what we done with them

When you love morels as much as we do, it's hard to know when to say when. Looking for them without finding them, looking for them and finding three or four, looking and finding 650-700...harvesting them, cleaning them, preparing and eating them, giving them to people, drying them.. Every step of the process is rewarding, and no matter how many we find, the desire to find more is strong.

Since this is the case, I have developed many morel recipes, all which one could substitute another mushroom depending on the season. A few years ago I made a pretty radical dip. We hadn't found any asparagus, and we really had a TON of morels, so I made another, similar dip. Here it is

Morel Dip 2

3 lbs fresh, clean, chopped morel mushrooms

1 package cream cheese

6 oz parmesan cheese

1 med white or yellow onion, minced

2 large cloves garlic, minced (three or four ramps, including green leafy parts can be substituted)

2 ribs celery, minced, including leaves

1 small package imitation crab meat, roughly chopped into penny sized pieces

1/2 t crushed red pepper

1/2 t freshly ground black pepper

1/2 T sea salt

2 cups white wine, sweeter types like pinot grigio, riesling, or some chardonnay

1/4 stick of butter

-Saute the onions, garlic (or ramps) celery, peppers in butter till translucent. -Add the morels and toss to cover with oil. -As morels become soft and limp, add the wine and allow to reduce in half -Lower heat, add "crab meat", half the parmesan cheese and stir -Chunk cream cheese into the pan a tablespoon at a time, stirring constantly to mix -Pour everything into a casserole or pyrex container -Cover the top with the rest of the parmesan cheese, a grind of black pepper, and a pinch of red pepper flakes Bake at 375 deg for 25-35 minutes.

I also made a breakfast frittata that was delicious

Sweet Potato and Morel Frittata

2 lbs fresh, clean, chopped morel mushrooms

3 green onions, chopped

1 small sweet potato, peeled and sliced into rounds

a handful of chopped spinach

2 cloves minced garlic

10 beaten eggs

1 T salt

1/4 t black pepper

1/4t thyme

1/4 c milk

3/4 c cottage cheese

1/4 c olive oil, or coconut oil

Preheat to 375

-Saute the green onions, garlic morels, spinach, thyme and black pepper in one T of oil

-Let cool in pan. Transfer contents of pan into town scraping the sides so there is nothing clinging to sides of pan. Put remaining oil into pan and put in preheated oven.

-add the beaten eggs, milk and cottage cheese to the mushroom mixture in bowl, stirring to completely blend

-Carefully remove warmed oil from oven and pour egg/mushroom mixture into it. Lay sweet potato slices over surface of mixture.

Bake for 25-40 minutes, or till golden in color, and a knife stuck into center comes out clean.

And finally I couldn't help but try

Morel Fettucini Alfredo with Smoked Andouille

1 lb fresh, clean, chopped morel mushrooms

One container cream cheese

one cup sour cream

1/2 stick butter

5 T milk

2 minced ramps or shallots

3 large cloves garlic, minced

1 1/2 C parmesan cheese

4ox andouille sausage sliced into moons 1T salt

1t pepper

1/4 t nutmeg

1/4 t allspice

Walnuts

-In a large pan sauté the garlic, sausage, shallots/ramps in 1 T butter. Cook till edges are just browning, then add garlic

-Remove the sausage and set aside where no one can see and devour it

-Add mushrooms and toss till they cook down. If the oil looks sparse add a few splashes of olive oil

-Add salt, pepper, spices, and remaining butter.

-Whisking constantly, add sour cream, chunked cream cheese, and the milk one T at a time.

-When the sauce looks smooth, add the parm cheese, a little at a time, reserving a little for the top. Toss sausage in sauce. Serve with parsley or crushed walnuts over pasta of your choice.

So that's what we have been doing with the insane number of morels we found.

the hunt

AAAhhhhh! Spring. Everything looks good again and my lease on life is renewed. I'm slowly becoming convinced that it is, in fact, spring. Cautiously, I remove myself from beneath the rimy ice anvil that has been hanging above my head since moving to Illinois and stare at the blooms in disbelief. The calendar peeled from March to April, and suddenly it's time to file my tax extension again. It's official.

So often my perception of time is like this; my birthday is here, then christmas, suddenly it's three days after Jason's birthday and no one said anything, then Rainer turned 2, and it's going to blow my mind how fast July comes, bringing with it Fox's 6th birthday. Like a rock skimming the rippled surface of water, time careens onward. Oh wait; maybe it's me careening through time. No, then what would represent my experiences? Maybe my I am the rock, time is the pool, and the ripples are my experiences. But if that's the case shouldn't the pool be my life, the ripples my experiences, and the rock time? No. So what, I'm a rock skimming over my own life?

Anyway, the bottom line is this: Time flies in retrospect. Pausing and recollecting memories forces a person to not only abbreviate the extent of the situation, but to minimize "unremarkable" periods of time, which can account for the skimming sensation.

Spring makes me evaluate these ideas. It just seems to come so often, and each spring my family and I set out on search of morel mushrooms. It's something we all enjoy enough to have fun, and it gives us an imperative to spend lots of time outside in the emerging forest. Those of you with families know how tricky it is to find things to do that everyone enjoys. Spending time together can become another job if there aren't common interests and passions.

Morel mushroom hunting is an antidote to the cruel, skimming rock of life. Searching for morels involves lots of patience, attention, and stamina. Spending three hours in the woods just looking around you; silently searching and noticing, remembering a tree, a creek, following a bird, straining to hear voices whisper in the wind... These activities do not fly by, but command a level of experience that actually communes with time face to face; the unchanging changing, the things which remain constant, yet change,that aren't relative to age or dates, unparalleled with any human construct.

We began hunting very early, despite our assessment that Illinois would be at least three or four weeks behind what we were used to. There were five or six trips before we found the first mushroom. As an adult I am able to enjoy these fruitless searches, but as you can imagine the children didn't share my attitude. The second trip was the hardest for my 5 year old son. He remembers the gleamingly abundant times in our past hunting trips at the mention of the word 'morel', so he compares every trip with those embellished times. Looking for hours and finding nothing is a paradoxical torment for a child. We can only hope that these are exercises in patience and stick-to-itedness for the kids, otherwise I expect to have two future city dwellers on our hands.

Hunting in Illinois was such a change from Tennessee and North Carolina. Granted, we had patches in the southernmost states which we knew well; close in proximity to our homes so we could check them in a matter of minutes and know if it would be worthwhile to drag the kids out. As new residents we started looking in the only public forests we knew of. Homer Lake, Crystal Lake Park, Kickapoo state park, and other urban parks. We searched and found so many interesting things that weren't mushrooms. While searching the littered woods of Chief Shemauger park we came across the East Lawn Cemetery; a large garden which was evidently established in 1927. We found very old markers that had eroded to the lowest trenches of the yard and were being used as retaining walls in some sections. There were many gravestones that were overturned and smooth with age and abrasion. There were stones from the early 1800s. Much of the trash in the wooded area of Chief Shemauger park consisted of gravesite decor blown over from the cemetery. The wind makes a dump of any wooded or brushy area up here. People help, but it is amazing at the number of plastic bags and bud light boxes out in the middle of a prairie.

Since Homer Lake is the closest to our residence we checked it most. The most remarkable thing about this place was the number and variety of condom wrappers in the parking lot. I noticed one the first time I ever went there. The next visit just a few weeks later I noticed another, then yesterday when we went there was another, different condom wrapper. We ended up finding about 10 or 12 morels on the river bank above the lake, then another 10 in the meadowy forest above the banks. We were thrilled. The first place we found morels in Illinois was at the Kickapoo State park in Vermilion County. As we approached the park from the west we noticed a huge wind farm was being built on the prairie. The parking area was a small gravel lot set off of a county road, and the place really reminded me of East Tennessee. Especially this place on the corner of Hank and Bocephious:

The parking area was littered, as seems to be the norm, but this time with surgical gloves. An entire box of them had blown out and were all knotted up in the grasses. The area we explored was established as horse trails and the path lead through apple trees around a ridge, then went steeply into the river ravine. It was really lovely. We searched the area meticulously and found nothing. Rainer and I were heading towards the river since she was tired of being lugged around, and as I set her down on the clearing at the river's edge I saw the first crummy morel.

We found 15 or 20 there. That was our third trip to Kickapoo this season, and the first two visits we parked in other places; with 2,842 acres of reclaimed strip mines there is lots to explore and see there.All the pits have been filled with water by the river and springs and are now big recreation areas. One of our prior visits Fox found a near complete deer skeleton. He was entranced. We hiked down the hill and found a few more large bones and blades that had been dragged off by animals. Fox became obsessed with reconnecting the remains. He ran up and down the steep bank with his arms full of bones. Yelling directions to the rest of us, speculating on the animal's death... He is a little science nerd.We didn't find any morels that time. We did see some guys fishing with a radical homemade slayer decal made using electrical tape, though.

We didn't hit it big till we came home to Asheville for Easter. My husband (that's Dr. Jason Robinson PhD to you)had to be in Knoxville the week before to defend his dissertation at the University, so we decided to blur the appointment with the Easter holiday and go straight from Knoxville to Asheville. He had planned his defense according to last year's morel calendar, so we were expecting to hit our old spots just in time. After striking out in our "sure thing" patch, we proceeded to our neighborhood spot and looked there, also unsuccessfully. We went to another place and found some shitty remnants of morels that looked to be a couple of weeks old. Morels bloomed 2-3 weeks early this year almost everywhere. My typical gauge is to start looking when the dogwood flowers open, but with the early heat, all notions went out the window. One of our patches in Knoxville is in the woods beside the house our friends used to rent, so when we go we are trespassing. There is a close-knit community who rented the house to our friends, and they reside on down the gravel road beyond the rental. There are many children between the houses, and when we used to hunt we would run into their hideouts and secret, creek places. This is their newest instillation:

I was impressed not just with their resourcefulness, but their workmanship. As I recall there were two smallish girls, probably 8 and 10 years old now. They did some heavy lifting and over-head hammering to construct the roof on their shanty.

After striking out all over Knoxville, we were feeling defeated. During our brief spell in Knox we did, however, get to spend some quality time with our friend Lee, and his sidekick, Terry.

Had I realized how much I would miss Lee after our move I would have savored those last few weeks living next to the guy. As we pulled up, I saw Lee in his yard with his friend Terry, who has dialysis three times a week nearby and usually comes to Lee's house afterwards and sits on his porch swing. Lee looked up and recognized my truck, and he started laughing and tore the hat off his head. I hopped out, momentarily leaving the kids strapped in their safety seats, and met Lee in an embrace in his driveway. It was so great to see him.

The next day, after Jason's defense, he and I went to see Lee again and to talk to the guy renting our house. It was as if nothing had changed, and no time had passed. His cousin came over and visited with us for a while, another friend, Duncan came by. Lee had a fire and moonshine in the middle of the damn day. As we were standing around talking Jason (naturally) noticed a ton of bees in Lee's yard, and realized that there was a rogue queen bee in the grass. She was huge, and all the other bees were swarming around her, just 10 feet from where we were hanging out. Lee has everything, even a swarm of bees. Lee's bees. Lee's cousins keep bees, so he called them and told them to get them suits an come over here quick! They weren't able to come immediately, since it was in the middle of a workday, but they said they would come out after work if they were still swarming.

We went to Asheville and spent lots of time with our awesome family and ate ham and chocolate. After getting an Easter basket from my mom, Fox opened a hollow chocolate bunny and broke it in half. Inhaling deeply, he stuck his nose inside the hollow bunny head and said "Mmmmmm it smells so good in there".

Jason's Aunt hosted an easter egg hunt for all her sister's grandchildren in Burnsville at her home, and we went a little bit early so we could look around there. We went up in the woods on the mountain side where an old lumber road was cut, zig zagging across the steepest parts. Hunting for morels became just picking morels! We dragged the kids around for an hour or so till Jason's parents arrived and the egg hunt started. They took the kids back down to the house and Jason and I stayed on the mountain, raking in morels as fast as we could. As I would spot one and kneel to pick it, I would spot five more! Careful attention to footing was necessary not to step on them. In two and a half hours we picked 650 morels. Two Ingles bags full. We have never seen such an abundance, and I think it was the high point of the break for Jason, outranking hustling a Jamaican pool shark AND earning a PhD.

After a trip like that it will be very difficult for Fox to simply enjoy the hunt in the future.

Hello Kitty's house on fire

This afternoon as my daughter was waking from her nap, my son pondered aloud; "I wonder what Rainer dreams about?".

We considered the possibilities; dreaming of flying, running, playing ball, climbing on rocks... Then it occurred to him; "I think Rainer was dreaming about Hello Kitty and her friend and they were playing at Hello Kitty's house and it caught on fire."

"Uh-oh" I replied, surprised at the sinister twist, imagining bubbling pink plastic and noxious, green flames engulfing Hello Kitty. Billowing black smoke. Melting sugar...Faces dripping in flaming globs... "Hopefully no one was hurt in her dream" I said, wrapping up my own daydream.

"Well Rainer and Hello Kitty were ok but their friend got a little bit hurt. She was running away and fell on the carpet and got a little burned. Hello Kitty fell down the stairs, but Rainer was ok." Fox assured.

"So Hello Kitty fell, but was ok?" I asked.

Fox shook his head and looked downward. and walked out of the room. Maybe the friend, but Hello Kitty? Essentially that's what an unnamed friend is for. Raw!

Having a hilarious child is truly one of life's blessings. Despite having zero non-relative friends here, I manage to laugh and have a good time.

Yes, it rates good on a completely different scale of good times, but currently, everything is relative to that same scale.

If I were using another good time scale, say, for instance, that from my college days, my present good times would rate much lower. Probably a 1.5 or 2 out of 10. According to the scale from pregnancy, my current state would rate very high if either A. I lived in Asheville, or B. I had friends here in Illinois, but still would score a solid 5, maybe 6. If I were contrasting my experience with the scale I used between the years of 2002 and 2005, my rating would automatically sound alarms and sirens. Strobe lights hardwired to the infer structure would illuminate, and emergency party patrol officials would deploy.

Honestly I am trying not to whine and complain too much. Everyday is busy and I'm able to go outside, exercise, eat decent food and sit down if I feel like it. To continue my path towards contentment, I have been working on a few paintings and drawings. Some are landscapes, and some are general expressions of positivity. According to me, of course, so I'm not sure if they will come off particularly "happy", but the themes therein are uplifting or somehow inspiring to me. I wonder what other people without friends do? Especially people without children to eat up all their otherwise idle time. My guess is computers.

fountains and fountains

In the land of yard art, yard sales and the torch of independent spirit nothing seems to surprise me much. Everyone in my neighborhood has something extraneous in their yard, be it a makeshift water fountain, multi colored bottles poised on tree limbs, non-functional vehicles, or "sculptures" consisting of household refuse. The degree of the typical Tennessean's "mark" on their yards is exclusive to this place and time.
Since moving to my neighborhood in spring of 2006 I've kept an extensive mental journal detailing the most interesting yards in the area. Today I would like to investigate the two most notable water features.
I noticed the first case over a year ago when there was a warm spell in early March. There was a guy out in his yard lugging bricks to a section of his yard that bordered the busy, semi-retail/commercial street. He was thin and wiry with skin the color of a hot dog despite the season. His hair was long and stringy kinda like a metal front man's, and he was wearing women's, boot cut jeans. I saw him as I drove down the street going 35 mph and had just enough time to remark on the mysterious project he was hard at work on, and the extremely obese woman sitting on the front porch of his house.
The next day I took Fox to the park in his stroller. While he played I could hear someone tink, tink, tinking away at a masonry substrate, and the faint sound of rock music. Fox was getting sleepy and began to whine about chocolate milk, so I decided to treat him to a Mayfield Chug at the Handy Dandy Market. We strolled in and got the milk and Fox settled into the stroller with his treat. As we exited the store, I remembered the guy with the bricks and decided to walk another block so I could pass his yard. I slowed my pace to a hobble which would both make me look more authentically SoKnox (as most pedestrians hobble), and allow me a longer view of the yard without revealing myself as a Looky-loo.
The guy was out with his brick pile and a hammer and chisel removing cement from the bricks with meticulous care. His aviator glasses were dark and mirrored so I wasn't able to tell if he saw me coming; just to be safe I gave him a nod. He paused for a moment, then assuming he had just imagined my signal, looked back at the lumpy brick in his hand. He had started stacking the cleaned bricks in a rectangular column which was roughly two feet high. There were lots of PVC pipes and connectors laying around, and a large, blue tarp anchored by two orange traffic cones. His house looked like it was about 600 square feet, which made me understand why he wanted to maximize his yard by flexing his home-making muscles in the out of doors, and there was no sign of the big woman.
The entire scene was effectively burned into my mind-journal, and I started imagining what he was working on.
The next day Fox and I didn't go anywhere, and that night our friend and neighbor, Dan came over for a visit. "Have you seen that guy on South Haven?!" was the first thing to come out of his mouth!
Relieved that I wasn't becoming a socially deprived stalker, I excitedly compared notes with him and we shared our theories regarding the form and function of the dude's project. We were equally tantalized by this mystery, again, much to my relief.
Dan's wife Adrienne and I called or emailed each other daily with progress reports or interesting sightings at the man's home, and we finally realized what he was creating; a water feature.
He had lined the interior walls of the rectangular column with the tarp, and used extra bricks to weigh it down on the top rim. A water hose had been run through a PVC pipe with an "elbow" joiner on the end, so the water came out at an angle. The pressure was a bit too high and it looked like a geyser on the end of a stick, or a plumbing blow-out accident. In fact, I noticed a few of the bricks were pushed out from the pressure.
The following weekend Dan, Adrienne and I talked at great length about the fountain and it's attributes. The next day I drove by and the entire thing was disassembled! The bricks were all back in a tidy stack, the tarp back on the ground with the cones, and the piping on the tarp. I was more than disappointed. While shopping at the grocery store I thought about the fountain and how it hadn't been so bad! Just a little off! What possessed him to take the thing apart?
Driving home from the store I saw the man hard at work rebuilding the fountain, only this time he stacked the bricks side to side instead of end to end, and had painted the interior pale blue like the inside of a swimming pool. As soon as I got home I called Adrienne at work and told her about the progression. She promised to take that route home to see.
The next day Fox and I walked by the house and beheld the magic! The column was three feet high and the PVC water pipe was sticking straight up in the center of the basin. The pressure was still too high so now it really looked like a geyser! At 20 feet away on the other side of the road we could feel the over spray! Cars driving by were creeping by to get a look!
Over the next two weeks many revisions took place; two flood lights pointed at the water spray, a coat of blue enamel on the exposed PVC, and finally some orange and white "go vols" pom poms attached to the corners. It was almost more than I could bear; I had to meet this man.
We left for a long weekend in Asheville and when we returned everything was different, again. The column shape was gone and in exchange was a low, wide basin similar to the dimensions of a koi pond, and the pipe was so low to the ground it couldn't be seen by passers by. The flood lights had been mounted to two tobacco stakes placed behind the fountain, and the stakes were painted blue. The flood lights provided an interesting effect on the water, but a blinding one on my eyes when I was driving by after dark.
Each day was something new with the fountain. It provided us with tons of conversation and anticipation all summer long, then one day it was gone, replaced by the blue tarp and cones. By winter time there was no trace left of the fountain, neither brick nor pipe.
I had almost forgotten about the fountain till the other day when I saw it.

That satellite dish that you see there was inverted, forming a basin in the brick part and the water pipe was in the center. It was a-m-a-z-i-n-g! I was thrilled not only to see the fountain again, but to see the MORTAR between the bricks! It sure seemed permanent! When I took this picture I figured that he was working on the plumbing and was going to replace the satellite to it's original position.
Then the man exited his house with two mousy shi-zus trailing wearing his tight girl jeans, a baby doll midriff-bearing shirt, and carrying a bunch of junk.

It was then that I noticed something about this man that I never had before. He looked like a lady in the face.

"Ladyface"

I have studied these pictures at great length and magnification and I can't figure it out; is he a masculine lady or a soft-featured man? I can gather from the photos that there are: zero breasts

zero package bulge

there are lady jeans

scoop neck, midriff-bearing babydoll tee

manly back but without hair

lap dogs

biceps

has a lady face

As you can tell there are a few questions left unanswered.
While I was out I decided to check out the other contender in the "best water feature in SoKno" contest. Although it does deserve mention with it's mini Christmas tree and garland, it pales in comparison to the satellite idea. I will make an official decision when ladyface gets finished.

Lee hadn't exited his house in four days when I saw him draw back the hot air balloon-printed curtain and peek out his front door at Fox and I, quickly releasing it when he saw my glance. Three minutes later he stepped onto his front landing wearing an unbuttoned shirt and a knit toboggan. The shirt seemed like a tiny rag hanging from his shoulders, gathering under his arms framing his protuberant belly.

A week ago his hot water heater stopped working and he came over to my house to take a "whores bath", which we called a "bird bath" in my house, but when you think about the key body parts in the process, "whores bath" is a more apt title. After he had rinsed his hair and put his clothes back on, Lee opened the door while he shaved and chatted. He hadn't put his belt back on yet, and I was shocked to see the impossible angle his belly created where it returned to his hip. The bottom of his overhanging belly was parallel with the floor, and created a sharp, right angle with his hip bone. Don't worry. I didn't stare. One glance and I will never forget the sight. Even when I was carrying a nine and a half pound baby Fox in my belly it wasn't that big. Why do some men have such off the chain bellies?

Lee scratched and stretched, then disappeared back into his house, reemerging with a steaming cup of coffee and a "rolly", which is a hand rolled cigarette. He slowly approached Fox and I, stopping here and there to look around at the wind blowing the trees. He had buttoned his shirt and I could tell that that particular shirt was soon becoming an openly wearable only type; the buttons were all mismatched colors at the midsection and they seemed to be under a great deal of strain.

I was pushing Fox on his swing and he was screaming so he didn't hear Lee approach. I noticed that Lee had something shoved in his back pocket that was making him walk funny.

"So do yall have one uh them VHS players or what?", Lee barked as if he had already asked me twenty times before. He pulled the item out of his pocket and it was a cover less VHS tape entitled "Winterland Scooby Doo" I told him that we did, and he went on to explain that he had bought that tape from "a guy who was hurtin with his rent" for Fox.

"It's pretty cool. I done watched it. Thares a few stories on 'at one tape an one's a Christmas-type story, an the rest are, well I wont give it away. It's CLEAN anyway"
Well that was a relief! I was wondering if he meant that it was a physically clean tape and relatively germ-free, or if he was referring to the content of the movie.

Fox had realized Lee was amidst and had began yelling Lee's name over and over. Lee pushed him for a while, then proclaimed, "I sware I could'uh cut'chore hair straighter with uh pan-knife than what 'at woman did! An how much you paid'er?"

I told him that we had traded goods for services, and he seemed satisfied. After I got my hair cut he started calling me by a different name. Something that sounded like "Asian-ninine". I had no idea what he was saying, and he was drunk. After realizing that he was doing it on purpose, not of disorientation I finally asked him why.

"You look like 'at spy Agent 99! You know! From 'at ol spy movie Get Smart!?" I lied and told him that I knew what he was talking about, relieved that he wasn't being derogatory towards Asian people.

Lee asked us what we were going to do today, and I said that since we were both under the weather that we would likely stick around the house and enjoy the warm temperatures. He said "em doctors say y'need at least fifteen minits'uh sunshine per day or you'll get all..." Lee was making the universal sign for crazy; winding his finger around and around right beside his head, and I told him that I believed it whole-heartedly.

sicko

I'm sick. I'm ill. I'm spent. I'm all blah.

This is week 2 of my newest 2009 sickness and I'm fixin to loose it. Having the flu over Christmas and New Years should safeguard you from having it through out the entire next year, but I haven't so fortunate.
Last weekend the roof of my mouth started hurting and since I haven't been to the dentist in over a decade, I figured that I had finally gotten a cavity which would probably require a root canal or some crap. The pain continued, then my throat started stinging when I swallowed. Meanwhile Fox had started coughing and sneezing quantities of clear, watery mucus all over, so I thought he was having allergies, and I needed to make a dentist appointment.
The next day I woke up with the worst headache I have ever had, and my nose was entirely blocked. Fox was coughing, sneezing and acting like he was possessed by evil spirits, he was misbehaving so. Muscle pain, and the discomfort of trying to blow my nose and constant coughing kept me from getting comfortable. The sinus pressure and blockage took away my senses of smell, hearing, and taste, and made all of my teeth hurt. When I walked across the room my footsteps were silent, and I stopped eating. The sensations are similar to the effects of getting hit really hard upside the head. Poor Fox fell asleep on the couch and woke disoriented, confused by his sore body and the setting sun.

That was last week, and we haven't improved much since then. Taking Ny-Qul and sleeping is the only reliable relief of a sickness such as this. Fox seems to feel good in the bath tub so he has been getting at least one bath each day. How torturous for a small child to be so sick without an adequate vocabulary to properly complain. All he can formulate is; "Foxy sick! Got mucus up'dere"

And he can't blow his nose yet! Sometimes he will accidentally blow it when no one is prepared with a handkerchief, but never on command. There will be so much goo in his nose that it cascades out and onto his upper lip while he, evidently, has no sensation of it. I feel obligated to stand behind him and wipe his nose every three to five minutes, and he writhes and whines whenever I do as if I were armed with a weapon. Needless to say the two of us are a sorry sight.
Hopefully we will improve with the weather. We have been going outside every day but our excursions haven't lasted long in the freezing air. Fox's water table was frozen solid this morning with a bunch of toys trapped under the surface. Fox peered at the toys, then looked at me with frustrated disappointment, as if it were my fault. We decided to swing instead which thrilled Fox, but when I got him out of the swing his face was lined with channels of snot all the way back to his ears, and I felt like a bad mom. We came inside and had leftover vegetable soup and read books.

4/10/2008 Killer Shower

The other weekend Jason, Fox and I went to a baby shower in Monroe, North Carolina, just outside of Charlotte. The place belonged to his college friend Jerome's family, and he and his brother had remodeled the family barns into their houses. Living in the barn: It is the cool thing to do. But really, Jerome's barn is palatial compared to 40 Houser Road; huge machines were able to park inside of his barn and the post and beam truss construction towered fifteen feet above the second story level.
Anyway,
The baby shower was an afternoon affair, and the weather forecast affirmed an outdoor dining area, so no one brought jackets and everyone was a little bit pissed at themselves for buying the "70 degrees and sunshine in March" crap. Meaning: it was COLD, and WINDY. Plus it was spitting rain and the sun never broke through the overcast ceiling. The hay ride was cancelled.
The beginning of the party consisted of my chasing Fox around the pond in an attempt to deter the anxiety I inevitably experience in situations like that, and thankfully when I snuck back into the party Gravy Donger and Jenny were there.
When we first arrived at Jerome's house I had noticed that the entire ground floor was a bar. Not like "bar theme", but an actual bar you would walk into from a small town city street. The only thing that separated Jerome's bar from an actual bar were the politically incorrect wall hangings and effects peppered among the equipment. Felt top poker table, CHECK. Big screen TV, CHECK. Domestic beer on tap, CHECK. Mirrored beer adverts, CHECK. Stars-n-bars, CHECK. I was really impressed and I longed to spend time perched atop a stool from the second I laid eyes on it.
The party continued with the usual rigamarole: presents being opened by the mom to be surrounded by a mass of ooohs and aahhs. I somehow avoided that ritual and experienced it only in passing through the living room into the restroom to change Fox or to rinse the residue from betwixt his little fingers.
Soon afterwards the nicer vehicles began leaving the premises and I found myself surrounded by people my age. Fox became tired and I cuddled him until he was all woozy, then placed him into his "Pack-n-Play" porta-bed, (no play, just pack). When he was fast asleep I returned to the party in the basement bar and found things as I had left them, but drunker.
Ever since Fox was born I have lost my drive to party into the early hours. As entertaining and exciting as it might seem, after a few minutes of projection into the future the idea becomes as tired as I am. It's one thing if Fox is sleeping at one of his grandparent's houses and will be proceeded in waking with bacon, eggs, and apple juice, but to be at a total stranger's house in a strange room is different. I could be convinced to stay up an extra hour if I knew that my or Jason's mom would be there to wake up with Fox, but I am too old to do both.
Back downstairs in the bar the noise level had risen, and people were taking shots of tequila on command. There was talk of going to a neighborhood speakeasy and eventually half of the crowd adjourned. One guy tried to convince me to go, and I had to really break it down for him. "I will not set my child down to bed in the house of a pregnant woman who I had never met until today, and then, shrouded in darkness, leave him to go to a bar to hang out with people who I do not know." I had to defend my case a few times before it was accepted, and finally the crowd diminished.
I retired at midnight, unable to maintain the game face needed to fuel the party atmosphere, but not before the "bar-goers" had returned. They were real drunk and talking crazy. I slipped away without notice.
The next morning I awoke to silence; Jason had taken Fox into the living room when he woke and acquainted him with his college pals. I joined them and finally had the opportunity to speak to Elizabeth, the mom-to-be. She seemed ready to have the baby and was clearly tired of her pregnant state; she had done tons of work preparing their house by setting up the cutest nursery I had ever seen. When Fox was due all we did was vacuum, and I told her that. She told me about the renovation of the barn and how dusty it was for the first few months. She said they had purchased a "Rainbow" vacuum cleaner after a particularly moving display of it's powers. She showed it to me and so many questions were answered about the machine. Essentially it is a two thousand dollar water bong for your carpet. Worth every penny when you see how dirty the water is afterwards!
After noon we began our trip back to Knoxville through the budding Saluda Gorge, and then through the Smokies. It was such a beautiful, early spring weekend for such a kick-ass baby shower.