Star Wars-obsessed children

The boys have officially crossed to the dark side of Star Wars obsession. This morning we awoke to find that they'd used red markers on their faces so that they resembled Darth Maul. The bad guy. Naturally. Jack even drew down and around the back of his neck. Oliver washed some of his off, but I'm sure that several folks at the farmers market wondered about the little boy with red lines all over his face. With a profound appreciation for their creativity and ingenuity, I do, nonetheless, sometimes balk at the sheer amount of cleaning up these endeavors require.

Awesome morning at the farmers market

Oh man, do I love the advent of spring as it manifests itself in produce. This week I bought some beautiful ruby batons of fresh rhubarb and promptly made a strawberry-rhubarb puree that I used to add a swirl of flavor and color to a yogurt cake and also just eat plain, spoon by wonderful spoon. This morning, Ol and I headed down to Dupont for some time together at the farmers market. I was hopefully certain that ramps would be there, and they were! So were zucchini blossoms! And pea tendrils! AAH! We had a chongos popsicle (Mexican cream and cinnamon; to die for; yay Pleasant Pops), bought some buffalo jerky from Cibola Farm and the best brined and smoked turkey breast ever- thank you EcoFriendly Foods. I cannot wait to cook and dine on all this glorious freshness. For now, pictures.

The space between

I often find one of the most difficult and painful things about parenting to be the space -sometimes a sliver, sometimes a gulf- between your hopes and expectations of any given situation and the actual experience of it. More times than I can count, I've planned a date or activity with one or both of the boys which, according to plan, would be relaxed and fun. Perhaps it'd be educational and enriching, perhaps simply silly, hopefully memorable, at the least some pleasant time together. Or I've set aside a day or afternoon with the express purpose of having unplanned time together. Doesn't that sound terrific? Yes, in theory.

Not infrequently, these times turn out to be intense affairs of management and negotiation which leave me feeling frazzled, defeated and a bit sad. Not always, of course, but enough that they seem a seriously vocal minority. As if I'd left the room for a second and when I returned, the kids had turned into a manic subset of needy citizens, all trying to stake their claim and be heard. Wait, I think, what happened? This time is supposed to be lovely and simple (I didn't say easy; I said simple), not exhausting and wild. It's like emotional whiplash.

My perception of the parenting experience is that it's largely one of idealistic hope which draws from a vast expanse of love. You hope that your children are healthy and remain that way. You hope that what you do makes them happy. You hope that the opportunities you provide them foster maturation into good and kind and thoughtful individuals. You do all you do because you love and want the best for these precious creatures you've brought into the world.

That many parents' idealism can never be completely tamped is a beautiful tribute to all we do get from our children. The love we bestow on and receive from them often acts as the best sort of amnesiac. It's certainly one reason women so willingly go through labor and childbirth repeatedly; the pain is erased by the afterglow of happiness (and hormones). It's why parents endure night after sleepless night, give up what raising children demands we do.

But in trying so hard, so constantly over days, weeks and years, you also realize how much harder things are made and/or can feel when between what you hope and what you get emerges a discrepancy. Food for thought.