February 25, 2014

Harry and I went on a picnic last week. Yes, a picnic…in the dead of winter…in Wisconsin.  We packed up a little bag of snacks and walked into the woods to find just the right spot. Harry used to eat quite well as a baby, every single kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. He loved pears and parsnips and spinach! Rutabaga and kale and kiwi! As he grew into toddlerhood, he ate tuna and salmon and peanut butter for proteins. When he started going to school, he stopped eating peanut butter. We couldn’t send it along to school for lunch – too many children with nut allergies. School was a nut free zone. So he stopped eating it at home too. And for some reason, he started refusing the fish as well.

Although I know vitamins aren’t ideal and can’t replace the nutrients of actual food, he does get a daily dose of all natural vegetable and fruit gummy vitamins, but he refuses most real food. He has his favorites and is not often inspired to try new things. He eats yogurt (Mango and Honey), Vermont extra sharp cheddar cheese, Stacy’s crackers – he calls them Cracker Crackers – bananas, applesauce, bread, Goldfish, the occasional graham cracker, waffles, pancakes, Chex, and Cheerios. Grandma has managed to sneak into the mix an infrequent Apricot or Peach yogurt and he has gobbled it down while distracted watching The Adventures of Peter Rabbit on his iPad. He actually asked to try a grape tomato, a firm little red gem, the other day. I was thrilled! He bit it quickly in half and then handed it back to me with his little nose scrunched up as far as it could scrunch “Um, I don’t like this.” I wasn’t surprised by his reaction. I was thrilled that he wanted to try it. Small victories.

Just across the street and half way down the road through the woods to my sister’s house, sits Uncle Gilbert’s ice shanty, a perfect place for a winter picnic. It’s kind of just parked there, in the woods, not on the ice. Our picnic was grand. We sat on old car seats, ate bananas and looked out the little window in the door into the woods.  Harry wore a red and white fuzzy Santa hat. He’s been wearing the hat (borrowed from Auntie Laura’s collection) almost constantly since he saw The Polar Express last week  (probably for the 483^rd time) at my niece Rebecca’s house. He viewed it on what I believe is a 50-inch screen. Quite a treat since our regular viewing is done on Grandma’s old Quasar! We’ve been reading “'The Night Before Christmas” – two different versions of the holiday classic – at bedtime, Harry’s choice. He talks about Santa all the time too. This is the first year that he’s been so enthralled with all the details of Christmas, The Nutcracker, the baby Jesus and the Nativity…and so unwilling to put them away until next year. He is four.

On our way to the picnic.

A banana in the ice shanty.

I’m feeling a little cautiously excited these days. With the help of emails and phone calls from friends and colleagues, I’ve found two full-time positions to apply to and one possible freelance position that is incredibly intriguing.  I’ve got a conference call appointment tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Of course when I made that appointment, I had daycare lined up for Harry (Miss Margie is on her second week of vacation) and a clear landline for the call.  Since then my niece has cancelled on the daycare, she’s ill. And there is absolutely no possible way to have a business call with Harry in the room.  He is of the age when he MUST have all my attention all of the time. “Watch this, Mommy.  Watch this.  Mommy, you’re not watching. Mommy! Watch this,” as he flies back and forth in and out of the living room whirling his arms around his chest, chugging and puffing and huffing and chuffing his best train imitation. Everyone is pitching in to try to solve the challenge.  Mom has volunteered to take a half-day off.  That is quite generous, but a horrible idea just to cover for a phone call. My sister suggested I call my niece Sarah, who she believes has the day off and might be able to come to the house to entertain Harry. She’s quite good with him and he would be fine with her.  The last resort really is to walk him over to my sister’s house and leave him with Gilbert, my sister’s husband.  It’s not that he’s not capable, but his interaction with Harry is usually to tease and torture him (in a Uncle Gilbert kind of way.)  I have an Uncle Bernie and when we were kids, we used to try like anything to escape his two-handed tweak of our cheeks as he said “Hello.” It’s that kind of thing with Gilbert and Harry.  Gilbert wants to tickle him or dangle him upside down or something equivalent.  My sister wants to know if I reach Sarah, my Mom wants to know if I reach Sarah. I’ve left a message on her phone…a new phone since her old one was stolen a couple of weeks ago. Everything is on hold…literally.

I’m excited about the possibilities of the freelance opportunity. It’s with a very nicely done start-up magazine (that I probably shouldn't mention by name just yet, but it explores the ideas of making connections between what we eat, how we live and the planet) and was very generously sent my way by my dear friend (and former colleague) Dina.  She’s a sweetheart to constantly keep Harry and I in her thoughts (and a sweetheart to keep reading my blog.)

Growing things.

I was SO excited about the possibilities of sustaining Harry’s and my existence by freelancing from here that I started investigating a new iMac with a 27 inch screen and smoking processor, memory and storage. It would be an investment in our future, but a necessary one to handle the work I will be doing. I will also need to bring the Internet to Mom's slightly drafty old farmhouse. That...is change. 

That change will involve a satellite dish. I asked Mom if she would mind putting that sort of thing on her roof and she hesitated a long while. "Mom?" I said, wondering if she'd heard me.  "Well, it's a brand new roof!" She said, quickly exasperated. I think they might be able to put it on the side of the house. It just has to have a clear angle in the southwest sky. We can and will certainly avoid the brand new roof.  There aren't a lot of options in the hinterlands of Wisconsin, so we'll have to make due. 

I've got a lot to figure out in very little time. I need my own little office here in 53965. And that has given me that lump in the throat, kind of sick feeling I get when I'm excited and nervous and happy all at once.

It's a great feeling.

Orange at the orange store, Home Depot.