In the Western town of Eagle

Before I moved to Boise, I was talking to my freshly Idahoan sister as she drove to work. I remember it so distinctly, she said, "hold on, I have to let a duck family cross the street". I was immediately envious! I wanted to live in a place where ducks ambled across streets! Almost 5 years later we are finding more and more reasons to love Boise (and Eagle!) and are very confident in the choice we made nearly a half decade ago. And now, a male and female duck (mallards) have found refuge in our front yard. The female clearly has a hurt foot and the male is obviously very protective. We've been supplying them with fresh water and bread, hoping that she'll heal and they can rejoin their perfectly populated habitat over at the nearby duck ponds. For the time being we are keeping a close eye on them while trying to give them some space.

Do mallards typically mate for life? I think they must imprint on some level because the male is clearly in it for the long-haul. Chloe just about melted my heart when she said, "Oh, Mom. The daddy duck looks so disappointed... like Daddy looks when you're feeling sick and he's asking you if you're okay." After that statement I feel even more motivated to help these creatures... keep your fingers crossed for the power of compassion and the devotion that one sweet duck has for another!

I can vent, right?

So. A blog. A place to rant. A place where you can get it all off your chest. Let me quote Jimmy Fallon in SNL days gone by: "I have an opinion!".
I want to propose to you to revise the well-meaning statement that "she's a good mom" and "he's a good dad". Here's why: I feel that the way that we measure dads is unparallel to the way we measure moms in our society. It feels like if a dad takes just a little bit of initiative and shows just a touch of enthusiasm he is branded with an enthusiastic title of "GOOD DAD!". Whereas it seems, more and more, that a mom has to be accomplished in the consistency department, the parks and rec department, the meal planning department, the multi-tasking with a smile on my face department, the remember to plan an epic birthday celebration department, the don't forget to put on cute clothes for class pictures department, the screen preschools department, the have a gift closet department, the invite people to dinner department, the organize the closet department, the shop the end of the season for next year's needs department, the decide what sport is coming up next department, the send birthday and Christmas cards department, the stock the art supplies department, the wipe behind the toaster department, the remember to buy Comet, dryer sheets, A&D, plastic Easter eggs department and on and on. And on.
It feels a lot like it's a surprise to be rewarded when a dad steps up to meet the broad range of his children's needs. And a crime when a mom drops one of the 999 balls she has in the air at any given moment.
Let's consider a blanket celebration of good parents. The ones that work together to get things done. And the ones that know that, as my dear friend says, they don't get a cookie for taking care of their OWN KID.
I'm glad my husband is a good dad. And that I'm a good mom. And that together we are equally good parents who deserve equally enthusiastic praise and that our efforts should not be attatched to gender expectations or guaged according to what "most" men or "most" women do. Because the men may always win and the women may consistently fall short.
Just a thought (or two).

Oh baby the places we'll go!

The end of an era and the promise of adventure is upon us! We've left the volatile edge of infancy behind us, emerging on the exciting side of manageability.
For months Mike and I have been saying to each other, "it's going to get a lot easier... soon". And it has been progressively more manageable... but we were both feeling the need to prove that Ryan could sit still for longer than half of a Happy Meal. For months we've denied ourselves real restaurants and events for the very real fear that it would all go to hell just as we were starting to enjoy ourselves. Sitting still and eating quietly are simple not engaging activities for our relentlessly busy child.
It would go something like this. I'd ask Mike, "should we all try to go out to dinner tonight?" and he'd say "are you sure you want to do that?" and I'd go to bat for my son, vouching-- saying earnestly, "Honey, I really think he'll surprise us... he's grown up a lot lately". And, my husband, being supportive and loving and knowing that the house is feeling smaller and smaller with each passing moment and that if I didn't get out and do something with the general population my minor frustrations would blossom into a full-on break-down would kindly agree. (Disclaimer to those of you who may not know for sure... I am not a fragile person. Nor am I dramatic. I'm simply a human being that can sometimes start to show signs of wear after doing the same thing over and over again, with sometimes very little reward or sense of productivity. I stay at home with my kids. It's the best. But also sometimes demeaning and obnoxiously monotonous.) Then we'd arrive at a restaurant with toys, crayons, juice, and hope, sit down, order.... then take turns keeping Ryan from climbing onto the table, under the table, over the booth backs for the duration of our meal... which would often just come home with us in a box so we could slink out of there before it went from bad to worse. Then I'd apologize to Mike. (He never says, "I told you so".)
Therefore, when I suggested a drive to Olympia (9 hours! One way!) to visit my wonderful sister-in-law and her equally wonderful family it took a couple rounds of "are you sure we want to do that?" and a few dramatic statements regarding my fear for my mental health if we didn't do something different, exciting, and ambitious so I could feel alive and rebooted-- for my super supportive husband to jump on board. Sure, there were a few comments acknowledging the doom that could be awaiting us as we pulled from our subdivision, already submersed in drama, demands and tons TONS of crap that we "needed" to bring.




Cliff Note summary: we made it home in 4 pieces (which is ideal, of course) and were, by the grace of God, rebooted, refreshed, and ready for a summer of more outings, less crap to bog us down, and more dinners out... but then again, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

A shower for Lily

Exciting things are afoot in our world. Ryan's turning 2 in just a short month and in about a month and a half we will be welcoming a new baby into our family. No, not mine (per say)... my sister is becoming a mother for the first time. Her shower was held on Saturday. A super intimate affair celebrating my sister, the father of her baby and, most importantly, Lily Kait. We, the Macvies, are growing ever excited and are eager to watch her grow into a playmate for our kids. Both Mike and I grew up with cousins nearby and value the unique relationships we formed with them and have thousands of memories of being part of a tight-knit group of sibling-like chaos.
Here are some pictures of Anne enjoying the celebration and opening gift after gift of pinkness. We love you already, sweet Lily and cheers to you both, Anne and Kip-- you will be amazing parents.

Halloween

And feast your eyes on these ghouls.

Ryan's Irritating Innovations

My second-born has never been a sit-and-observe-the-world kind of person. Rather, he opts to utilize anything he can get his overly-capable hands on to gain access to higher, and much more life-threatening surfaces. He's discovered that dining room chairs move swiftly across laminate flooring and allow him to peruse the medicine cabinet. An upside-down pot facilitates the grabbing of the knife block. Those door-knob covers designed to keep babies out of rooms are a minor speed bump in sneaking out to the garage, climbing into the driver's seat of the van, opening the garage door and fumbling to put the keys in the ignition. His favorite past-time is chasing Chloe through the house with a "whacker" and making her scream... we do this at least 10 times before lunch. Yesterday I found him sucking with all his might on a straw that he'd inserted into the honey... something that I still am phobic about giving him due to the threat of botulism (per The American Academy of Pediatrics).
I'm not a hundred percent sure what "the vapors" are but I'm assuming that my son gives them to me... he breaks something of value every day, antagonizes the dog until she nips him, runs through the house with knives, uses the dishwasher door as a trampoline-- dare I ask what tomorrow (or the teenage years) will bring? GULP.


Measures taken:


Observe: an example of how my son comes by his ways naturally... Mike uses old, annoyingly useless toy parts to fabricate a "lock" for the medicine cabinet. Similarly, our fridge proudly displays a dog-collar-like bracelet to discourage the help-yourself-to-the-chocolate-syrup game that my son has invented.














And, here you see a puzzle of inter-mingled chairs designed to thwart the little guy... he just climbs it like a billy goat, though. Thus creating one more potential disaster.

Yikes, guys. YIKES.

I think I'm having a soccer attack!

So, the super leggy 5 year old is currently rockin' the soccer field and doing it quite well, I must say. She is incredibly, adorably enthusiastic about it and has surprising control over her long limbs. She's a goal making maniac, never-mind that, theoretically, the goal should be made for YOUR team. Thankfully it is all about fun and no score is kept...