Jules' is an incredible Daddy. He never planned on having children of his own and he still doesn't want any more. Regardless, he has fallen in love with the Spicy Barracuda and is the only father Barracuda has ever known. Around our household I have begun to overlook all the ways the two of them have been getting closer. Watching The Barracuda be inculturated into the world of males is quite the experience. There is so much I wouldn't have been able to show him as a single mom; so much I never even realized. This newly forming bond has never been so apparent to me as when we went to Georgia this last couple of weeks.


We go to Georgia every year to visit Jules' people. He moved here a few years ago and left his previous life, family, friends behind. This was the first time The Barracuda came and the first time any of Jules' family had seen him be a dad. From the initial plane rides (at 6'4" Jules' legs need a layover!) it was apparent that The Barracuda had decided his dad was where all the fun was at.













One of the neatest things we happened upon was the Georgia Mountain Fair. This is an old world fair where people come to demonstrate old skills which have been lost. There was soap making, shingling with a froe, apple cider presses, smoke houses, a corn shucker, and all sorts of neat stuff. The Barracuda didn't care much about those however... There were rides!

















He remembered caramel apples from Charolette's Web and just couldn't wait to have one!

The Georgia Mountain fair is so named because it occurs in the northern parts of Georgia, right up in the Appalachians. After graduating from high school Jules thru-hiked the entire Appalachian Trail by himself. He knows these mountains well. So every day we took The Barracuda out on a hike. Hiking also meant climbing trees, learning outdoor ethics, and greatest of all for every boy: peeing outside!
















There were waterfalls at the ends of most hikes so we could play in the water. You can't play in the water here because it is just too dang cold! The novelty of actually getting to stand at the base of a waterfall in the pools was quite a delight. Jules also showed the Barracuda the important boyhood skill of rock skipping and the splashing of girls (Mommy) to show your affections. Teaching The Barracuda appreciation and reverence for nature is an essential part of parenting for both Jules and I. This trip did a lot in furthering that education.

















After visiting Jules' parents it was off to visit Uncle Campie. Uncle Campie has known Jules since they were in high school together and has two young boys of his own. There was much fun to be had in a household of three boys and two adult boy fathers. The testosterone was thick! Mainly this meant video games and Legos. There were other great moments as well. One large water balloon fight which entailed squeals of delight, driving lessons with the boys' Mustang Power Wheel, and lots of playing on the outside fort. It was nice to relax and let the boys all play together in a working, family household. (Sometimes I forget everyone doesn't have children and two jobs to juggle.) There is just so much I am thankful for Jules bringing into my life with the Barracuda. There is so much about being a boy I wouldn't begin to know how to explain, so much I wouldn't even know I should explain, so much that was evident in watching Jules with his best friend playing with their children.

Down to Atlanta we then drove The Mini-Van of Doom! There were more friends to visit. Jules has a long time friend who is actually a mild-mannered, incredibly awesome Grandma by day and moonlights as a hardcore biker. She rocks and gave the Barracuda a ride on the back of her bike; helmet, vest, and all. It was definitely the highlight of his entire trip! Jules and I thought it was pretty rad as well.At this point we were pretty sure that Barracuda wasn't going to want to go home at all. Georgia had become the land of sugar cereal, laser light shows and fairs, Powerwheels and motorcycles, cousins to play with, video games and Legos. Georgia was just plain cooler than home.

For our last visit we completed our loop returning to the mountains. Nestled in rural acreage, we relaxed further into the company of old friends and an even older farm house. There is so much out in the country of Georgia that isn't in the city here at home. You can hear bullfrogs at night, the ground hogs come out to scuttle around at dusk, and the cicadas play all night long. Perhaps the most magical however, are the fire flies. Every night they rise out of the grasses and begin their blinking glow. It is as though burning embers are being blown through the meadows. There is nothing even close to compare it to at home. Much time was spent on the back porch, talking in the warm night, and watching the fire flies.


















All in all, Georgia was quite a success. The Barracuda was lured home with the faint memory of his beloved Guadalupe. Jules and I were lured home with the all to familiar memories of home. As enchanting as the trip was, fireflies and all, it is no match for sleeping in your own bed in your own house. We breathed a collective sigh as we boarded our final plane home, and though we returned in the middle of heat wave, were very happy to have the vacationing over once again for another year.

The Fourth of July this year was spent at the family beach house. This house was built from an inheritance my father received and none of us knew was coming. My grandparents were depression children and saved money their entire lives; when they died, that money became a forced family fun building project at the beach. Spending the summer I was 14 with my parents 2 and a half hours from home was not my idea of a wonderful experience before high school. However, now it is a wonderful place for our family to get together on such holidays as the Fourth of July.

The relationship with my father has been very strained from the time I was incredibly small. We are both oppositionally defiant, stubborn, independent, and just plain pig headed. He is/was a stanch Republican; I'm a rather hardcore democrat. He believes that education and money bring you up out of having to labor; I would prefer to labor and have less money. He's very much a clean cut, organized, things in the right places sort of person; I'm a dirty hippie. He says I do everything the hard way; I say the experience is much more important than the destination. We grew up in a 4200 square foot house; the best times of my life have been living in a 16x9 lime green van. But he is my dad and he loves me. We are both trying very very hard and have made significant headway. The Spicy Barracuda has been a wonderful help here. He is a dirty hippie child with a blue mohawk who is also amazingly well behaved, respectful, organized and intelligent. Somehow the genes must have sorted themselves out.

My father, his significant other, her daughter and boyfriend, Jules, the Barracuda,
and I all ventured out to the beach for three to four days. It was quite delightful!














There was much bike riding, bridge running, and wetlands viewing. We also got to venture up to the lighthouse on the point, roast marshmallows in the fireplace (as well as out on the beach watching the fireworks), eat potato chips and candy, and a few piggy back rides. The Barracuda hasn't had much experience with many of these things and enjoyed himself thoroughly.














The beach is a great place to take the Barracuda for fireworks. It is like a war zone long before any of the professional explosives start to go off. Thousands of dollars are ignited in matters of minutes and go on long through the night as we walked back home to bed. It affords us the ability to experience all the excitement without having to blow all the cash. Secondly, I am clumsy and accident prone. Explosives and I probably aren't a great mix without medical insurance. We will stick to the Pop-Its (or Whipper Snapers in the South) and have a wonderful time just watching.

Most importantly, some quality time was spent together as a family. Vacations away from our house are rare in these parts and vacations away with much other than the three of us are virtually unheard of. The calming of the beach is a great place for all our stresses and household chores to fall away and get right down to good old fun. The thought that walking along the Pacific Ocean will be so common to our son is quite incredible.

Jules also got to have some time with my father discussing whatever it is that guys discuss. They spent a long night talking out on the porch after the rest of us had gone to bed. The little I have been privy to involved the woods, relationships, me, the horrificly stupid neighbors, marriage, and other sorts of apparent dude topics. I'm perfectly happy only knowing that they can openly discuss things and forge a relationship together. My father hasn't been to thrilled with any other of my males that he has met, but apparently Jules passed the test. He has gotten me to be clean. I now make the bed in the morning, do the dishes when people get up from the table, make really great food, have a person for The Barracuda to refer to as Dad who is respectable and plays, and other adult like stuff. I now dress in non-patched clothing, look female by wearing dresses or skirts, and do momlike things such as reading to my son before bed. Most importantly to my father (other than being clean) I am domestic. I make our food (from scratch), I knit, I wash clothes, garden, take care of family chores, and have The Barracuda doing the same. Finally, I'm fitting the picture of what a young lady should be in my father's eyes. With these things, he can overlook the blue mohawk, dread locks, chanting of freedom rock, and recitation of classical poetry. I'm happy, fitting a cultural place, and not living in a van anymore!

All in all, the weekend was a succuss and to be repeated in a couple of months when the family will once again venture down to the beach together. It is odd how well it has all worked out with such a rocky beginning, but finally, it appears, we are a family.

Charlotte's Web is long gone, but not a bit forgotten. Though his lip began to quiver a bit at Charolett's passing, no tears were shed. A sniffle or two perhaps, but no tears. He laughed and snickered with Templeton the rat and was delighted with the goose's stuttering speech (my favorite character personally). He thought Mrs. Arable quite wrong about a barnyard being a terrible place for young children and thought slops sounded just atrocious. The smashing of Templeton's spoiled egg caused a turned in face all scrunched up at the smell and the fair made him ask about three or four times (in that chapter alone) if we could go to one of those. Now small spiders are gracing his hands as he finds them all over the garden and carries them about. (He still exclaims panic over large spiders though.) All in all, rave reviews and quite a quick read. I think this one took less than two weeks. So we are on to the next book: Winnie-the-Pooh.

Now I was a bit concerned with this due to which copy of Winnie the Pooh we own. You see, it is so old there is no ISBN number to get a picture from Google images. After much searching I stumbled onto it by adding the word "vintage." Moreover, it's copyright is 1926. There are no colored pictures except the solitary bear in yellow on the front. The red canvas book has long since lost, what I believe, was gold sparkly lines bordering the front and rear covers trying to make it appealing to young children. This is not Disney. The language is not contemporary at all. It is the sort of book that if taken to the Antiques Roadshow the expert looks at you in bewilderment and exclaims "Why were you handling this, let alone reading it to your child!?" It is one of those books that doesn't get to reside on the child's bookshelf and only gets to be read with Mommy taking it down from her bookshelf. But I don't care; I love it. I believe it was my grandparent's, and I know it was my mother's. In any case, what it has in sentimentality, it totally lacks in flash. Small Barracuda boys are a bit addicted to flash.

The greatest thing has happened though: he loves it. Since Saturday's beginning there hasn't been a night which goes by that a request for at least a chapter isn't sprinkled into conversation. Tonight, after getting in trouble for sneaking peas from the garden (I literally had to tell my child at dinner he must finish his strawberry shortcake before he could go eat our garden peas!) his quivering little voice asked, "Can we still read?" He adores Pooh's bewildered antics. He understands the complexity of language and comprehends the story line. No Disney, No color, Hardly any pictures....a hit! Whew! Take that flash! At this rate we are going to be moving on to Stuart Little by Monday of next week. Wow, so much for my dubious mothering.

There aren't too many great things that the Pacific Northwest can claim come from all our rain. If you grew up here, the benefits are many, but you are used to a lot of grey skies and it is just normal. However, if you are from out of town, the rain can be a bit of a complete downer. In fact, I have known more than a couple of people who needed to move due to the onset of seasonal depression from all our rain.

It makes things green. We have cheap hydroelectric power. But most of all, we have access to Hood Strawberries. Oh dear sweet Mary Mother of God, these berries are so good. You will only find them in Pacific Northwest grocery stores which sell seasonal berries because they exist for only three weeks out of the year and don't keep much more than a couple of days. They don't travel well and so they also tend to be a bit expensive. Oh, but it is worth it. There is very little in existence which says summer more than these strawberries.

We could have visited our local organics store, paid a lot more, and quickly acquired a very small little container of berries to munch on for the next couple of days. One better, there are many roadside stands advertising the onset of strawberry season with berries spread all over their tables ready for anyone to drive up and purchase. However, if there is one thing I have seen in us raising our own food, it is the importance exposing the Barracuda to the process of growing. By choosing to U-Pick your berries they are not only cheaper and you can get large volumes of berries, but you can see the farm and develop a relationship with those who grow your food. So much of the time it is forgotten that our food comes from the ground by people who work sun-up to sun-down. It is a lot of work for a reward often gone unappreciated. It is important to me that The Barracuda not miss these facts about his meals.

After packing a picnic lunch, and getting gasoline, we were on the road to the farm. The drive is gorgeous, only about 30 minutes, and a great way to build the anticipation of the event. The U-Pick farms in our area step up a tent right off of the parking lot where they sell boxes, have a weigh station, and park the large wagons used to hall everything to and from the fields. We had our 5 gallon bucket weighed by Ashley (a local farm girl) and she pointed the way to the fields. They rotate the picking every other day or so, allowing the berries to ripen and be picked evenly rather than totally annihilated. You are rarely in the same field twice in one week.

The Barracuda hopped into a wagon with our bucket and I began to pull us up the dirt road, past the herb garden, and through the peach orchard, to rows upon rows of strawberry plants. The romance of such a walk surpasses the mere 5 minutes it takes to get there. You would never know we were only thirty minutes from the city. Life here is just plain slower. The jobs require more time, harder work, and a level of patience which slows the pace of life. As a city dweller, the Barracuda wouldn't know such a world exists without our excursions. I would like him to realize other people fully live the type of life we are allowed to have small portions of with our lifestyle.

Jules and I have often wondered just how weird our undertaking in simplicity is. When the Barracuda and I got within view of the strawberry fields it was very obvious our family is not alone. The fields were full of people. Families, moms, kids of all ages, and even grandparents were out picking in groups with their own picnic lunches. These were all homeschooling families (school is still in for another week and it was noon on Friday) who were out picking to make jam, can, and generally have a desire to experience the slower pace of life much like our family has. It was a welcome relief for the Barracuda to see other kids doing the same things we were and much fun was to be had among all the children.
Picking your own berries requires that reminder of patience, of a slower pace, of harder work. It is a very simple task, but one to enjoy the rambling up and down strawberry rows taking in all the farm environment has to offer. This means you will get dirty hands, bitten by bugs, and if you are not careful a sun burn. It also means you will get to hear your child amazed at how berries can go from green to purple in the course of their lives. The Barracuda could see the pollination we had talked about for his homeschooling first hand in the progression of the berries. I was able to talk to other moms who let their children roam the fields as I did enjoying being outside on a great day. (The fields are open and flat so kids have to go quite a ways to be out of sight and ear shot.) We were all enjoying a Friday afternoon in the sun, with our families, taking part in the season. The Barracuda picked berries with me, as did most all the other children. There were people with colanders, Tupperware, cardboard boxes, and bowls all there to enjoy the season in our little chunk of the world. It was quite refreshing.

With our five gallon bucket filled half-way, our hands and knees very dirty, and our stomachs rumbling we trekked back to the weigh station to pay for our harvest . By having our bucket weighed first when empty that amount is recorded with masking tape on the side of the bucket and then subtracted from the end weight. This way we only pay for the berries and not the extra 2.25 pounds of bucket. We stood in line, paid, and then ventured off into the peach orchard for a picnic lunch of tree climbing and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.











The afternoon passed quickly and soon we were home to get cleaned up and can our wonderful bucket of bounty!

After washing the berries, the Barracuda capped and sliced them while I cleaned up the kitchen and prepared the cans. He is getting so good with both his axe handling and his knife skills that I hardly have to watch him anymore. This has helped significantly with getting things around the house done. He can be set to one chore (taking in the wash, preparing food to can, making kindling, cleaning the yard before mowing, his schoolwork) and I can take on an entirely different task within the same vicinity knowing I won't have to constantly observe and mediate. By the time he was done slicing, strawberries were all over his hands, his legs, his right eyebrow, his left cheek, and a bit mushed into his hair. Upon further inspection both elbows and his neck also has been christened with bright red juice. He was just plain sticky, dirty, and quite tasty according to Guadalupe who wouldn't stop licking him all over. So the strawberries went into a saucepan with 1/2 cup of sugar and the Barracuda went into the bathtub.

All in all 8 and 1/2 pounds of berries yielded 3 full quarts of berries. Previous 8 1/2 pound batches have given us 9 pints of berries and syrup. Both are processed at 6 pounds of pressure for eight minutes. With another couple of trips we will be well set up for the winter and be able to enjoy our three weeks of deliciousness all year round.

Jules will come out with us next time as the school year finally winds down and he is free (Only one more week! Not that I am counting). Over the summer we will be back to the farms for blueberries, blackberries, peaches, pears, and corn. We can all enjoy the whimsy of watching our food go from plants to our table and slowly creating family food traditions which will hopefully last all the way through much eye rolling and personal teenage embarrassment from the Barracuda. Little does he know how much the girls will enjoy strawberry picking dates, harvest festivals, and corn mazes!

I apologize for my absence as of late. Life kind of threw up all over us this last week. Running a thousand miles an hour, every day, for going on two years now finally hit Jules and I in the face. Coupled with the stress of this last quarter of the school year, our cup of endurance ranneth over. ::sigh:: But life as a way of helping us out when we need it and a few late night baths while eating Pop-Tarts (there are just some things that can't be as good when homemade!), the arrival of a new book ordered from Powells, and much sleeping it off has given us back some light at the end of the tunnel.

This past year's food shift has taken quite an unexpected turn. When this all began, I thought that if I began to remove processed foods from our life in favor of foods I personally created our family would somehow become healthier. What I now realize is that what I really wanted was for our family to become healthier in more than just the physical sense. I've been addressing our physical chemistry with the removal of food additives, but not the culture with which we eat our food.

Homesteading, or Voluntary Simplicity, or whatever you want to call this lifestyle, causes you to shift the way you look at the surrounding culture because, for the first time, you are removed from it. As Micheal Pollen writes, "To reclaim this much control over one's own food, to take it back from industry and science, is no small thing; indeed, in our time cooking from scratch and growing any of your own food qualify as subversive acts." With this removal from current cultural trends, I now find myself looking about at our lives and finding large empty holes where I might never have seen them.

For the last two years, Jules and I have been juggling a life which includes one full-time (and then some) teaching job; one part-time, semi-erratic restaurant job; a precocious child who is too young for school; me in school; and a fairly small household budget. What this all boils down to is that we don't every really see each other. When Jules goes to work, I take care of the Barracuda; Jules comes home and takes care of the Barracuda while I go to work. It is emotionally exhausting.

This job/childcare juggling is becoming a mainstay in our society when more and more people are becoming two person working families, but I don't know how they do it. Perhaps they don't, and that is why divorce rates are so high. Even though both Jules and I are reaching breaking points (this mornings stressful bickering included the lines "I don't like my existence" and my retort "My world isn't filled with joy either!" both of which now make me laugh) we realize there is no one else we would be struggling through with. The end of the school year is near and in less than 10 days and we will have our family back. However, some major changes are coming from this realization of yet another hole created by the mainstream cultural juggle of work/childcare: family intimacy.

It has become apparent that our family doesn't dialog well. We have fun together; we work well together; we love each other and can be silly, but not much talking about substance. Perhaps this comes from a lack of modeling (though that seems way to easy a blame). Growing up, communication wasn't a strong point among members of my family. Dinner centered around eating as fast as possible so that none of us had to speak to one another.

As much as our family dialogs well in one on one situations, the act of community conversation is lacking. I find myself wondering, "What would we discuss around a dinner table?" or thinking of the agonizing, forced conversation we are all dreading when we come to the table. But this summer, the adventure begins a new with family dinners and conversation.

Secondly, our TV is dying. We are not switching over to digital. Here in the States, if you are not a cable subscriber, you will need to purchase a converter box for your television set to work. We're not buying in; we are unplugging. Though much of our television is now present on the Internet or checked out of the local library, the ease of flipping a switch and turning off interaction will be gone.

Third, music will be coming back into our house. The Barracuda has always loved music. He can dance far better than either Jules or I, mystifying both of us and other onlookers as we all wonder "where did he learn to do that?" His musical repertoire includes everything from The Beastie Boys and Andre 3000 to The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan to Solomon Burke and The Band. The Barracuda (so named after the Heart song) has a drum circle drum that he enjoys playing incredible rhythms on, writes and sings his own songs, and finds the rhyme schemes on the classic poetry we use when homeschooling him only to beat out the words on his drum when reciting the lines. It is something that is apparently in his blood.

As much as Jules and I enjoy it, we haven't done all that much (other than dance parties) to foster it. This next year that will be changing. I have purchased a guitar and am one again teaching myself to play. Jules wants to learn how to play the banjo something awful. And, just the other day, a childrens' guitar was found at the local Goodwill for $20. Last year's Solistic present was Guadalupe, this year's will be music.

So, for now, I am left looking within for patience and personal solace. I read in an old National Geographic that the primary task of a farmer's wife was that of patience. At the time I thought it was dramatically underestimating the efforts of farm women, but now I understand. The hardest part of all is reminding yourself this too shall pass, spring will come again, the rains haven't left forever, and soon the snow will be melting.

Memorial Day weekend is traditionally a family holiday filled with the excited acknowledgment summer is coming. In our household, Memorial Day is a bit different. Memorial Day means that Jules does not have to teach school and if I can get the evening off, we have childcare. These two things combined with the nicer weather our area experiences in May mean that firewood season is upon us. So Memorial Day is spent with Jules and I purchasing 12 bottles of beer, sharpening our axes, and driving the two trucks (Jules' and my family's Old Beater) up into the remote areas of our local National Forest. With the two trucks we figure we can get a chord and a half each time and minimize the number of total trips. Around here the permit is $20 and allows for four chords of wood (the general consensus among all for one year of house heating). Technically the season ends in November, but I don't know who on Earth could get their vehicle up there, or once there could get through the snow to down the trees. However, the trees are all tagged and the wood is first come, first served so this is a moot point because once 85-90% of the tagged wood (and they do check) has been cut the season is closed.

With the idea of killing our Natural Gas bill this next year, we're getting ready to heat the house with only our fireplace. This means not only stocking up on wood, but also building the racks for the wood to dry and honing our skills to be able to chop enough without putting ourselves in permanent chiropractic care. So a chainsaw has been purchased, firewood racks have been built, and the overgrown vegetation of our backyard is becoming kindling.

Directly behind our backyard is a The Neighbor Who Does Not Care. I cannot blame him too much as we think he is renting the house. He does keep the lawn moved and junk from piling up, but the trees between our fence and his house are so awfully overgrown. Much discussion has gone down amongst the neighbors that the overgrown vegetation must be taken care of. However, very little has really been done. Yesteday, Jules had had it. The next thing The Barracuda and I know, Jules is standing on the fence hacking away.

Even though this first time we go into the forest The Barracuda will be hanging out with Uncle Flint and Grampa, he is not absolved of work. One of the most important things Jules and I wish to impart on our son is the realization that nothing can be taken for granted. If you aren't working for it now, you will be paying for it later. At 4.5 he has daily and weekly chores, saves his allowance, and has rolls in the garden and water harvesting. Firewood is another household job which he is to have a part in.

Currently, The Barracuda is in charge of kindling and stacking. He uses his tomahawk to strip branches and chop them into stackable kindling. This is a skill in the making, but he is doing remarkably well. His adz swinging in The Hole has really help strengthen his arms and gain controlled hand-eye coordination.

(Yes, his hair is green. His screaming blue mohawk has faded into a shaggy green mohawk.)

More than just learning a good skill, he has to chop firewood with both Jules and I all together as a family. If we are all going to use the heat, we are all going to participate in acquiring it. It is much harder to carelessly burn more wood than necessary if it is has taken hours of work to chop and stack it. Likewise, it is much harder to senselessly log our forests if you use the resource for heating your home and have had to watch a majestic tree fall. An appreciation for working and the earth needs to be fostered young and that is what we are trying to do. Whether it is taking the larger split pieces or his own personal kindling, he definitely feels part of the process and pride of ownership in our household. Much like cleaning his room everyday and helping us harvest water, firewood is becoming a very normal part of his daily life. As Jules jokes, "The family that slays together (trees that is), stays together."

To some the idea of chopping wood during the summer and beginning axe handling at four and a half might be a bit early. But the more I watch our family simplify, the more I realize how much our life was far more out of whack before all this. We now change with the seasons in the same way the earth does. Our food, our chores, our lives, all shift together rather than maintaining this homoginized feel of droning on. It makes things like chopping kindling in the backyard an enjoyable, smiling event because we do it only time a year. The summer is the only real time for us to go cut due to Jules being off of school and the snow line being low enough, so in a way we are celebrating the are ushering in of summer much like everyone else. We are merely doing it by preparing for the late fall. This seems to be the theme of simplicity: Plan ahead and work hard together so that the small joys in life can be shared and appreciated by all.

Somewhere at one of the many grandparent's houses, The Barracuda got the idea of waffles. He has been on a mission ever since to have these tasty treats for breakfast, dinner, snacks and any other time he can find a way to squeeze in the suggestion, "We could have waffles..."

With the recent addition of buttermilk to our household, waffles weren't too far off. The only hold out had been the waffle maker. I used this excuse time and again as the reason that waffles hadn't made their appearance. After all, if someone had invented Bisquick then waffles had to be just plain tiresome to make from scratch. I don't know if the previous waffles were Eggo's or not, but in our house we mix our waffles.

Ever resourceful, The Barracuda visited my father's house as per usual and happened to find the old household waffle maker in the pantry. This would have been no issue before, but since the advent of reading there isn't much that passes The Barracuda by. So he asked, "Grandpa, can we borrow your waffle maker?" To which my father looked both sad and baffled, he didn't think he owned one. As you can see, the waffle maker got lots of use over at his house. It turns out this waffle maker was a hold out from the divorce and had been sitting in the pantry ever since being unpacked. The Barracuda, prompt as ever, went scurrying off to procure his new found treasure and prove its existence. Now our household has a waffle maker. Blast the ever resourceful child!

Waffles have now made a very fond entrance into our breakfast lives. Where once there was no breakfast at all, only coffee, there are now meals spent together. On Saturday and Sunday mornings we now sit together and eat a breakfast of pancakes or waffles. Jules and I are all about the pancakes, The Barracuda wants the waffles, so we compromise.

One batch of waffles makes six large waffles. There is no way, even with Jules gorging himself, that our family can eat 6 large waffles. The extras are saved in a Ziploc baggy for the rest of the weeks' mornings before work and school. This way I don't have to get up unrealistically early to make waffles, then do the dishes. (If that were the case there would be no waffles.)

Surprisingly, waffles are crazy simple! I don't know what Mr. Bisquick was thinking inventing an entirely new product to make something so very, very simple. Isn't there cancer to cure? All that it takes are two eggs, some flour, a little baking powder, and milk. So here is our families version of waffles:

Ingredients
2 eggs, separated
2 cups of flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 cups of buttermilk
3 Tblespns honey
1/8 teaspoon Allspice
1/4 teaspoon Cardamon

3-4 Tblspns of butter (I just scoop some out of the jar)

You are going to need three bowls (don't worry, two wash really really easily) and a whisk. Separate the eggs into two of the bowls. Whisk the egg whites till they form stiff peaks - this is definitely the hardest part. Set aside the egg whites and add the buttermilk, honey, Allspice, and Cardamon to the egg yolks. Whisk them all together and set aside. In the third bowl, whisk together the flour and baking powder. In our family we don't really use salt, but if yours does add a 1/2 teaspoon of salt into the flour mixture.

Make a well in the flour and pour in the egg yolk goo by thirds. Mixing thoroughly between pours. Melt the butter and pour into the egg yolk goo, mix thoroughly. Fold in the egg whites and you're done!

The entire process takes about 10 minutes or less! Waffles make a great breakfast, and easy brunch, a quick dinner, and just about everyone likes them. Not only this, but with summer here the fruit you can put on top of them has just multiplied significantly. The best part of the homemade waffles - other than eating them - is that everyone thinks they are super difficult, just like I used to! You can be super mom with little effort at all and no one would no! You could even surprise mom tomorrow with a batch of them and she would think you went to enormous amounts of trouble. A great Mother's Day present for very little cost and not much effort, but lot's of love.

The Spicy Barracuda sees Jules a lot. He sees me a lot. However, with our work schedules been opposed and the budget for child care limited (non-existent), he doesn't see much of both Jules and me at the same time. So Thursday nights and Saturdays have become Family Nights. This is specific time which has been set aside for us to do things as a family. Sometimes it is watching a classic movie. Sometimes it is going to Chuck E. Cheese or bowling. Sometimes it is riding our bikes to the park and the local hot dog shop or playing games together around the table after dinner. It doesn't really matter what the activity as long as it is spent as a family with the central point of playing together. Honestly, it is pretty great.

Today, Family Day was spent at the Farmers' Market. The Farmers' Market is filled with family friendly activities and plenty to see. With Guadalupe still having a bit of angst when it comes to strangers, she reluctantly stayed home. Hopefully, if The Walks continue she will soon get to come along. Being a gardener, the whole experience is quite voyeuristic for me. I want to see what other people are growing, and how well they are growing it. I want to ask them questions about having bees and harvesting honey. I want to marvel at their beautiful flowers, upon flowers, upon flowers. I want to taste the cheese they may from their cows and marvel at how different all of it is and how they made it themselves. I want to show the Barracuda how beautiful leeks grow with their leaves all fanned out and how many varieties of pears exist. I want to taste, and talk, and see, and experience the energy of people who spend their lives growing and creating sustenance.

Jules loves all of the above things as well, but particularly he likes the food. Street food is something I could live on for a good 4 years eating it every meal of every day. Jules might be able to for the rest of his life. Farmer's markets are a wonder at all the different kinds of delectable street food. There was exotic coffee and local wineries. There was a stand with three different kinds of kettle corn. (It was very difficult to resist and I don't know if I will be able to next time.) There were tamales, and gyros, and Asian stir-fry noodles. There were muffins, and cookies, and breads of all kinds. There were jams, honeys, and pestos. There were dozens of kinds of cheese - Jules favorite! People were selling eggs, seafood, and grass fed beef by order. We settled on pears, honey, goat cheese, a blueberry cornbread muffin the size of Barracuda's head, a giant cookie, and two meditarranian gyros filled with sweet spicy chicken, rice, and fresh veggies and yogart sauce. Our little red wagon was quite full, as were our tummies.

The Spicy Barracuda's favorite part are all the people. People watching and street entertainment are some of the finest around at street fairs and farmers' markets. There were hippies playing tight rope on a slack line. Barracuda had to try! There were hacky-sac circles. Barracuda really wanted to try. There were people doing paperwork on blankets, couples cooing over each other on benches, families with children running about. There were musicians ranging in age from three violinist girls who were about 10 to a man dressed just like Jimmi Hendrix. There were string quartets complete with cellos. There were drummers in circles. There was even a gorgeous woman rhythmicly moving to African dance who was just plain mesmorizing. (I think African dance might join my Life List.) Watching all the different urbanites which flock to these events for leisurely fun is quite the example of all different walks of life being able to coexist and have fun together. The Spicy Barracuda ran through the park, created his own music with a favorite stick, poked the stick into the fountains, said hello to just about anyone and everyone, danced a bit, and then got into the car to drive home quite tired.

The rest of our day was spent working in the yard and prepping for the summer which is definitely on the way. Current, Spicy Barracuda is passed out in a tent which was quickly pitched in the backyard when he decided at dinner to try camping out. Sleeping outside in a tent is something he has done a couple of times before on family camp outs, but doing it solo is a new experience. We will see if he makes it the whole night.

The greatest part of Family Night is that it not only gives us a chance to be together, but it allows us to interact in a completely stress-free way. Wandering about the Farmers' Market has no time constraints, not expectations to live up to, no deadlines or social graces which need to be upheld. More over, you can see all different kinds of people freely being themselves and this encourages the same behavior in us. We can come home and enjoy working in the yard while the Barracuda and Guadalupe play together being a silly as can be. Overall, the implimentation of Family Nights have helped with all of us trying new things and becoming much closer together.