California City

We had a very busy weekend, and if I have some time in the next day or two I may post about what we did Saturday too. But our experience on Sunday was so odd that it's still very much on my mind today.

We were trying to think of something to do CLOSE TO HOME. I wondered whether there were any swimming pools within an hour's drive of us (that's what we call close to home), since the Ridgecrest city pool is always horribly crowded and we're a bit fed up with the base pools. We considered Trona's pool, but somehow that just sounded so hot (it was predicted to be 105 in Ridgecrest and Trona's often a bit hotter). Then I suggested California City, about 50 miles south of us.

Cal City, as most people call it, is a very peculiar place -- I know, I know, the pot calling the kettle black, but really it is. Founded in 1958 by a college professor turned developer, it was planned as an enormous city that would rival Los Angeles in size. And get this, they LAID OUT the whole enormous planned city. Most of which -- the vast majority of which -- was never built, most of the roads not paved. Most of which is still there -- you can see the grid marks if you look on Google Earth -- and the city actually maintains the unbuilt, unpaved sections of itself. In geographic terms, Cal City is the third-largest city in California, though its population is only about 14,000.

It has some jobs -- a prison, a Honda proving ground (I think), and lots of people who work at Edwards Air Force Base live there. But overall, the town has a very depressed feel, almost like a ghost town. California City Boulevard, the main drag, is a BIG wide street -- with almost nothing on it. A few businesses here and there. Empty storefronts. Vacant lots. If you wanted to live in that part of the Mojave Desert, you could have your pick of where to build your dream home. But then you'd have to drive 50 miles to Ridgecrest to go to Walmart, so maybe it's better just to live in Ridgecrest. If you wanted to go to Denny's, though, you'd only have to drive 15 miles to Mojave (another jewel of the desert). I don't know, the choices are tough out here in eastern Kern County.

But Cal City does have one amazing feature -- a huge park with an enormous lake in it. The first time I saw the lake, I was looking at our part of the world on Google Earth, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "Look at that!" I said to Rocket Boy. "It looks like a lake!" "It can't be," he said. I looked it up online, and sure enough, Cal City has a lake. A 26-acre artificial lake, according to Wikipedia. In the middle of the Mojave Desert, in a town of 14,000 people (more than a third of them renters) and almost no businesses.

More to the point, Cal City also has a pool. So this weekend I looked up the hours for the pool, and on the Cal City Parks & Rec page, under Aquatics, I found this:

PADDLE and CANOE BOATING
Marina offers paddle boat and canoe rentals to the public. 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm. Saturday, Sunday and Holidays. Memorial Day thru Labor Day.

And then it gave the fees for the different kinds of rentals. Hey, we thought, what fun to rent a paddle boat! Much more fun than just boring old swimming. So we told the twins we were going to do this and it would be sooooo fun, and we got all packed up and drove to Cal City, arriving a little before 3 pm.

There were very few cars in the big lot. We parked, got out, and walked toward the lake. Ducks and coots, hoping to be fed, swam up to us. To our right was the pool and to our left was an extremely decrepit building with a sign on it saying something like "Community Center Building restoration in progress." Uh huh.

We walked down to where we thought the boats would be and there were no boats. We walked down the walkway to the island thing (see first photo), which had picnic tables and was just very attractive altogether. No boats. No canoes. No sign that there had ever been a boat or canoe in or near the water in the last 50 years. Rocket Boy and I both experienced the feeling that we have gotten so familiar with in the last two and a half years -- the realization that the real story of whatever we've gone to find is oh so very different from what we've been led to believe. It's a very desert-y feeling.

Rocket Boy walked back to the pool to ask someone about the boats and came back with the news that the pool attendant had lived in Cal City for 6 years and had never heard of any boats going on the water.

So, we could have gone swimming then -- we had our suits and the pool was not at all crowded. But we didn't want to, somehow. So we walked over to the playground area of the park, which was pretty well shaded, and let the boos play for the next hour or so.

We did take one little walk, up a nearby hill (probably built from the dirt they dug up when they built the lake). There's a complicated system that pumps lake water up to the top of the hill and then it flows down the other side in a waterfall -- maybe that's how they aerate the lake? It was interesting. Here we are at the top.

But most of the time we just sat on a bench and watched the boos play. It was over 100, so even in the shade you don't really feel like doing much. We watched the other people in the park, and they watched us. Not a very high class of people there (we did nothing to raise it), but I suppose the rich people were all at home in their air-conditioning. I watched two teenage boys with blue and purple hair walk across the grass, one telling the other about a dream he'd had. Another group of teenagers led by a man in his 20s with Michelle Bachman eyes went over to a secluded part of the park and had some sort of meeting (I figured they were part of a gang).

At 4:30 we dragged the boos off the equipment (they could easily have spent another hour there) and drove the 50 miles home. That night, Rocket Boy wrote an email to the California City Parks & Recreation Department, asking them to update their website. I won't hold my breath on that one.

Bribery

Potty training has been coming along very slowly, excuse me, potty LEARNING -- I'm certainly not training anybody. And it's August already. And I want them to be all learned/trained/whatever by the time it gets too cold to run around naked all the time (late November or thereabouts).

So this week I decided it was time to take steps. They're really really really good about going in their potties (or outside in the dirt) when they're naked. We just haven't been able to make the leap to underwear. I thought about saying: "Now we will wear underwear!" but they can take their underwear off by themselves and there's two of them and only one of me. I don't want to run around the house pulling up their underwear (though it sounds like good exercise).

No, something else was called for -- a reward system, AKA bribery. Wanting to keep it simple, I bought some candy. Wanting to keep said candy from being eaten by Mom while the twins were at daycare, I bought gummi bears (I'd eat them if I were starving, maybe, but not otherwise). On Tuesday I announced that if they would wear underwear until the timer rang, they could have a gummi bear.

Well! This was very successful... at first. As soon as they heard about the bribe, boos immediately demanded undies (Percy the green engine for Baby A, Bert & Ernie for Baby B). When the timer rang (after 15 minutes) they were thrilled to receive a single gummi bear.

But then it got more complicated. As soon as Baby B got his bear, he took off his undies. "No," I said, "Keep them on. I'm going to set the timer again." So he put them on. But after a bit he took them off again. Then the timer rang. I tried to give just Baby A a gummi bear, but Baby B threw a fit. Finally I agreed to give him a bear if he would put his undies on again. He did, and as soon as he got his bear, took them off again.

The second day, they were again happy to put on undies -- as long as it was the same ones they'd worn the day before. I DO NOT remember this being covered in any of the potty training books I read. What do you do when they'll only wear one particular pair? Wash them out every night?

Then they started demanding gummi bears BEFORE the game started -- in other words, one before I set the timer, and another after the timer rang. Then they started demanding TWO gummi bears at a time. I know I sound like a pushover, but I'm trying to be easygoing and undemanding (unlike them). Maybe easygoing-ness and bribery don't mix? I swear none of this was in the potty training books.

I had taken a few days off from tree watering because we got quite heavy rains last week, but on Thursday I started up again. And since I water three trees a day for 20 minutes each, I decided to use the same timer for the boos and their undies. I also decided that at the end of the hour of watering, we could also stop practicing with undies. So that made the morning a little easier. When I got them into their diapers and clothes to go to daycare, I said, "Pretty soon you'll be wearing underwear at daycare!" (There's only one other kid in their class still in diapers.) They said, "Nooooooooo!"

Thursday night after dinner, Rocket Boy went outside to work on the yard and Baby A wanted to help. I told him he had to wear undies. He agreed (same pair he'd been wearing all week), and happily raked along with Daddy.

This morning (Flex Friday), Rocket Boy went out to work on the yard again, and Baby A wanted to go out too, only this time he wanted to wear undies and shorts. Such a big boy! But a few minutes after he went outside, he was back, crying -- he'd wet himself. I quickly changed him and told him it was OK, no problem at all. He wore a diaper the rest of the morning (his request).

So, although we'll keep practicing, I think we've got a ways to go yet. Sorry, daycare ladies. Good thing I bought that big box of diapers last weekend.

Growing pains

My little boys are getting so big and old. Although I know this isn't an original thought, I have to say I find it terrifying when they develop a new skill, especially one I didn't mean for them to develop. Last week they learned how to use the mouse on my computer, which means that I can leave them watching a Sesame Street song video on YouTube, and when it ends, another video will begin, because they've moused over to it and CLICKED on it.

I used to be able to keep them off my computer by turning off the screen, but then they learned how to turn it back on again, and now with this new mousing ability I was afraid they'd never play with their toys again, just mess with my computer all morning. So I took action. Normally I just leave my computer on all the time, but now at night I turn it off. In the morning, when Baby B says to me "Let's do songs on the 'puter, Mommy," I say, "No, the computer is asleep. It needs its rest." This will work until they learn how to turn it on, which will be next week.

But for the last few days they've played with my CD/tape player instead of the computer. Previously they were not allowed to insert or remove CDs, because they kept scratching them, but this week I decided to give up and let it happen. I put my favorite CDs up on a high shelf and left the children's CDs on a low shelf. I was sure the player would be broken within 15 minutes, but it wasn't. They've gotten really good at using it, which kind of horrifies me. I mean, they're THREE. But I guess most three-year-olds these days can manipulate all sorts of electronic devices. This is just what it now means to be three.

I like most of their toys (if I didn't, I'd casually lose them), but my current favorite has got to be their train set. I like it more than they do, I think. I keep accidentally buying more trains for it (to Rocket Boy's horror). Last weekend we were in Lancaster and we dropped by ToysRUs to buy diapers -- but also to look at trains. I let each boy pick a new engine, plus we also got a station crossing thing, that has gates that go down and rings a bell and all that. So cool. So expensive. But when we were driving (90 miles) home, opening the trains in the car, we realized that stupid Mommy had bought an ELECTRIC James for Baby A but just a regular Edward for Baby B. Oh dear!

Well, there was no way to lose the electric James -- Baby A had fallen deeply in love. So on Monday I paid a visit to the Ridgecrest toystore, where I found an electric Thomas, and now Baby B has an electric train too. The electric trains pull all the other trains around -- we have already burned out one set of batteries (in what? four days?) -- and because the boos attach too many other engines and cars to them, the trains often fall off the tracks. It's very traumatic and exciting. Boos play with their trains every day anyway, but this week it's serious -- the first thing they head for when they get out of bed. I can actually work on something else -- do the dishes, read the paper -- while they negotiate their train business. Such big boys!

Of course, all the way home from daycare today Baby A was screaming at the top of his lungs, begging me to pull over so that I could PUT HIS TRAIN IN HIS SOCK (Baby B had successfully put HIS train in his sock and Baby A was jealous). So yeah, they're still babies. But not for long...

We lost it at the movies

A few weeks ago when we were in the Bay Area on vacation, we gave serious consideration to taking the boos to see their first movie in a theater -- Cars 2. But for various reasons it didn't work out and we thought that was probably fine, plenty of other things to do, no need to rush them to their first film.

But now we're back in Ridgecrest, where there's nothing to do. And another kids movie just came out -- Winnie the Pooh. And it's playing at the Ridgecrest Cinemas. So we decided to go see it.

We gave the boos plenty of warning, started talking about the movie about three days ago. This had the effect of scaring them, so that they started saying they didn't want to go to a movie, and it would be scary. "No, it will NOT be scary," I said crossly. "It's Winnie the Pooh! There is nothing scary about Winnie the Pooh!"

Still, we were all quite tense as we drove to the theater. The movie was to start at 1:20 and we got there at 12:50, in case there was a line. Ha ha. Actually there was a line -- there were 4 people in front of us, but they were a group and one person paid for all of them. So then it was our turn. "Two adults and two children for Winnie the Pooh," I said. The girl smiled at me. "Twenty-six dollars please." It costs $6.50 (adults and children) for a matinee at the Ridgecrest Cinemas. I have no idea how that compares to theaters elsewhere, having not gone to a movie in a theater in eons.

So now we had 30 minutes to kill. We went and looked at our theater -- Theater 4 -- it looked clean and pleasant and had absolutely no one in it. So we decided to buy some snacks. There were two snack counters. We went to the one closest to our theater, but there weren't very many people in line. To kill more time, we left and went to the other snack counter, which was busier. There I saw someone from my writing group and waved at her. "What are you seeing?" she asked me. "Winnie the Pooh?"

The line at that counter was TOO long, plus it had a bulk candy section that was attracting Baby A's attention, so we went back to the other counter and bought a sack of popcorn (with butter) and a box of Whoppers. Baby A insisted on carrying the Whoppers. Then there was nothing to do but go to our theater. We chose seats on the aisle, about halfway down. It was 12:55.

For the next twenty-five minutes we ate snacks, watched ads for various Ridgecrest businesses flash on and off the screen, and said "Shhhh" to the boos as they made loud comments about everything. They were concerned about their seats, which they were just barely heavy enough to hold open, the lights (whether or not they were on or not or would stay on or not), the projection booth, the snacks, and the other people who gradually filtered in.

Finally it was 1:20 and the movie started. Of course, first we had to watch several previews and the boos had no idea what the point of that was. "That's not Winnie the Pooh!" Baby A told me (loudly). "Shhhhh," I said. "Winnie the Pooh comes later."

After the previews there was a little cartoon about the Loch Ness monster. Very cute, but equally confusing to the boos. "That's not Winnie the Pooh!"

Finally the movie began. And within a few minutes I realized why Winnie the Pooh ISN'T the best choice for a movie for three-year-olds.

It's all about writing! And spelling! The whole Winnie the Pooh universe is all involved with jokes about how Pooh and the others can't read or spell very well. Think about "Trespassers Will" and all that. And of course all of that goes right over the boos' heads, since they can't read or spell even as well as Pooh and company. One of the major plotlines of the movie was about Christopher Robin leaving a note that ends "Back Soon" and Owl reading it as "Backson" which he says is an evil creature who has kidnapped Christopher Robin. Boos just didn't get that at all.

But they tried really hard. They were mostly very quiet and they mostly sat in their seats. Baby A ended up on Rocket Boy's lap. Baby B wandered around a bit, but he stayed in our aisle. And I ended up eating most of the popcorn. Do you know how many POINTS movie theater popcorn (with butter) is??? Argghh.

When the movie ended, of course we stayed for the credits, while almost everyone else immediately left. The lights came up, and the cleaning crew came in and started cleaning, and still the credits went on. Longest credits I EVER remember watching. When the cleaning crew started cleaning our aisle, we reluctantly got up and started to leave, but then I lingered at the back of the theater. I just can't bear not to watch all the credits. The cleaning crew had a loud, jokey discussion, back and forth across the theater, all about how there hadn't been a trash bag in the trash can. And still the credits went on.

And then suddenly the movie started again. I had been very puzzled by a line in the credits that said the Backson was played by Huell Howser. First of all, the Backson was a misunderstanding and therefore not played by anyone, and second, I was sure I would have noticed Huell Howser's voice if I'd heard it. But then all of a sudden here's the Backson and he's voiced by Huell Howser. Hilarious! Best part of the movie, in my opinion. Even though I could hardly hear it, due to the cleaning crew.

Oh Ridgecrest.

Anyway, if you happen to go to this movie, stay for the credits.

Trail of 100 Giants

I have been neglecting this blog of late, busy of course, and just generally feeling kind of down. This is always the problem with delightful vacations. You come back home and there's real life again and your face and mood just sag. Of course it isn't like that for the twins -- it's been a week and already I think they barely remember their nice vacation, except for the fact that they keep suggesting that we visit either "Baba's house" or "Mitzi's house."

Oh, and today when we were walking on a road with no sidewalks, Baby A told Baby B, sternly, that he should "Walk on the white line, like Mason!" (This is in reference to walks that we took with Baba's dog Mason.) So maybe they do remember, sort of. But every day they wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, nothing sagging, all ready to make a puzzle, play with the water table, or beg me to re-do their toy train track setup yet again.

So, in that spirit, today we decided to pick up our saggy selves and go on a journey to the Trail of 100 Giants, which is a short, pleasant, nature walk among the Giant Sequoias in Sequoia National Forest. Rocket Boy was hopeful we would see a bear. I told the boos we were going to see some big trees, and Baby B said "at Baba's house?"

First we took Highway 178 for an hour and 15 minutes to Kernville.

We stopped at the nice riverside park in Kernville and, get this, ATE A PICNIC LUNCH! Yes, that's right, we didn't go to a restaurant! I can't even think when we last did this. It always seems too hard to figure out what to bring. But this time we were so brilliant. We brought hard-boiled eggs, a bag of those little babybel cheeses, a container of hummus, baby carrots, crackers, muffins, and cherries. It was fabulous. Everyone ate what they wanted, nobody got upset. I'm still in shock about how awesome it was.

Then we packed up and continued on our journey northwest, on a winding road that followed the Kern River. After about an hour we came upon a car parked by the side of the road with its hood up, accompanied by two women and two young boy scouts in uniform, who waved us down. "Maybe they see a bear!" Rocket Boy said, pulling over. But no. "Are you with Troop XYZ?" they asked us.

We said no, we weren't, and they said oh, OK. We were about to drive on, when Rocket Boy thought to ask "Do you need help?" It turned out their rental car had died on them and they were trying to get to a boy scout camp a few miles up the road. So we asked if we could drive one of them there to get help (with the two carseats, you can only squeeze one extra person into our car). One of the women agreed to come, so we drove her to the camp. All the way there (it took MAYBE 10 minutes) she thanked us profusely and offered us money, which we declined. When we reached the camp, the older boy scouts who were organizing everyone took charge of her, thanked us profusely, and sent us on our way. As she got out of the car, the woman put a bill in my cup holder and said "I insist." As we drove on our way I looked at the bill -- it was a $20. For a 10-minute detour. Maybe 15 minutes total. We were horrified.

On the other hand, I can see how this might be a way to make money -- drive around the mountains helping stranded motorists who then insist on paying you.

So we continued on our way and eventually reached the Trail of 100 Giants. It's very popular. The mile-long trail is wheelchair- and stroller-accessible. We walked maybe 3/4 of the trail, cutting off one section because the twins were getting tired. But it was fun.

It's hard to photograph a Giant Sequoia because they are, well, giant, many in this grove over 200 feet tall. You can only get a bit of one in a picture.

At home this week, quite by coincidence, we have been reading a neat library book called Hurricane by David Wiesner, about a big tree falling in some kids' yard during (you guessed it) a hurricane, which they play on for a few days until it's removed. I tried to make the connection for the twins, both on the trail and then at home tonight when we were reading the book again ("See, here's a big tree that fell down, like in the book about the hurricane"/"See, this fallen tree in the book is like the trees we saw today") but I'm not sure it took. It must be hard to be three, so many things to absorb and process.

On the other hand, they are becoming better photographers. Baby A took this photo of his parents and brother.

After the trail, we drove west for another hour or so, on a very winding road, to look at a hot springs (but didn't go in), and then we drove all the way home, stopping at a cafe in Kernville for "dinner" (cookies and scones), which we paid for with the stranded woman's $20 bill.

We never did see a bear, but on the winding road to and from the hot springs, we kept running into (almost literally) cows. It's very odd to be on a remote mountain road, no meadows anywhere, and suddenly have to hit the brake because there's a cow in front of you. Black cows, red cows, multicolored cows. Very odd. Didn't get a pic, sorry.

Anyway, nice trip, nice weekend. I'm feeling a little less saggy now.

A million miles away from anything

We went to Los Angeles yesterday (Sunday) to look at a used car (a Ford Escape Hybrid), which we ended up deciding to buy. While we were in LA, of course, we did lots of other things, like shop and visit and eat out. We left the house at 9 am and got home around 8:30 pm. Five+ hours of driving, hundreds of dollars spent, almost a full tank of gas used up. This is what we have to do in order to look at a used car. Yes, there are a few used cars for sale in Ridgecrest, and in Palmdale, etc., but not very many. LA is where the big selection is. So to LA we went.

And the worst thing is that we have to go back in a day or two to pay for the car and pick it up. All of us have to go back -- there's no way around it. Rocket Boy can't drive himself, because then he'd be stuck with 2 cars to bring home (I'm imagining him driving one and guiding the other with one outstretched hand, as you can do with 2 bicycles, if you've got very good balance -- only maybe not for 150 miles). And we can't leave the kids in daycare while we do it, because they're in daycare from 11:30 to 5 -- 5.5 hours -- that would only give us a few minutes leeway. One small traffic jam would mess that up. So we've all got to go.

Compare this to buying a car near you -- drive over in the evening, look at the car, get a check from your local bank, back the next evening to pay for it. Maybe even get your own mechanic to look at it before you buy it. No sweat at all.

The drive to and from LA actually seems longer now that we are so familiar with it. It has so many stages: 395, Garlock Road, 14 to Mojave, drive through Mojave, 14 to Lancaster/Palmdale, 14 through the mountains, Santa Clarita, 14 through more mountains, 5 south, 405 west, and then whatever streets we need to take in LA. On the way back, when you get to Mojave you feel like you've been driving for years -- and you've still got an hour of driving left. Twenty more miles of 14, 20 miles of the Garlock Road, 10 miles of 395, 5 miles from the Ridgecrest exit to our house. On and on and on. By the time we get home it feels like we've driven to another country.

And then you get up the next morning and it's like, oh, here we are in Ridgecrest, pleasant little town (sort of, depending on my mood). Just a MILLION MILES AWAY FROM ANYTHING.

When we're in LA I'm always horrified by the traffic, the crowds. We went to the Northridge Mall so I could return a dress (macys.com lets you do that so you don't have to pay return shipping). I was delighted by the gigantic Macy's and wished I had time to look around, but of course I didn't, had to rush on to our next destination. But the mall was so crowded, every parking space filled, cars circling the enormous lot.

Ridgecrest has plenty of places to park, just no reason to (no stores).

I always look at what people are wearing in LA. Long dresses, for those who don't know, are fashionable this summer, but I just haven't been able to picture myself wearing one. Like yeah, I'm going to go to Albertson's in a ballgown. But here were women in Trader Joe's, wearing long dresses and looking fine. When we got home I looked at the long dresses on macys.com again, but they didn't look any better.

In Ridgecrest we wear shorts and tank tops.

I found myself thinking, on the drive back from LA, of alternatives. For instance, we could buy an airplane (sell a house or two first) and fly to LA. Or go to Las Vegas instead -- except that's 250 miles away, not 150. Or Reno -- but no, that's 350 miles. San Diego? 225 miles. Boulder? A mere 995 miles. Sigh.

Summer meals

Summer has finally arrived, oh yes, it is really here. 108 both yesterday and today (it looked like 109 on our patio thermometer). Actually, it's going to be cooler the next few days -- 101 or so -- but I think anything over 99 counts as summer.

Life is different at 100 degrees or more. Everything changes, from the clothes we wear, to the linens on our bed, to when (or whether) we exercise, to how we schedule shopping trips. People slow down, because hurrying, even just a little, makes you sweat.

One of the things I've had trouble with in previous summers is dinner. What to serve when it's over 100 outside and no one really feels like eating. What to cook in a kitchen that's almost that hot (the swamp cooler doesn't cool the kitchen down very well).

Now, over the past year I've intentionally simplified our meals. I decided a while back that it's OK to have only 2 dishes for dinner. It is not necessary to have a main course, a vegetable, and a starch. A main course and a vegetable will do nicely, especially when the twins are so picky. (When they're older I'll serve more food.) But in the summer, I am starting to think it is OK to have only one course. Or a main course and a bowl of cut-up watermelon.

But what should that main course be? I am experimenting. So far this week we've had four summery meals.

On Monday we had White Bean Salad. The ingredients were 1 can of white beans, frozen peas, fresh mint, chopped up red and yellow bell peppers, garlic, olive oil, red wine vinegar, oregano, and feta cheese. The directions were to mix it all together and let it stand for 30 minutes. What could be easier? I thought it was delicious. Rocket Boy said hmm and ate it. Boos frowned and said "what is this?"

On Tuesday we had Scrambled Eggs with Shrimp. The ingredients were eggs, shrimp, soy sauce, sesame oil, mushrooms, and butter. The directions were to fry the mushrooms in butter, add the shrimp, stir the eggs and flavorings together and throw them in, and then scramble. What could be easier? I thought it was quite yummy. Rocket Boy had seconds. Boos frowned and ate the cut up nectarines instead.

On Wednesday we had Tuna Pasta Salad. The ingredients were small pasta shells, canned tuna, chopped celery, frozen peas, leftover chopped up bell peppers, and some lite mayo, lite Miracle Whip, and Greek yogurt for the dressing. The directions were to cook the pasta, mix everything together, and let it chill for a while. What could be easier? I thought it was delicious. Rocket Boy said hmm. Boos poked at it and ate the cut up watermelon instead.

Tonight we had Berry Breakfast Crepes. The ingredients were blueberries, raspberries, lemon juice, sugar, flour, evaporated milk, an egg, and ricotta cheese. This was a little more complicated because I had to actually make crepes, but we have a new pan which made it almost effortless. The filling of ricotta and fruit seemed delightful. I thought they were yummy. Rocket Boy said they were OK. Baby A actually ate his, but Baby B ran outside to play with the water table.

Each night Rocket Boy has said to me, "why don't we just have fish sticks?"

Summer meals, a work in progress.

Car shopping

Rocket Boy's old car is on its last legs, so I got the idea that we should be proactive and buy a new one. We've been paying Ridgecrest mechanics to repair the car on and off all spring, because it failed its smog test, which meant we couldn't register it. Several fixes later, it managed to pass smog, but it's continued to misbehave. Rocket Boy blames this on the incompetence of Ridgecrest mechanics. But last week he took it to yet another Ridgecrest mechanic, who diagnosed an interesting problem -- the car needed a part that would cost $1700, unless we could find a used part, in which case it might be as little as $1400. The mechanic, who seems an honest sort, recommended against getting the part. He told Rocket Boy that when these sorts of parts start to fail -- and for the life of me I don't remember what the part was -- it means that a whole lot of other parts are about to fail too, and it's time to move on.

The car, a Mitsubishi Montero, is 19 years old and has about a million miles on it. Still, Rocket Boy doesn't want to let it go. But then I hit on the right thing to say. I said "You know, we don't have to get rid of the Montero. We can keep it as long as you like. We'll just get a THIRD car." (Actually, it will be a FOURTH car, because we still have one sitting on the driveway in Boulder. It's 25 years old. I just got the insurance bill for it. But I digress.)

Rocket Boy said OK, since you put it that way, maybe we can think about a new car. That was all the encouragement I needed. To distract myself from icky things like the fact that our rental house is now as of June 7th officially in foreclosure, I started researching cars. We wanted to find a not too big SUV with lots of room for people and cargo, good gas mileage, and low cost. I asked people's opinions, I read Consumer Reports, I read other reviews online, I looked at automakers' websites. And I came to the obvious conclusion that we needed to look at cars in the flesh, as it were.

So today around noon we all piled into my Subaru and drove 85 miles to Victorville, where there are car dealerships. Actually, Ridgecrest has a few car dealerships and it was probably very bad of us to ignore them and go to Victorville. Paving Victorville's streets, not Ridgecrest's, and all that. But we didn't actually BUY anything yet, so it's not so bad.

We went to three dealerships: Mitsubishi, Toyota, and Ford. We decided to look at new cars, even though we're probably going to buy used.

At the Mitsubishi dealership, a pleasant salesman in a suit minus the jacket (it was in the 90s) came over to us and showed us around. We looked at an Outlander and an Endeavor. I was hoping we'd like the Mitsubishis, since the car we're giving up on is a Mitsubishi. But the odd thing was that Rocket Boy didn't really fit in them. He's tall, with a long straight back, and his head almost touched the ceiling in these cars.

Next, we went down the street to the Toyota dealership. They were having a big used car sales event, and we couldn't find anyone to help us. That was a first for me at a car dealership! Finally someone told us to go inside and ask the receptionist for help. She called on her loudspeaker for someone from sales, and then went back to looking at pictures of high-heeled shoes on her computer. No one came. After a while she noticed us still sitting there (really, we're hard not to notice, with the twins screaming away) and called again. Finally a nice older man wearing a Hawaiian shirt came to help us. He showed us a Highlander, a 4Runner, and a RAV4. I had thought the Highlander would be the best choice, and Rocket Boy did like it. But the car we both REALLY liked was the RAV4. I thought it would be too little, but it's an oddly spacious car.

Then we drove to the Ford dealership, where a very forceful young man in a bright red shirt showed us an Escape. He told me that he'd recently sold three Escapes to people who were trading in Subaru Foresters. I said "We're NOT trading in the Forester," and he seemed disappointed. He said, "We love to get those cars." I kept looking back at my car to be sure they weren't surreptitiously towing it away. Anyway, Rocket Boy liked the Escape very much too. Again, it was a smaller car than I thought he'd like. This is why you have to look at cars in the flesh, not just online.

Boo bears had fun car-shopping -- they climbed in and around every car we looked at, demonstrating how easy or difficult it was to crawl from the back seat to the cargo area, playing with the mirrors, sitting in Daddy's lap when he was trying to decide whether or not he felt comfortable in the driver's seat. But they got very tired in the heat, as did we all. After the Ford dealership we went to a Starbucks across the street for drinks and snacks, and then got on the road back to Ridgecrest. We were home a little before seven.

So, a Toyota RAV4 or a Ford Escape? Or something else entirely? Stay tuned.

Sunny days

It is finally warming up a bit -- supposed to be in the mid 90s the rest of the week, and you know that means 100 is around the corner. And then I'll start complaining about that. But right now it's really pleasant. Warm enough in the mornings for two naked boys to frolic in and around their water table. I can't post pics of this -- they're all too graphic. Here's a pic from a few weeks ago -- with clothes on.

It gives the general idea.

We have a nice morning schedule. Every weekday after breakfast I get them out of their pajamas and into their nakedness. Then I start a load of laundry -- yes, laundry every day -- and also start watering a tree. When we moved into this house, more than 2 years ago, the backyard was full of fruit trees. I think there were at least a dozen, maybe as many as 15.

Now there are 8, and of those, two are kind of questionable -- they died and came back as shoots off the dead trunk. With our luck, we'll kill a few more this year.

But we're trying NOT to kill any more, and the key to our plan to not kill more trees is to water them! Brilliant, right? So every morning I turn the hose on, very very low, not much more than a drip, put it next to a fruit tree, and set the timer for 20 minutes. When the timer goes off, I move it to another tree. I water three trees a day (a dying rosebush gets to be the 3rd tree on one day, for a total of 9 things watered every 3 days). Then I start over (I water on one weekend day and take the other off). That way I know which trees get watered each day. If it's Monday or Thursday it's the apricot, fig, and rosebush. Etc.

The strategy already seems to be paying off. None of the trees look stressed, and the apricot tree has not dropped all its green apricots, as it did last year.

Once the laundry and watering is underway, the twins and I feed the tortoise a dish of grape leaves and hollyhock leaves. After it finishes eating, I take it out of its pen and let it forage. There isn't much to forage for these days, but it walks diligently around the entire yard, looking.

The twins spend much of the morning playing with their water table, which they seem to find endlessly entertaining. An alternate pastime is riding their trikes.

Around 10, we have snack -- a muffin, a scone, maybe some fish crackers or grapes. We eat it on the patio, and sometimes it ends up in the water table. Later in the afternoon, I see little birds pecking up all the crumbs.

When I'm not working on one of my tasks, I sit down in a patio chair and watch the babies play. Our yard is full of birds these days -- mostly mourning doves and house sparrows, but also mockingbirds, great-tailed grackles, and hummingbirds. The grape vine has tiny grapes on it, the pomegranate bush has at least 15 fruits growing. The fruit trees aren't dead.

This evening we took a walk after dinner and Sesame Street. Baby B rode in the stroller, but Baby A insisted on riding his tricycle. We thus made very slow progress, and Rocket Boy got irritated -- he was hoping for some exercise. I was remembering how easy it was to take them for an evening walk when they were infants. We could be out at 8, 9, 10 o'clock at night. It didn't matter. They slept in their carseats in the stroller.

Of course they also got up at 3 am, screaming to be fed. Every age seems to have its pluses and minuses.

I'm trying to enjoy what we have now.

Summer is not here

A few weeks ago I was going to write a post called "Signs of Summer." The most notable sign I had come up with was the lack of my socks in the laundry -- evidence that I had switched from shoes to sandals. I was sure I'd think of more signs as I wrote the post.

But here it is June 1st, and summer has not arrived. It's the oddest thing. Day after day we have highs in the seventies. MAYBE low eighties. I realize that those temps could be considered summer in other areas, but NOT in Ridgecrest. In Ridgecrest, summer is when it goes over 100. At this rate I'm wondering if it ever will.

Here are the predicted high temps for the next seven days: Thursday 78, Friday 84, Saturday 82, Sunday 79, Monday 80, Tuesday 83, Wednesday 84. Yes, it looks like a warming trend, and maybe ten days from now we'll hit 90, but the way things have been going, we could just as easily drop back into the 70s.

There's a chance of RAIN this weekend. A small chance, but still a chance. Weird. And the wind keeps blowing and blowing, day after day.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining about the weather, and really I'm not. These are wonderful, livable temperatures. I still feel human -- we all do. The summer doldrums are far off in the future.

But everyone here is a bit discombobulated by the weather. It's not quite like a drought -- where you wait and wait for the rain or the snow, and it doesn't come, and then you worry about the lack of water and rationing and all that. I'm not worried about anything bad happening if it doesn't get hot. The Ridgecrest summer heat isn't actually GOOD for anything that I know of, other than drying clothes on the clothesline. Quite the opposite.

But we're USED to it! We're USED to all the misery that the summer heat brings. I'm all ready to be miserable, but the heat isn't here, so I'm not.

I go on drying clothes in the dryer, wearing shirts with sleeves, and wondering what aspect of climate change is causing this very peculiar weather.

Potty training

The twins are 3+ and the daycare ladies keep bugging me about this, so I realized a couple of weeks ago that it was really time. I decided that the first step would be to get rid of the diapers.

So on a Monday morning, after taking off their pajamas and nighttime diapers, I proceeded to put them in... nothing! Actually I put shirts on them. But no diapers, no undies, no pants. Bare bottoms only. They cried and begged for diapers, but I was firm. I said "when you need to go pee or poop, either go in your potty or go outside." And they did really well, only one accident that first day and nothing after that. They like to pee on the patio, preferably inches from the door, and I frown on that, but otherwise no problems.

Our yard is awful -- ouchy things everywhere -- but they've been walking barefoot in it for a while now, so I figure they can walk stark naked in it too. I draw the line at the gate, though. They can sit stark naked next to the gate and play with toy trucks, but they can't go into the front yard like that. That means no stroller walks for a while, but it's OK.

After a week or two of this, I tried to figure out how to move on to the next step: underwear. They are still wearing diapers to go to daycare in the afternoon. I want them to start wearing underwear in the morning, then underwear and shorts, and then eventually go to daycare like that. But first we have to introduce underwear. I had bought some plain white underwear a long time ago (maybe a year? how embarrassing), because I am a snob (or at least a would-be snob) and I did not want my children to wear underwear with licensed characters on it. They wear the white underwear occasionally, but when I brought it out again last week, they said NO. NO underwear. "I don't like underwear," said Baby B. Baby A put a pair on his head.

So then I rethought licensed character underwear. And when we were in LA this past weekend, we went to Target and I bought a package with 7 pairs of THOMAS TRAIN underwear. Baby B was so excited about it that he opened the package in the car and played with all the undies. On Monday when we took off the nighttime diapers, all they wanted to do was to put on Thomas Train underwear. Success!

Or sort of. First they each put on a pair. Then they each put on a second pair, over the first. Then they both peed in their underwear. All the Thomas Train underwear had to come off and go in the laundry. Then they ran around naked for a while.

Today when they got up, they wanted to wear Thomas Train underwear, but I reminded them that they had peed in 4 pairs of it and I hadn't washed it yet (I washed it today). I offered the 3 remaining pairs, which are less cute. Baby B made the best of it and put on a pair. Baby A thought about it for a long time, put on a pair, took them off again, and then put them on his head.

Pretty soon they were both stark naked, playing with cars right by the gate where all the neighbors can see them.

It's a process. Someday they will be (potty-trained) teenagers and I can tell them all about this. Meanwhile, I am going to order some Elmo underwear.

Swimming again

The Ridgecrest pool has opened -- no, I shouldn't say that, I have no idea when the real Ridgecrest pool is going to open -- but the Oasis Pool on base has finally opened, so we went there today to swim. Only people who work on base (and their immediate families) can go there. It's an OK pool, I guess, but the real attraction for us is that there is also a very small wading pool.

I was hoping the boos could still wear last year's swim diapers, but nope, they've outgrown them. So before we left, I got online and ordered FOUR new swim diapers, in the next bigger size. One blue, one green, one yellow, and one red. They're supposed to be here by Friday. In the meantime we could use disposable swim diapers.

We got to the pool around 3:30 pm. It was warm, but the wind had started to blow. The attendant asked both Rocket Boy and me to sign in, and then we had to pay $1 each (boos were free). The process of being admitted to the pool is very mysterious. I think this is the first time I've ever had to sign in. Maybe once before Rocket Boy has had to. Sometimes it costs as much as $5 for me, sometimes we're both free. Ours not to reason why.

Then we all walked around the building to the wading pool and what do you know? There's a sign in front of it saying "Closed for Maintenance." I hate Ridgecrest and I hate China Lake Naval Base. Can't get ANYTHING right. We later asked one of the lifeguards what kind of "maintenance" the 5 ft by 5 ft wading pool needed. He said they needed to get the chlorine level right.

So, since we'd paid our $2 and promised the boos a swim, we decided to swim in the big pool. I got the boos and me changed, and we went out to meet Rocket Boy. He climbed into the pool, the shallow end, and then we began trying to convince the twins that it would be fun to go in the water. These are boys who were taking swimming lessons when they were 6 months old. But would they go in? No, they wouldn't. They screamed and cried when it was suggested. The most we got them to do was to sit next to me with their legs in the water for about two seconds.

The rest of the time they ran around the pool area. And I do mean "ran." And consequently got whistled at and yelled at by the lifeguards pretty much nonstop. I got out of the pool and walked after them, shouting "No run! Walk! No running! Stop running and walk! No Sesame Street if you don't stop running! OK, that's one!" all to absolutely no avail. I grabbed Baby B's arm at one point and made him re-do a journey he had just run, only we walked it. Then we walked some more. Then I let go of his arm and he ran, as lifeguard whistles blew.

This was one of the few times in my life so far that I wished I would be mistaken for their grandmother. A grandmother might be excused for not being able to make her grandsons behave. But a mom?

It occurred to me, watching them, that in their non-pool life they run all the time too. They almost don't know how to walk. Maybe that was the problem.

Rocket Boy thought it would be a good idea to get the little ball and ring we'd brought with us and have the twins throw them to him in the water and then he'd throw them back. Oh, what a bad idea that was! as two little boys go RUNNING after the ball. Finally he wised up and threw the ball and ring in the water close to them, so they had to get down on their stomachs and grab them out of the water. But there was still plenty of running going on.

And we hadn't put any sunscreen on either them or me, because the wading pool is covered and you don't get any sun there.

At 4:30 I just gave up. I said, "It's time to go." Rocket Boy said, "Oh, not yet, they're still having fun."

Fortunately at that point Baby B took his swim diaper off (amid much laughter from the lifeguards), so I whisked him off to the dressing room and got both him and me changed. When we came out again, Rocket Boy was still playing with Baby A, but I said "Just Get Out," and he did.

While I was changing Baby A, Baby B ran outside again, and when he returned, a lifeguard was following him. I said, "What did he do?" and she said "Oh, he just keeps running. We don't want them to fall down and get hurt, you know." I said, "Yes, I know," wanting to remind her about ALL THE TIMES I had yelled "No run!" But I bit my tongue.

We went out to wait for Rocket Boy, and the boos ran some more. Then they jumped on some chaise lounges, and a lifeguard made a special trip over to tell us that wasn't allowed.

I'm thinking maybe I should just send those swim diapers back. It's going to be a long summer.

The real world and how to hide it

I read a nice book last year called Simplicity Parenting, liked it very much, and one of its recommendations was to keep "the real world" away from your kids until they're old enough to handle it. Don't discuss world news with them when they're 5. Don't tell them someone's sick and going to die if they don't need to know. Don't ask their opinion about your money problems. Sounds like a good idea, right?

In theory, sure. But in practice... Well, we almost never watch the news around them, and our discussions of news tend to be pretty boring (mostly criticisms of Republicans). But then there are children's books. I got a book out of the library for them last week about fire fighting, since they love fire trucks and firefighters. I didn't look at it very closely. Turns out the book (Hotshots by Chris Demarest) is actually very scary. It has beautiful pictures of a fire being started by sparks from a train -- in an area that looks very much like California. Then the fire grows enormous and spreads and burns down houses. Baby A wants to hear it every night. Baby B is clearly frightened by it. The whole time I'm reading it he's murmuring "Fire is scary." I think it's going to be due next week (2 weeks early) and I'll look more closely at what I'm checking out next time.

When we go out and about on all our road trips we often encounter "the real world" and it's a bit hard to keep it away from the boys. Especially since I don't think on my feet very well. For example, a few weeks ago we visited the ghost town of Ballarat, which is in the Panamint Valley, on the road to Death Valley. It was hot and barren. Here we are having root beer and water outside the Ballarat Store.

Rocket Boy and I discussed the fact that the Manson gang hid out near Ballarat at one time, and their old truck is still in the middle of town, rusting away. That was probably OK, since we didn't mention what the Manson gang was known for. But then we wandered over to the Ballarat cemetery. Here they are looking at the grave of Seldom Seen Slim, a famous prospector from the area:

The grave had some mementos on it -- an empty whisky bottle, and a hat, and a lot of coins that people apparently throw on it -- maybe like a desert wishing well? The boys were messing around trying to grab the coins through the bars and I scolded them, telling them that this was a grave and they shouldn't mess with it. "What's a grave, Mommy?" "A grave is where they bury a dead person. There's a dead person right under the dirt here." Eyes widen. Oops. We quickly leave.

On the home front, we have learned that our rental house is going into foreclosure soon, and Rocket Boy and I have discussed this at length in the boys' hearing. It's not really a crisis for us, more of an intense irritation, because we don't want to sign another 12-month lease in Ridgecrest (we're month to month in this house), nor do we want to move WITHIN Ridgecrest -- we want to move AWAY FROM Ridgecrest. But if we have to, we will.

But for the boys? This is their home. I doubt whether they have any memories of the Boulder house -- we moved here when they were 11 months old and have only been back once for a few days. So for them the thought of losing their only home must be very upsetting. On the other hand, maybe our talk is preparing them, because it looks like a move is inevitable -- we just keep hoping Rocket Boy will find a new job elsewhere before we have to leave the house.

So I don't know how you keep the real world away from little kids. We could probably try a little harder! But it does seem to creep back in...

Belated thoughts on Mother's Day

Once again I've gotten away from blogging. I don't know quite how that happens, or what triggers it. Why haven't I wanted to write for 2 weeks? I don't know.

In my last post I asked summer to go away, and sure enough, it did. We've had cold weather (enough to require long pants, long-sleeved shirts, and coats, of all things), we've had endless wind, we've had rain. Tomorrow, finally, it's supposed to get to all of 83 degrees. This is downright peculiar for Ridgecrest in mid-May. I suppose it's because the world is ending this weekend.

I wanted to write something about Mother's Day, and I wonder if that wasn't what shut me up a few weeks ago -- the difficulty in writing about the day. It's a funny day for me. It's a sad day, because my own mother is gone. And yet, when she was alive, she was not very fond of the holiday, and we didn't make a big deal out of it. A tasteful card was enough.

When MY children get a little older, I plan to make a VERY big deal out of it. Cards will be expected, also gifts, breakfast in bed, and I would like to be taken out to brunch. Ha ha. Not very likely. But we'll see.

We had a nice Mother's Day this year. We went to Olancha for "brunch" (it was really just lunch) and the boos behaved themselves quite well. Fortunately the scary rabbit was gone, packed away with the other Easter decorations. On our way back to Ridgecrest we stopped at the Pearsonville Park and played on the equipment. Rocket Boy found a piece of charcoal lying around and wrote a Mother's Day message to me on the concrete. Graffitti, I know, but it'll wear away. I liked it very much.

What I actually think about on Mother's Day is all the years that I wanted to be a mother, and what a desperately sad holiday Mother's Day was for me back then. And now here I am with my heart's desire. Which has turned out to be a little different than what I expected. I'm thinking of the song in the musical "Wicked" that goes like this:

...That's why I couldn't be happier
No, I couldn't be happier
Though it is, I admit
The tiniest bit
Unlike I anticipated
But I couldn't be happier
Simply couldn't be happier
(spoken) Well - not "simply":
(sung) 'Cause getting your dreams
It's strange, but it seems
A little - well - complicated
There's a kind of a sort of : cost
There's a couple of things get: lost
There are bridges you cross
You didn't know you crossed
Until you've crossed...

Which is not to say that motherhood isn't amazing and wonderful, because it is, and I love my little men more than anything. But the cost of motherhood was higher than I ever thought it would be, and in some ways I think I'm still grappling with that. So every Mother's Day ends up being a time to think about it.

There are bridges you cross you didn't know you crossed until you've crossed...

There's a part of me that's still holding on to the railing of the bridge, saying "no! wait! didn't mean to cross this!" but it's much too late, I'm here.

The bad times are when I don't want to cook dinner, and the daycare teacher pulls me aside YET AGAIN to ask me why the twins aren't potty trained yet, and Baby A bites Baby B, and Baby B draws all over some important piece of paper, and Rocket Boy says "why is the house always such a mess?"

That's when I remember that I used to have a CAT. Just a CAT. Just me and my CAT.

The good times are when we go to a park and everyone has fun playing, and when we go for a stroller walk and see a rabbit, and when we read book after book after book together, and when they go to bed and they both want me to kiss them and then they want to kiss me.

That's when I remember that I'm so glad I have a family. And that maybe, just maybe, I can do this.