on the needles, or recently off of them:

My cousin sent me two skeins of wool that I decided to turn into arm warmers. Normally, I would knit these from the bottom up, but since I wanted to use the whole skein and not knit a thumb, I went from the top down, left a thumb hole, and knit until I ran out of wool, so they are a nice elbow length. However, I can't decide what I think of the colorway. It isn't really me. And it keeps making me think of Trix in chocolate milk. The jury's still out.

This is the cowl that I designed as a store pattern. It is a feather and fan stitch pattern that makes little scallops. Even though I designed the pattern, I am still not following it properly because I didn't want it to be as wide as the original one I made. So I left out one pattern repeat. I'm not sure why I'm making this since i didn't really enjoy making it last time, but the result is nice and it's an easy project to keep in my purse for emergency knitting.

And here are the socks I started yesterday. I love my brown mary janes, but all my socks are too brightly colored and clash, so I'm making this neutral stripe. Not very exciting, but functional.

And this little lovely is the unbearably soft alpaca yarn my mother gave me for Xmas as part of a shawl kit. I have never made a shawl, but was thinking about it, and now the decision has been very nicely and luxuriously made for me. Can't wait to get this one on the needles. I just need to get the needles first...

And since I'm quite sure you've seen enough brown today...

These are the arm warmers I designed for Kaci. It was hard to part with them. She always signs her emails with X's and O's so I used this cable to represent that. It isn't a true x and o cable, but I liked it.

Unfortunately, though, I was in such a rush to wrap gifts that you will just have to imagine the felted pouch I made for Christine and the headband I made for Amanda (both my design) and the hat, scarf and skirt set I made for Lydia's American Girl dolls.

Longest day

Today I:

• got up and helped hustle the boys out the door.
• wasted the hour and a half I had to myself doing laundry so Sebastian wouldn't have to go to school pantsless tomorrow.
• went to work.
• had Dorian dropped off at work where I somehow managed to keep him occupied and do my job for 4 hours.
• was hit on by a drunk man who also asked me if I sold anything alcoholic at a yarn store.
• came home for 5 minutes to find 2 messages from the school about how Sebastian thought Christine was picking him up at school instead of the bus stop like I told him 20 times and could I call them to let them know whether to put him on the bus. (No, I can't because now it is 4:50pm.)
• found out he was with Christine and had taken the bus like he was supposed to.
• went to the last of a series of parenting classes I've been attending where I could at least sit down and eat a pizza I didn't have to cook myself and have someone else watch the kids.
• brought the smelly boys home for a bath while I folded the laundry.
• read aloud another chapter in Ralph S. Mouse, a book that just isn't doing it for me but is almost done, thank god.
• put those kids to bed. (Fingers crossed that Sebastian actually sleeps after a cup of caffeinated root beer-- thank you very much, babysitters.)
• collapsed on the couch.

Good night.

This town is full of nuts

I love my house. I really do. And I love that we have a biggish yard. What I don't love is that our yard is right at the corner, totally exposed to any crackpot passing by, or, you know, living across the street. If it isn't one of the TP-less neighbor children begging to come over, then it's the woman who throws all her snow back out into the newly plowed street hollering to me from 50 feet away about my garden.

Well, now I've met a new crazy who is chockful of information he is more than happy to share with me. After a rousing game of "soccer" yesterday, the boys were playing on the ice pile next to the porch while I dug in the garden. I can't help it. The spring fever has me in its deadly grippe. Suddenly, I hear a voice announce something about "little daredevils" and turn to see a guy I can only vaguely describe as a Caucasian male, 16-30, wearing a hat and child-size backpack. We'll call him "Shaun"-- mostly because that is what he later told us his name was.

I sort of smirk and go back to my digging, but he continues to lurk around at the end of my walk, finally asking if I am working on a garden and offering me "tips to grow the perfect garden." I politely demure, and again go back to digging, avoiding the lingering snow piles. At this point, he seems to have gotten the point and walks across the street to the corner where he removes a red lighter from his pocket, drops it in the gutter, and kicks it down the sewer grate. I shake my head, jam the shovel into the dirt, and hear him yell, "Hey! You know your ball is way over here?" "Yes, thank you." The ball was about 5 feet from the sidewalk, still in our yard, minding its own pink swirly business.

I turn my back, dig, and hear the sound of the ball being kicked and hitting the telephone pole support wires in the corner of our yard. I look up to see him running back from the street to put the ball back pretty much where he found it. "I'm putting your ball back here because it blew into the street." I sigh and tell the kids they have 5 minutes left until we go inside, hoping against hope that they will stay where they are and not engage this man-boy in any way.

Ha! They of course hear the 5 minute warning as an invitation to run around the front of the house to roll around on a different ice pile right where the sidewalk should be. I kick the dirt clods off the shovel, lean it against the house, and go around the corner to see Shaun now lingering near the snow. "Dorian, please move away from the street," I call just as he rolls off the snow into the road. Shaun picks him up and deposits him back on the snow and gives the kids various warnings about the many dangers of snow and ice while Dorian yelps excitedly, "The man helped me up, Mama!" and Sebastian says, "Thanks for the advice, sir." "You can call me 'Shaun'-- 'sir' is my father's name."

Then, he starts asking the kids their names. "Where did you get the name 'Dorian'?" I don't know why I said it, because it isn't even true, but I mentioned The Picture of Dorian Gray. He surprises me by asking if my Dorian is two-faced, thereby displaying some knowledge of the story. I told him not yet and gave the kids the one minute warning. Then he asks if I know why Dorian Gray was inhuman. "Why's that?" His answer involved a voodoo woman, among other things, immediately shattering my briefly high opinion of him.

I inform the children the time has come to go inside, and after a cheery goodbye, Shaun vanished as mysteriously as he appeared.

Reading aloud

I am not going to talk about how we had 3 inches of heavy, wet snow and a 2 hour school delay yesterday. No, I'm not.

I am going to tell you about the awesome book we've been reading. We have always read a lot in this house, by ourselves, together, quietly and aloud. Even Dorian is almost doing it by himself. Soon. But lately both kids have really been willing and able to enjoy longer chapter books read aloud. We all loved Matilda, everyone but me liked Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator*, and it was time to move on from Mr. Dahl.

Now we are reading a book Jeremy scored from a co-worker. It is Dominic by William Steig and it is totally awesome. I practically beg to read it to them and they never turn me down. The only problem is Jeremy needs to listen too, so we have to wait for him to come home. Anyway, it is about a dog named Dominic who decides to make his way in the world. He meets an alligator-witch, has run-ins with the Doomsday Gang and inherits a bunch of treasure... And we're only halfway through the book!

The only trouble I have with it is that it is full of what, in my family, we call "book words." You know, the sort of words that you read on a page, and you understand what they mean, but saying them aloud gets your tongue all twisted. My big one used to be "bougainvillea" and Jamie had a pronunciation of "archipelago" that still makes me giggle. So far in Dominic I have stumbled over both "adroit" and "reconnoiter" both of which have that French "oi" which I don't want to say all Trebekesque and ridiculously, but neither do I want to mispronounce. Looking it up in the dictionary didn't really help either.

*There was some seriously racist stuff that was really difficult for me to speak aloud. And that book was all over the place. Not his most cohesive work.

Can you have a tangent before you even start the story? I'm going to try. Totally unrelated to the rest of this is the fact that yesterday I wore shoes when I went outside. I know you are supposed to wear shoes. But listen. I wore shoes not boots. And not just any old shoes-- my maryjanes. So there, Winter!

Anyway, the only real connection here is that I bet Nic Sheff wears shoes, and at one point in the book he can't find one of his shoes, so there is the tenuous relationship for you.

Back in January, I read David Sheff's Beautiful Boy and you may recall my freaking out about kids and drug use. Well, last week I read his son Nic's account of his drug use in his book Tweak. His book was not as well written. The beginning felt rushed and, as I think is the case with a lot of young addicts, he comes off as very self-involved* and pretentious. But I was willing to look past all that to experience a bit of a rarity. It is not often that we are given the opportunity to hear both sides of a particular story through two memoirs. I also admit to loving a sordid story, so I was not about to pass this one up-- I just needed a little distance.

As I said, I read the father's version first, which I think was preferable because it gave me the chance to fill in the blanks later of what Nic was doing between those eagerly anticipated/dreaded phone calls to his dad. And I have to say that it must have been really hard for his father to read his son's story. His dad spent so much time worrying that he would get a call that his son was dead, but, in my opinion, what was really happening was far worse. I am not necessarily saying that I would rather my child were dead than a drug addict, but I would almost rather that than find out that he was prostituting himself for drug money, stealing from loved ones and having to dig stool pellets out of his body with his fingers because he had degraded himself so much.

Let us hope this does not happen in my house.

*Yes, I am aware this is a memoir I'm talking about.

"Lazy" weekend

For a change, we actually had absolutely no plans this weekend. No visitors, no birthday parties, no holidays, no urgent errands... what were we going to do with ourselves?

Well, a lot of hanging out, mostly. Saturday we took a break from the hanging out to go snowshoeing up Black Mountain, an event I hope to get the kids to blog about later. It took us almost 2 hours roundtrip and I ended up with the jelly legs. We played video games, the kids watched some Charlie & Lola, and we started reading Matilda by Roald Dahl. One chapter last night and everyone was hooked, so we have finished almost half the book today.

And after a bit of a hiatus, in which I finished another pixie hat (they're a bit addictive), I got back to work on the baby jacket. Six more rows to go, and the sleeves will be done. Then I will just have the making up and the collar to do, as well as getting and installing a zipper.

And, because we all know how fantastic my quilting skills are (ha ha), I started cutting out pieces for a new picnic quilt. I scored a bag of random gingham fabric, with some hearts and polka dots mixed in, at the thrift store a while ago for the low low price of $1. I have had in mind making a blanket for our frequent lake excursions and this batch of fabric seemed perfect. Of course, as I started cutting I was reminded of why I don't do piecework much. Namely, I apparently am incapable of cutting a straight line whether with scissors or a rotary cutter, and it's a lot of little goddamn pieces to make a big thing. We'll see where this ends up. But now that I have a table for my sewing machine, I do have a better chance of completing this project.

My new bible

At the used bookstore the other day, I broke down and purchased a book that I have referenced more than once while browsing. It is The Child From 5 to 10 by Gesell, and though I found it in the parenting section, it is really a child development text.

And it is what I have really needed all along.

I hate taking advice. I love to dole it out. But I hate to take it. And I really hate parenting books full of high-faluting ideas that obviously would not work in our house. Or they don't even cover the things I am concerned about or dealing with. Therefore, they mostly sit on the shelf unread or just plain don't live here. (The exception being How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk which is a very helpful book.)

What is awesome about this book is that

• It was written in 1946 and minimally updated in 1977.
• It spells out absolutely everything about children's behaviors.
• It makes practically everything seem normal.
• It helps me feel better about what is just a phase.
• There is no advice, just information.

I have had this problem from the start of both expecting too much of Sebastian because he is so articulate and of not knowing what was a phase and what was just his personality. It's easier with Dorian because, although they are very different, there are certain phases that all kids go through and I've already been through it once. I know they will not nurse all night forever, for example, which makes the time that they do more manageable. But everything we go through with Sebastian is the first time, and he is a few months older than most of his friends, so they get the benefit of my experience, but I have no one to help me.

So this book basically just laid it on the table for me that my child (hallelujah!) is normal. I love the old-fashioned wording. My new favorite statement is, "It is not an edifying experience to be at table with a 6 year old." It really cuts the tension. When I read that section on eating to Amanda, we just laughed and laughed. How is it that someone in 1946 was able to describe the behavior at our dinner tables so accurately?!

I think all of you with children of this age group really need to get a copy. For less than $5, you can have all the reassurance you need. Go on, click the link at the top. You'll be glad you did. (I'm talking to you, Katrina.)

Too much thinking

That Beautiful Boy book is haunting me more than a little. Especially after I googled his son and found out that he has relapsed since the books came out. And while it seemed obvious that this was going to be a problem indefinitely, I didn't like being affirmed in my assumption.

So after the much appreciated assurance from the cop's wife that meth is not a problem in our town (yet), I'm feeling a little better. But after all of Mr. Sheff's hyper analysis of his own parenting and how it might relate to his son's substance abuse, I can't help but worry. Because that is what I do. I worry. And I have now had several conversations about drugs and alcohol and what is appropriate to allow a child to use or experiment with and what you should or shouldn't admit to your children about your own experiences. Hence, the much more serious than normal poll.

So, what do you think? What should you tell kids? What should you allow? What did you tell or allow? What would you have done differently with your kids? Be honest. Be anonymous if you need to. I'm just curious.

So Busy I'm Dizzy

Well, that was a weekend!

Sebastian had a staggering 3 birthday parties to attend, one Saturday and 2 Monday. The Ape and the Clockwatcher came to visit with Arlo (seen here looking wistfully outside at the snow with Dorian). There was sledding and video gaming and chain restaurant food eating and radio show listening and gabbing. And after they headed back to NY on Monday morning, there was present wrapping and child chauffeuring.

I did also manage to do some reading, an activity woefully absent from my life in knitting season. I can't knit and read at the same time, so I mostly only keep up with the magazines in winter and save the books for summer. This arrangement does not please me much, but wool in the summer doesn't either. Anyway, I have been reading Beautiful Boy by David Scheff which is a memoir of dealing with his son's addiction. It is very well written, and therefore entirely devastating. I would also like to read his son Nic's book Tweak, but I may have to wait a little while. I have always been drawn to sordid stories of people's failings, but reading this story from the parent's perspective is heartrending. I can completely relate to the guilt, the second guessing, the denial that he experiences, but I hope that I never feel those emotions in the context he has to. It is hard to read about a child who sounds so like one of your own who grows up to be a lying, thieving drug addict. It terrifies me that this could be my future or the future of one of my friends. I'm sure it took a lot of courage to tell this story, and I imagine it would be helpful to anyone with an addict in the family. I would encourage you to read this, but I would advise a handy box of tissues.

Productive morning

Before we headed off to KidsPlayce today, I took a little inspiration from SouleMama and made some blank books for the kids to write in. I used up a few of the leftover wedding invitations and reply cards as the covers and then glued on some paper from various projects to cover up the words embossed on the front. I cut some white paper to size, folded it all and stapled the fold. Ta da! I can't wait to see what they write about. Sebastian's last book, My Little Book of Animusic, featured an "about the author" which said he had "illustrated many Emmy award winning books."

Sebastian and I also did a Cardio workout DVD. He chose the "I'm up for a challenge" option instead of "ease me into it" and then couldn't finish. But I did. In your face, 5 year old! I can still bring it!

Then, I finally got in some knitting while the kids played. I'm working on a charcoal gray panel of the big blanket and working it in a honeycomb stitch. It looks good so far, but wasn't really worth photographing.

Now, I just have to do a magnet experiment with the kids and make dinner so I can collapse on the couch. ANTM tonight! Who's your favorite so far? I'm a fan of Claire.

Readin'

I've managed to do a fair amount of reading recently. After an aborted attempt to read Reading Lolita in Tehran due to style issues, I started Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld. I was all prepared for a light read, but I was also prepared to be annoyed that a book about a teenage girl was being written by a man. But she's not a man, so it was fine.
The novel covers the entire boarding school career of Lee Fiona, a scholarship student from the Midwest trying to make her way with a bunch of East Coast uppity-ups.
This book was the embodiment of adolescence. Not only do I think she captured the feelings and reactions of your average teenager, but the entire book felt like I remember feeling. There was that atmosphere of nothing really happening in the grand scheme of the world, but everything was hyper important and required continual analysis. What did it mean that he leaned against her in the car?
At any rate, I was totally engrossed and didn't want to put the book down and spent lots of time trying to ignore the children so I could finish. I'm not claiming this will end up a classic work of literature, but it is an enjoyable read.

Right now, I'm reading My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell. It is his memoir of going with his family to live on the island of Corfu at age ten. I'm only 2 chapters in, but so far it is hilarious.
I'm also several chapters into Home Grown Kids by Raymond and Dorothy Moore. They propose that children shouldn't go to school unless it is absolutely necessary until they are 8 to 10 years old. They believe, based on research, that children need those early years at home to solidify their values before being with their age mates all day. Even though there is a fair amount of Christian talk about what "the Creator says," there is also a lot that I agree with. They are pro natural birth and breastfeeding, and for making children part of the household through doing chores and helping out, and for giving children alone time to engage in figuring things out for themselves and in fantasy play.

Cleaning up my act

I've realized over the last week that it is time yet again to shift my thinking regarding homeschooling and just plain old parenting. Those end of winter blues sent me spiraling into the cycle of yelling to get things done, upsetting the kids so they won't do anything, yelling some more because they still didn't do it. This, my friends, does not work. Not only can I not catch flies with my vinegar, I also cannot get the puzzle pieces cleaned up off the damn floor.

Part of the problem is Dorian's refusal to nap certain unexpected days. This throws me way off because our general schedule is to go out for the morning, come home for lunch, Dorian naps, and during that time Sebastian and I have quiet alone time, reading or knitting or using the computer. Dorian has zero concept of "quiet time" so if he isn't napping, he's still throwing things, hitting people with drumsticks, spilling colored pencils on the floor, etc.

The other part of the problem is my laziness. After corralling them in public all morning, I just want to ignore the little stinkers for an hour or two and have some time for myself. But as Dorian told me the other day, "You're not a person, you're Mama." Which, for better or worse, is true. I am Mama. Mama does not get a lunch break. Or a 401(k). Or business trips to Costa Rica. Due to Sebastian's balking at any type of "school at home" schedule, we have just been doing things when we feel like it, or if we think of it, or when I'm desperate.

I think this needs to change. We need to shake up our lives a little bit. I have embarked on a new plan that I hope will help. I know that I allow myself to get so focused on the fact that Dorian isn't napping and my annoyance therewith that I'm not doing anything positive to make the time better. So here's what's going to happen:

• We are still not going to use a specific curriculum, but I did order some books from the "Core Knowledge" series to get some ideas for topics to explore. These books come with the title What Your __ Grader Needs to Know. I ordered the 1st and 2nd grade ones even though Sebastian thinks he's in 3rd grade now. Maybe he is. What do I know? If these are too easy, we'll buy 3rd grade, too. Dorian will need to do 1st grade someday and we can always use them for him. You know, next month.
• I'm going to reread sections of How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk every two months or so to reinforce the positive parenting skills I have learned so I stop resorting to using the "Cranky Mommy" style that comes so naturally to me.
• I'm going to finally tackle what the kids call the "Wood Room"-- the room in our apartment with the linoleum floor that looks like wood and all the bookcases. It's time to pack up all the books relating to sex and drugs (but not the rock n roll ones). I'm going to set up that area better so we can actually find and use all the great resources we already own but are currently heaped up into piles that threaten to spill if you walk past them too fast. With all the running that happens in this house, it's a real issue.

Overall, we need to stop the end of winter, boredom induced craziness. This better work. If it doesn't, I'm not going to make it through Jeremy's April trip to Costa Rica alive.

Oh, Lolita, there's no one sweet-a

A while back, I read about a recall of beds called the "Lolita" marketed to young girls. The people in the company claimed never to have heard of, much less read Nabokov's Lolita, which happens to be one of my favorite books. This seemed absurd to me at the time, that not one person noticed that this just might be an inappropriate name for an 8 year old girl's bed. I'm guessing someone did and thought it was hilarious but opted not to say anything about it. This is my hope, anyway. Let's be honest, because of the book, the term "Lolita" crops up all the time in the media in reference to people like Britney Spears, characters in movies, etc. So I thought it completely ridiculous that they were so baffled.

Fast forward to Monday night exercise class. The class is held in a town about 5 miles away, but it may as well be 5 million. The women there are very, very nice but not very "with it." They know more about American Idol than I do (which isn't hard), but otherwise, they generally have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to culture, pop or otherwise. There is one woman in the class who I know reads a lot and based on our conversations I assumed that that meant quality as well as quantity. So, we're doing some evil leg lifts or something and she asks if I read a lot. My natural answer to this question feels like "no" because I'm lucky to finish a book a week, but knowing that is about 50 more books than the average person reads a year, I said "yes." So, she asked me what some of my favorites were so she could add them to her list of things to read. I said, "Well, I'm sure you've probably read most of my favorites." She asked again what they were. This was when I was shocked to discover that this college-educated woman not only hadn't read Lolita or My Antonia, but she had never even heard of the books or the authors. I was so saddened by this that I only suggested books that I imagined most people hadn't heard of, so I wouldn't be further disappointed. To her credit, she had read both Middlesex and The Namesake and thereby made me feel a little better about my original assessment of her.

What happened? I admit that most classics bore me to death, or at least tears, and not only have I not been able to finish a lot of them, but I've never even started most. But I still am aware that they exist and who wrote them and in which era they take place. Were these people never exposed to this information or did it matter so little to them at the time as to make absolutely no impression? Either option seems pretty disheartening to me.

A bit of this, a bit of that

• Thank you to those of you who have commented recently, especially about the school thing. I know that it is important to be prepared for as much as possible. Just ask Listmaker about the 5 Ps-- Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance. Or something like that. And that is generally my motto. I'm just concerned about children losing their innocence so quickly, and how soon they are inculcated with our society's fears, whether legitimate or not.
• Losing some sleep was completely worth giving the kids a great first sleepover experience. Following what I just said, it is important to me that my kids look back and remember the good times of childhood. I don't want them to have to grow up too quickly. I know that everyone wishes they had done some things differently, done some things more or some things less. I don't expect them to look back and think they had the "perfect" life, or the perfect parents. I just want there to be plenty of evidence that they were loved and that we tried to give them a fun, happy, healthy start to their lives.
• On an entirely different note, Dorian aka Panny the little panda has recently discovered a love for Morrissey aka Anotherrissey. (Think about it. That name makes complete sense to a 2 year old.) Ask him to pick out a CD for dinner music and that's what you'll get.
• My favorite (please read that word facetiously) interloper interrupted my conversation with a member of my former book club this morning. We were talking about what book they were reading this month when she pops in, "Oh, are you talking about dogs?" No, we weren't. Then she starts talking about a book she's reading/has read and as she is talking my friend realizes that she has read this book and that at least half of what she's saying is totally wrong. Later, Interloper tells me that her 2 and a half year old daughter is "still figuring out the social thing." I commented that it often takes a while, thinking that her mother is certainly no role model for proper social behavior.
• Last night, before the Oscars started, Jeremy and Quinn and I were all making our picks. Jeremy suggested we come up with a tie breaker. I replied that we have never had a tie, so I didn't know what he was worried about. So, you already know where this is heading... We had a tie. Jeremy and I each had 11 and Quinn had 10 correct. He said we'd have to wrestle for it, but in the aftermath of the sleepover, we were too tired.
• I just finished a really good book, A Map of the World by Jane Hamilton. I was just about to say that it was a little Oprah's book club-ish, and then I looked it up and it was an Oprah pick. Whatever. I liked it. Between this book and No Country for Old Men, I have rinsed some of the sugar overload from my mind, induced by too many video games and sitcoms on DVD. I was lacking for entertaining drama, and now I feel more balanced.

Hott Mama Book Club

Okay, you've all been begging for it-- the Hott Mama Book Club-- and today's the day. You must go out and get this book. You don't have to buy it. You can take it out of the library, borrow it from a friend or steal it. I don't really care. But you must read it.

I would just like to say that I love Mary Roach. Those of you in the San Francisco area need to stalk her and find out if she is as funny in person as she is in her writing. She is at once intelligent, witty and totally immature. Just like most of you.

That said, I loved her other book Stiff, which was all about what happens to cadavers. And you would be surprised how many different things happen to them. Or maybe you wouldn't. I guess it depends on how much cadaver experience you have. I only have one such experience involving my grandfather's open casket funeral. But I digress.

Spook is all about the afterlife, the many differing theories as to what happens to us after we die. She starts with reincarnation, but also covers things like mediums and ectoplasm and all sorts of gadgetry used to detect the discarnate. It's a fascinating topic on which I'm sure we all have an opinion. Some believe in God and heaven and therefore the persistence of the soul. Others think it all goes black and that's it. Still others believe in ghosts. (I have much more experience with those, but that's a story for another time.)

And you know what? There are scientists out there trying to prove or disprove all of these theories and more. And because of the nature of the questions they are asking, the bias of these scientists is pretty obvious, despite the fact that science is supposed to be objective. Alas, we are human, so what can we really expect?

Anyway, I guarantee you will love this book. And, Mr. Jamie, it's non-fiction so you have no excuse not to read it.

Beet: It's what's for dinner

I got these beautiful beets at the grocery store yesterday, and now that there is another person around who can appreciate things other than chicken fingers and mac and cheese, I decided to roast some veggies for dinner tonight.
Ready for one of my "recipes"?
Get yourself some beets, potatoes and sweet potatoes. Get as many or as few as you would like because we are not going to be measuring anything. I used 3 huge beets, 2 largish red potatoes and 1 medium sweet potato. Scrub the veggies well. Trim off the ends and greens of the beets and peel any of the tough/hairy skin. Do not peel the potatoes or sweet potatoes-- just trim off any ends or eyes you find unappealing.
Dice the vegetables into 1-2" chunks. Put the red and sweet potatoes into a mixing bowl and toss with olive oil to coat. Don't go crazy with the oil. Or go crazy if you want, but don't drown the vegetables. Dump the potatoes in a casserole that is large enough for all your veggies. Now put the beets into the same mixing bowl and toss them with a little more olive oil. (I do this so everything doesn't get totally stained with the beet juice, but if you don't care, you can toss all of them together.) Dump them into the casserole and gently combine. Sprinkle some sea salt on top.
Admire the beauty of the beets. What gems! You can almost imagine wearing one. Then you look down and realize that you are. (Did I mention you should wear an apron for this one? Because you should.)
Stick the casserole in a preheated 400 degree oven for about an hour, more or less. This will depend somewhat on how many gigantic beets you use and the size of your pan. Less veggies or bigger pan=less cooking time.
Use your hour wisely. I used my time to write a long overdue letter and prepare something else for the children, but you know best what needs doing at your house.
As accompaniments, I also prepared pan roasted chickpeas (Drain and rinse one can chickpeas, saute in a small amount of olive oil until they are browned. Be careful, some of them pop like popcorn! Sprinkle with garlic salt. My kids LOVE these.) and steamed spinach (if you don't know how to do this, it is a real problem).
Simple, healthy meal complete! Beets are very good for you. They are high in calcium, iron and folic acid. And apparently, they are good for getting rid of urinary tract infections, just like cranberries. Must be the color.
I love vegetables prepared simply so I can just enjoy their natural flavors. A big proponent of this is Alice Waters of Chez Panisse. She has a great cookbook called The Art of Simple Food which I received for Christmas. (Thanks, Mom!) I definitely see it as being one of the few cookbooks I actually use, since the cooking style is right up my alley and it covers all the bases like my trusty Joy of Cooking and America's Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. And it doesn't bother with a fussy dust jacket that will just get in the way anyhow.

The mystery hours

I love a good mystery. I love to puzzle it out while still enjoying a relatively light read. I do not, however, love the mystery genre overall. There are far too many Sue Graftons and James Pattersons out there writing absolute drivel for far too many pages.
My mother's side of the family is big into mysteries, and as far as I can tell not too particular in their choices. When Jeremy and I decided to move to Vermont, I came up first and stayed with my aunt for a month to find a job and a place to live. (We are not big risk takers in this house. We don't just pack up and go. Oh no.) Marian has a huge collection of mass market paperback mystery novels including one in which the lead character was named "Del Capslock"-- writer's block anyone? I also read a couple by Archer Mayor, our local coroner. Despite the fact that Brattleboro does have 6 Chinese restaurants for 12,000 people, I don't believe we have a Chinese Mafia as he suggests. (Yes, I know it's just fiction. But it isn't good fiction.) Reading all this nonsense really made me evaluate my standards. If you are looking for an intelligent, fun read here are some of my favorite authors:

• Agatha Christie I was obsessed with her during my second pregnancy. Obsessed to the point that I was reading an average of 2 of her books per week. (This is where Sebastian gets it from, make no mistake.) Luckily, she wrote 70 or so and our library had most of them. The first one I read was Murder on the Orient Express and it was an absolute revelation. She is a very witty writer and her recurring characters, Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot, and Tuppence and Tommy, are very charming and likeable. And Agatha Christie was homeschooled. Bonus points for that.
• Colin Dexter I can not begin to tell you how sad I am that there will never be any more Inspector Morse mysteries. Morse is an alcoholic, he's pushy, and yet I couldn't help but like him. Not just because he drove a Jaguar either. The last book made me cry. Dexter peppers his books with literary references, poetry and Wagner and has a knack for description that is not overly wordy. I appreciate that, especially when I find myself reading books by the insufferable Elizabeth George and wondering why I am.
• Peter Lovesey He wrote a wonderful, but short, series featuring Victorian detectives Cribb and Thackeray which I loved. I am not a fan of his "Bertie" books, but he also wrote some stand alone suspense and mystery novels which are also fantastic.
• Dorothy L. Sayers She's my new favorite. Her Lord Peter Wimsey novels are very smart and very funny. I often find myself laughing out loud and reading passages to Jeremy. The books are set in the 1920s, an interesting time for women and for the aristocracy in England. I'm only finishing my second one now, but I can see myself exhausting the library's supply within the year.