Have you heard the news?

Today, while biking home from preschool, Mary asked me, "Did you read the news in the paper this morning?" And I replied, "Yes." Mary said, "Isn't it sad? The news that Emma's grandfather died." And I asked, "Emma from your class?"


And she repeated, "Yes. It was in the news." And so I inquired, "Who was her grandfather?" thinking he must have been a public figure to have his death make the news. And Mary said, "Mom, I told you. He was Emma's grandfather." And I said, "Well, why was he in the news?"


To which she replied indignantly, "Because he died! Our teacher said she got the news today that Emma's grandfather died and we all said a prayer for him."

While I was trying to decide how to explain to Mary the multiple definitions for the phrase "the news," she asked if she could call her grandfathers to see if they heard the news and make sure they were not dead. She figured that if I didn't get the news about Emma's grandfather, I might be missing other news stories, as well.

Fortunately, Mary's grandfathers are happy to avoid any news coverage of that variety for a very, very, very long time.

Van Loebgh

A little Mary art on this beautiful blue-skied afternoon. Mary's self portrait (which personally, I think beats Van Gogh's own version) and little sister Lucy (not quite as accurate given that her hair appears straight here, which we all know is not possible for Lu's locks).

Pumpkins and Paternity

Today, we trekked to Sauvie Island in search of pumpkins. While there, we rode in a tractor-pull to the pumpkin patch. A real pumpkin patch, mind you.

Now, good old Joan's Pumpkin Patch in Livermore was an elegantly arranged field of hay bales with pre-picked pumpkins. The Portland version is more authentic. A real pumpkin patch where pickers pluck their pumpkin finds directly from the vine. And where pumpkin hunters also have to step over rotten pumpkins, tromp in muddy rows, and push back vines to reach that perfect find. The girls loved it.

While on the tractor ride, I smiled at the other moms. One of the moms smiled back, staring at Mary and Lucy, and then started into the by-now-familiar inquisition that goes like this:

Stranger: "They are cute...are they sisters?"

Me: "Yes."

Stranger: "They really have different coloring, don't they?"

Me: "Yes."

Stranger, this time with awkward hesitation: "Do they have the same father?"

Me: "Yes. And the same mother, too."

The first time this happened about six months ago, I was blown away. Now, I find it rather humorous. We are taken through this questionnaire at least one time a week, which I've nicknamed the Paternity Poll. I guess today it could be called the Pumpkin Patch Paternity Poll.

Puddletown

Just as we suspected, 'it' has arrived. The gloomy, wet weather. It started raining on Thursday and hasn't let up yet.

Fortunately, the girls don't mind one bit. They love riding their bikes through the puddles, shouting, "Rooster Tail!" as the water spouts up behind them.

Greta, on the other hand, has to be shoved out the door. She does her business as quickly as possible and then bolts back inside, shivering. Poor Greta needs to grow some thicker fur to survive the winter. Right now it's just wet. Soon it will be wet AND cold!

All of you still wearing your flip flops and tank tops, we miss you. Please give your friend, Mr. Sun, our best regards.

Lost...and Found

When we returned from Crater Lake, we noticed that Mary's bike was missing from our corral of bikes and strollers in our carport. Mysteriously, our stroller, Lucy's bike, and Curtis' bike were untouched, though all are much more valuable than Mary's bike, which we bought second-hand at the local bike shop.

We were shocked to think that somebody would steal it. We hoped it would turn up, but we had to break the news to Mary in case it didn't. Mary braved it well and put on a strong face, only commenting that she hoped her new bike was purple, also, and just as fast.

Then, the next morning, we were walking back from the park when I spied something. There, one block from home, was Mary's bike, sitting in the strip between the street and the sidewalk. It seemed in good condition, her "MARY" nameplate still hanging from the back. One of the training wheels was bent, rendering it unride-able. But, otherwise, it looked fine. We rescued it and brought it back home.

So, now it's your turn to help us guess what happened:

Scenario A: The hot September winds carried the bike down our driveway, where it was kicked around until some kind soul put it up out of harm's way.

Scenario B: A preschooler took the bike for a joyride and abandoned it a block away before his/her parents noticed.

Scenario C: A would-be thief tried to steal the bike and while using the stolen property as a getaway vehicle, busted the training wheel and had to abort his plan.

Or, perhaps you'd like to offer up Scenario D?

Peaks and Valleys

For Curtis' birthday, we traveled to Crater Lake for the weekend to join my parents and my sister Amy and her family. Traveling with little ones is always an adventure. We literally and figuratively went through peaks and valleys during the three-day adventure.

On the way there, we stopped at the infamous Rice Hill ice cream drive-in. (It's a bit of a tradition that you must stop there anytime you head south on I-5 through Roseburg.) An hour later, as we were rounding the many curves to Crater Lake National Park, Mary began to feel carsick. Mary's pink peppermint ice cream reappeared as a fountain of sickness. I don't know about Mary, but I can tell you that I'll never be able to eat peppermint ice cream again.

Finally, we arrived at the lake around 6pm, to enjoy a gorgeous scene. We sat in the rocking chairs on the veranda, soaking up the view. And then we learned that the restaurant's next reservation was for 9:30pm. Curtis, ever the problem-solver, concluded that we would just order from the bar menu on the veranda. Except that the veranda was a quiet, serene place with rocking chairs and grown-ups sipping wine and gazing at the lake. And our children, cooped up in the car all day, were wound up like springs. So, we decided to head to our hotel room upstairs in the lodge and have the appetizers delivered there. As the server brought the giant tray of food into our room he said, "Hmm...so this is what the rooms look like." We said, "Haven't you been in them before?" To which he replied, "No, we really don't deliver food to the rooms. This is a first here in this hotel." Oops.

Saturday morning, we did a hike around the rim of the lake with the children. Thanks to careful (and quick!) grandparents, we managed to keep Lucy from going over the sheer cliff to the lake. In the afternoon, Grandma Buck babysat the girls so that we could climb Garfield Peak (a hike which had too many sheer drop-offs for little children who run as fast as Lucy and Mary). It was a gorgeous hike, led by Amy and Tom's daughter Becca who fearlessly forged the trail and reached the top ten minutes ahead of the rest of us.

Saturday night was one of those nights that makes us wonder if we'll wait until the girls are teenagers before we travel with them again. Lucy awoke at 11pm gasping and hyperventilating. After a few scary hours, we were able to calm her down and get her breathing back to normal. What followed was a restless night, with much tossing and turning. We weren't sure whether it was the elevation (the lodge is at 7,100 ft.) or the cold she was developing that night, or a combination of both. But it was truly frightening...and exhausting.

Sunday, we enjoyed a morning hike to Watchman Peak, with both kids safely strapped in carriers. Again, it was a beautiful, blue skied day to show off a glorious bluer-than-blue Crater Lake.

On the ride home, we drove through Bend and enjoyed lunch by the Deschutes River with the family. From there, we went to Gresham to pick up Greta, who spent the weekend with the Loebs since dogs are not allowed at Crater Lake. The Loebs reported that Greta was a good Catholic. "A good Catholic?" we asked. Afraid to leave her home alone in her nervous state, they brought her with them to church. Not in the parking lot. In the church. Apparently, she still has trouble making the sign of the cross, but she did sit through mass without making a peep, which is more than we can say for Lucy these days. "But, of course, we didn't take her up to receive communion," Jim joked. Thank heavens. St. Francis would have approved, but we aren't sure Fr. Charles felt the same.

All in all, a grand adventure and well worth the valleys to experience the peaks. That being said, next time, we pray for fewer valleys and more peaks.

La Playa

We know it is coming. "It" being the cold, rainy, damp autumn.

But, fortunately, graciously, the weather gods are being kind to these sunny-weather-loving transplants. The summer weather continues as though the calendar pages are still in July.

Wanting to take advantage of every bright blue-skied day left in the season, we escaped to the beach for the day.

We spread out a blanket and spent the entire day building sandcastles and letting the waves splash over our toes.