The Rocket Rocker, Take Two

I don't really get the obsession with kids' toys, quite honestly.  It's like a man designing high heels or a bra.  It's like vegetarians who smoke.  Or homeschoolers with bad attitudes.  We don't have kids yet but oh if we did they'd have the coolest toys and most imaginatively explosive playrooms ever.  In the meantime, it's this weird paradox.  Gepetto in his workshop churning out stoves and rockets and wooden cradles for - everyone else's kids.

It's funny because we do know a few things about babies.  Diapers, burping, and some of them don't like scratchy beards, (DUSTAN).  But we have no clue when it comes to little people.  So the whole time Dust is making toys we're all "How high does a two year old stand?" and "Would a six year old really play with this?  Can a six year old even fit into this?  WILL ANYONE'S KID PLAY WITH THIS TOY?"  To the point that when the toy is all said and done, to see a little body playing with it is elating.  We look at each other like It really works!

The imaginings of the Rocket Rocker took shape soon after the little stove, and in one take Dustan busted this puppy out.

 

The Rocket Rocker has serious rocking capacity, but the thing kids loved most was the interactive joy stick that pivots in all directions.  I think the hardest part of wooden toys is the balance between making it interactive while allowing for imagination.  You want to keep it simple, but it's tempting to keep adding stuff.  Makes me totally understand how someone somewhere made a really cute doll and was like "But she needs to eat, drink, cry, pee, and say Mama, too!" 

Dust ran the RR by Lindsay when it was in the finishing stages and she's the one who suggested he leave the backend open, so another child could make use of it as a little seat.  She was totally right!  (Leave it to a mother of a 2, 4 and 5 year old).  At the grand opening of RG Natural Babies, where the RR is on display, the ninos really did that.  It really worked!

what started as The Rocket Rocker turned into Braindump

Some days I find myself reaching out for relationship on the internet, only to keep coming up empty.  I hate that feeling.  A vacant inbox, no Facebook alerts, blogs abandoned, nothing good to Google.  How dull, how lonely, how dumb.  Oh look!  An email!  From Urban Outfitters.  You know it's bad when you start reading your own spam.

Days like this I'm clicking around in my inbox, remembering fondly what it was to be caught up in mundane hiking, only sometimes interspersed with lightning storms, head wounds and rattlesnakes.  The AT was so far from anything civilized, climate-controlled, slick, shiny, modern or functional.  It was a little freaky, very earthy, and while I wouldn't describe it as survival, it sure made the concept of self-entertainment irrelevant.  Completely opposite of hulu or YouTube.  No chair-sitting (ever!) or double-clicking, zero access to stand-up comedy or tidbits of news or a friend request or noaa.gov (and baby, I missed you out there).  Our work and play were the same, we wore the same underwear for days, and even dirty fingernails felt clean if dunked in a clear stream.  In other words, life in a one-room house you carry on your back was inevitably simple.   

Now I poke around at flashy buttons and unread links looking for stuff, for constant somewhat-meaningless connections that make me feel tied in all directions.  I just don't want to end up liking it that way.  I don't think you need to hike the Appalachian Trail to realize this - at all.  I think we all know it.  It's just that the trail forced it out, wrung it out and left us happy in the back of a dirty pick-up with a cold soda and no cell service.  I want to remember it because it's so easy to forget.

There are so many great connections to be made out there in cyber world, and I don't want to come off as ungrateful for the good side.  It's just that...too much is wearying.  It has nothing to do with blogging or sending emails or pulling up four different ways of preparing the brussel sprouts I just bought.  It has everything to do with being bored or lonely and hoping what I find on Facebook can cheer me up.  Just the thought of that makes me want to throw my computer out my second-story window in slow motion and pour my heart out like water in the presence of the Lord.  Also in slow motion.  Making up stories as I go and carving something out of wood or marble.  The very opposite of something clever or mildly amusing coming to me.

I'll go for the essence of it, but I would never ever do that in reality.  This computer is on loan to me, and I don't even let myself bring it in the kitchen when I'm on allrecipes.com.  Just for the record, JJ.

Serious Catching Up

Right.  An oil spill, sushi making, Jane Goodall, the Rocket Rocker, houseguests and derelict blogging.  Where was I?

So my Sis came in April, and her visit timed with not only her birthday but also the fifth month of her pregnancy.  Fifth month?  I think.  Pregnant ladies make it hard because they speak in weeks, not months.  Week 14, Week 28, Week 36 - milestones that mean nothing to me and require endless dividing by four.  It cracks me up that this carries over into the way people talk about their kid's age.  After the baby is born, they start speaking in months, not years.

Me: He's so cute! How old is he?

Random Grocery Shopper: Thanks, twenty-two months.

Really?  Cause I mean, technically you're not a liar if you just round up to TWO.  Right? 

Aaaaannyway.  Sis and I took Trail for walks by the lake, picked up rocks on the beach, envisioned ourselves in everything Anthropologie was offering but bought nothing, and then she taught me how to make sushi.  You know I always say, give a man a sushi roll and he eats lunch.  Teach him to make his own sushi and .... you take all the mystery out.  But that's okay, because I know I've been paying way too much for my all-time favorite food for way too long.  So now I can go whip it up any ol' time I want.

I love this picture because this pregnancy was a last-minute decision and yet came right on time.  Sis has a big belly and turns down good coffee, but otherwise it just feels like a very normal progression for her.  I'm so happy for her and Mike!

Sushi.

Have you guys done this before?  I'm behind the curve on everything in the kitchen - except homemade ice cream cakes - and now I feel straight up cocky about how cool it is to make your own sushi.  Observe:

This is the rice part, and for me it was definitely the most complicated.  Since this visit, I made a load of sushi for Brian and Lindsay's birthday on my own, and the rice was almost a disaster.  What started as a soup in the rice cooker ended up in the garbage, and I used the old-fashioned pot-on-the-stove method instead.  Whether you do your rice successfully in a rice cooker (which is what Sis used when she came, pictured above) or on the stove, after it's the perfect consistency make sure to air it out.  We used casserole dishes but the sushi rice bag recommends a 'big wooden bowl.'  Then you add some rice wine vinegar and a smidge of sugar.  It makes the rice sticky enough to handle and gives it that awesome sushi sheen.

Sorry such dim fuzzy pics.  These are the only ones I got of this shot, and it's an important part.  You lay out your nori (sheet of dry seaweed, found in the ethnic aisle of any grocery store) and sprinkle with a tiny bit of saltwater, to liven it up.  Then you pat down the rice on one side.  This, aside from the meticulous slicing of veggies, is the most time-consuming part.  Get the rice even to the edge of each side of the nori.

Then flip the rice side of the nori down (unless you want the seaweed on the outside - I think that's a maki roll) and line up what you want on the inside.  Above was Sis's pina roll - red pepper, pineapple and avocado.  The finished product is drizzled with coconut milk.

I should mention that in order to roll sushi you need a bamboo mat.  We covered ours with plastic wrap.  I'm sure sushi chefs everywhere just lost their balance.  But we didn't want rice getting stuck in the cracks.  My coworker told me she rolls her sushi without a roll, so I guess you can do it however it works!  That's pretty cool.  Hey, you could take your avocado and your nori and roll up some sushi on an airplane.  Or while driving.  Or while texting AND driving.  And rolling.

Here's one of the birthday sushi rolls with shrimp, mango, cucumber, red pepper and more...

And one with cream cheese, crab and asaparagus

One last thing, before I end my sushi fanfare - because you can't have sushi without it!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

From good eats to good drinks...I've said before that I work for Rishi Tea - it's pretty much the coolest company ever.  So cool, in fact, that a few weeks ago I spent an evening in Chicago with Jane Goodall. We were celebrating the partnership of the Jane Goodall Institute with Rishi's Masala Chai.  It seems pretty blog worthy, so I thought I'd share.

Rishi joined up with Roots & Shoots, Jane Goodall's program designed like a grassroots movement of young people encouraged to think about 3 things they can do to help 1) the community 2) the environment and 3)....I forgot the third one.  Animals maybe?  Yeah, animals!  Of course.  Anyway Jane was awesome, she showed up with her famous now-grey ponytail and spoke with such articulation and poise that I deem her the Mother Teresa of the Animal Kingdom.  Woman after my own heart.  After hearing her talk about chimps, I came home and gave my Baba Gurl an extra long hug.  Only Baba Gurl ain't got no thumbs.

The connection between Roots & Shoots and Rishi Tea are endless.  The origin of the tea in Rishi's Masala Chai blend is an impoverished area in China.  Because Rishi is a fair trade company, we've done lots to help on that end, obviously by buying the product they're selling at fair prices, but also by building a school that is now up and running and educating a lot of kids.  If you want to geek out and learn more about Rishi and fair trade, here's the Rishi blog with some awesome videos of Joshua - owner and tea enthusiast - in Hubei.

Enough of the uneducated kids and expensive tea.  The real, most important, most pressing thing is that our Williamsburg peeps will be here in like...9 hours.  And I have to get OFF my computer and run around the house, pick up all the dog hair, stuff it into a little bag and then hide it in the closet like it doesn't exist (a.k.a. vacuuming).  I also have to throw another coat of red paint on the Rocket Rocker, Dustan's latest hand-built kid's toy.  He is debuting it this weekend at the grand opening of an organic baby store down the street!  So basically Tee and Christoph are gonna get here and have to go meet the mayor of Racine while I buzz around a small red wooden rocket with my camera, not unlike a mom at a high school graduation.

I will definitely be back with pictures.  Maybe even some pricing...

One more of the small people in my life

I stole this off Lindsay's Facebook because it's so excruciating.  This is Eve, and she is a star. 
And she totally knows it.

Not-One-But-Two (of everything in this picture)

 

 This is Addy, she's my neighbor. I love this picture!

Placeholder: The Hotness

Buffalo Chicken Haunting

Ok, really Dustan made something to eat.  And this was something that he's been haunted by ever since I've known him.  Buffalo Chicken.  Dustan remembers the first time he ate a buffalo chicken sandwich the way some people describe their first time seeing Lord of the Rings.  Like, all other food now pales in comparison and he could eat this food any time, anywhere, and never get tired of eating it.  The way he feels about the combination of blue cheese and buffalo sauce is pretty much the same way I feel looking at Arwen's ears and Aragorn wearing a necklace at the same time.

Aaaaaaanyway, Dust just decided the other night that he was going to make buffalo chicken in our kitchen, and he totally succeeded.  The first version was boneless buffalo chunks, because that's all we had, but next we'll try wings.  Here's what he did:

Soaked chicken in buttermilk and an egg white, then coated in flour, salt, pepper.  Fried chicken in an inch of hot oil until it was beautifully golden, turning every few minutes until done.  Then tossed the fried chicken in buffalo hot sauce in a wide flat bowl.  Soooo easy and we were totally impressed by how inexpensive it was.  And how legitimate it looked!

*Yawn*Stretch...

It's a good morning here in Wisconsin.  The sun is out and it's doing its job.  Warming the earth, pulling my face up, poking fun at my hooded sweatshirt and causing all black dogs everywhere to pant with a heavy grin.  I have the windows open, and music from passing cars fills my house.  What was once a dull thud is now the full range, treble and all.   

Tonight's gonna be a good night. 

You're telling me!  My sister arrives in Milwaukee at 5:30! 

I'm coming back to this space (again) like a family coming home from vacation.  I'm pulling up in the driveway with apprehension.  Still looks the same.  Internet authorities haven't condemned the place.  Peeking around the front door, expecting lizard infestation or flood.  Everything is how I left it.  All nine of you are still here!  How sweet.  Thanks for your longsuffering.  I could say it's been a crazy couple weeks, but what I would really mean by that is I haven't been clambering over top of the normal craziness of life to blog.  Such a great word, that.  Clambering.  I think it should replace "come" in the well-rehearsed sentences of life.  To the whiny backseaters, "Don't make me clamber back there."  How else?

It would be great to stay and write awhile, but my sister is coming.  And I get a little crazy before house guests descend.  I start cleaning the stove and alphabetizing Q-tips and rearranging the pillows I just arranged and such.  I'm clambering back soon.

Love,
Sweet Potato

As if you couldn't already tell...

This is one of those "abandon it altogether" kind of times.

The Bathroom

The bathroom was a kick-myself-in-the-head project.  It was a doozy.  I hated it.  I could definitely see the progress, because it was also the room in most need of a paint brush and a caulking gun.  But it just killed.  The reason was, I had in my mind that I wanted a grey bathroom.  When I say grey, I mean white with black in it.  You know, something kinda modern and clean-looking.  What I don't mean is Sweet Baby Boy, Welcome to my Nursery! blue.  And I didn't mean purple either.  Turns out I seriously should have consulted with someone besides me and the voice in my head in the paint store.  I'm sure if you had that moment on video you could see the smoke coming out of my ears I was thinking so hard.  Gah.  Every time I try to pick out paint I wear myself totally OUT.  My feet get hot.  I have to go to the bathroom.  My cell phone rings; it's buried at the bottom of my bag.  I'm thirsty, I forgot my water bottle.  I have a small piece of fabric that includes the perfect shade that I keep holding up to every swatch, hoping.  I won't even go into how much sway the name of a paint has over me.  Because, I mean, Hillside might be the right color, but Bay Leaf just sounds better!  So that's my paint color plight.

Unsurprisingly, I ended up cutting in around the shower, the sink and the fixtures with the baby blue (which, for the record, is officially named Silver Mist by Benjamin Moore), and then had to redo the whole thing.  Lesson learned: if the swatch is horrid, the wall will might be horrid.  If half of a wall is still unbearable - stop. painting.  In the end, I had Ben Moore remix the paint, and then I mixed it again.  Rather than grey, I ended with something just a hair more serious than what I lovingly nicknamed My Little Pony Eyelash Whisper purple.

It is what it is, a rented bathroom with a color I didn't choose the first time and would never choose again, but has ended up growing on me.  Dustan replaced some molding around the shower with fresh cut strips of wood, we caulked and cleaned and I painted every inch of trim with glossy white.  I mean - our bathtub is actually pretty inviting now!  Awesome.  Here are a few small projects making up the larger project:

Our mirror before I painted it black.  (I see a red door, baby.  It's my theme song.)

Our hamper before.

The bathroom before. 

Too bad those previous renters didn't leave behind the stupendous selection of Bath n' Body Works handsoap!  (I mean, did you count them?  Those were some fresh coconut japanese honeydew rainwater cherry blossom hands.  

After!